An Intermittent Roommate

Poetry says what I cannot.

Filling in the white linelessness with

extravagant, thesaurus-ological not-made-up words

which tell me what I am feeling

Poetry sings me to sleep,

But is the kind of impatient uncle who

won’t wait to check if I have crossed

the somnolent threshold

before scurrying off to do more

exciting things

Poetry once told me that I

could

never be a poet because

I have too many mouths to feed

Poetry cries to sleep at night

I can hear them

through our paper thin walls

through their stained eyes

throughout the shared pulse

that keeps this house standing

Poetry once left me a note,

but it was my obituary and

when I was done reading it

I flipped it over, and in rushed

 all caps handwriting 

 it read -

“your [sic] welcome, now go live your life/

you crazy kid”

DISSERTATION SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

Take your fine-toothed comb and slowly begin to cut through the stack of paper labeled “dissertation” on the desktop. Like an old-time medical dissection theatre, a jury of our peers will gaze down upon the age old traditions of the academy. Each stroke revealing a layer of an onion, or the ring of a tree - marking of presence and growth, a sign of where my thoughts once were and then where they were again mere moments or years later. Every 2nd, 3rd or 5th page titled Introduction. Now you are half way through, the ragged edges of each side of the stack neatly displaying bisected assertions of new beginnings. Can you tell yet that I am a meditation teacher yet, practiced in the arts of being here now. and now. and now? A new twist on an old joke: How many introductions does it take to pass a dissertation defense? Well, let’s start at the beginning….

acres of clear-cut stumpage;

amidst the refuse of capital

a sprig of new growth

Green Lake May 20th

moonlit lake

quiet presence

tinnitus