the series ends

the series ends we ride off into
another life where none of the
scenes of our formerness or our
former faultfulness remain we
still have our little knives and
all our little dreams with their
fences and sluices we have
carnival rides and erudition so
the same same same in the
end end end O but this new life
after all that tar and pilfering
those vendettas and innuendoes
whence money now that other
life is done now that we’ve been
freed from our a cappellas and
contracts in what green room do
we now wait to tell our captive tale?

How it will come to you

sky for how it will come

How it will come to you, this joy
that rides in on pain and breathes
your inspiration. The one who
dwelled beside stands at the gate
waiting for another shining passerby.
In the tree, a conspiration of birds
abides this green nature. You had
forgotten how performance
isolates. But in this only moment
now, such surfeit, such grace.