I just completed a migration of this blog to its new home, still reachable via khamuk.com. I won't be posting here anymore :-).

On Separation

To see a flower open into sun,
To hear the crack of dawn in sparrow's tweet,
To breathe the sounds of children having fun
Through syncopated pats of toddler feet;
And then to leave that all behind to join
The wheel that swallows everything it finds
To spin its labor straw into a coin
As shiny as its meal of chewed-up minds;
It's hard upon a silent, weary eye
That misses hearts long dead and longer cherished,
That knows no inability to cry
And cries so long as longing hasn't perished.
The solemn rite of weeping in the rain
Is all a fool for love can hope to gain.

On The Homeless Guy At Jackson And Dearborn

The crowds are flowing eastward, like a stream
Of jackets, backpacks, hoodies, scarves and shoes
And Dunkin Donuts cups exhaling steam
Right past a tenor hawking morning news.
I see a man propped up against a wall,
He hardly moves, I wonder if he's dead,
Then let the thought recede as quarters fall
Compelling him to nod his woolen head.
I'm in a cozy lounge across the street
With sonnetry upon my mind and phone,
While he is on the pavement in receipt
Of food he presently has come to own.
I think he would much rather have a home
Than be the subject of a stinking poem.