Chi

All night, insects and pipers sing in the marshes,
and the little wet ponds in the woods.
They sing, as if the night wouldn't be night
without their songs.
...

On the dirt road along the pond,
Several spring songs lay squashed
As I went to work yesterday.
...

Where do we draw the line
between living things that we kill,
and those we let live?
...

For the drunken giant silk moths
that flutter and crash headstrong
against the lit panes,
...

What if our dreams became reality
and our reality became dreams?

What if the wind had its way
...

Half-human, half-post industrial, she has lost all sensations of empathy.
in-consciously blunted by the pressures of the economic machine,
Some would die for profit as some for a little life.
...

take it easy:
don't let it get to you.

you'd lose your mind
...

“At 90, my son, you’d definitely own
a store like this”, the twisted,
back-bent old man, leaning on a cane stick
stammered to the young skull-cap clad manager-assistant.
...

1 - The Floral Artist

‘A stocky figure with elephantine limbs,
(not Picasso’s fleshy paintings)
...

The ice thaws,
the first spring rain falls.

Then the gout weed
...

Do the garbage – that’s me.

Discard the empty boxes – that’s me.
...

The evening settles in
with a warm spring drizzle
that washes through the skies,
the trees and the earth.
...

White divorced Christian
lady or mother,
despondent
with waking up alone.
...

The Croats are tanned,
the Swedes pink,
the Poles the color of powder.
...

At eight to nine pm, I am alone,
on the part-gravel part-tarred road,
no car ahead of me,
none behind.
...

It halts at the harbor,
and stares at the ships in the distance,
unmoved by the foghorn.
...

Interning at the Sanctuary provides a great opportunity
to gain valuable experience in working with wildlife,
natural resources, and environmental education.
...

Now I understand why the chipmunk barked at me,
though all I could do then was to wait at the porch,
and watch her on her enhanced position on the board
below the unfinished ceiling,
...

This futile servitude,
web-enhanced -
keying thoughts,
rest-less-ly:
...

The fog comes as we talk,
settles between us
and hides you from me.
...