Parthenogenesis

Ensconced in the cold comfort
of moonbeams and the wild woodlands,
I bury myself in the vinca growing wild.
Star-kissed moments of exploration,
a life far beyond my own. Drawn far
from my fraternity, pulling against heartstrings
bound to to graves halfway across the world.

Step into the nests of carrion birds -
vultures in the inky sky, scrambled eggs
on the steaming earth. Little bits of plastic
floating on the night breeze, morse code
of a pulse dangerously close.
Gleaming against the dark earth,
rice flour artwork, intricate spellings of
"W-e-l-c-o-m-e" unchanged through generations.

Hidden mirrors where the dryads comb
their hair, rainbows trapped in cobwebs
and cocoons. Drip me a caress, a kiss,
and one night that never ends.

Predicting the Future

My kaleidoscope is broken.

No more will the future come in
bits of broken colored glass;
no more will you plant yourself upon
my doorstep every morning. At last, I am free.

Free to change the present.
To grieve over the past.
To dream about the future.
To merge reality of what is, with
the delight of today’s rainfall.

I’m now free of your pessimism,
your body odor, the smell of your
toothpaste, your problems, your family,
your children, your health, and that
ramp model secretary in your spouse’s office.
I need not predict her death anymore.

I will not know tomorrow’s weather;
I’d love to get wet in the rain sometime.
Or, get caught in the snow with an Adonis
without knowing the inevitable fate of our
impending break-up, so I can enjoy my
first crush, this time free of intruding thoughts.
Lose my virginity, untouched by the future.

I am free to savor every moment. Free to
experience the exhilaration of anticipation when I
open a gift, without looking for Cleopatra’s snake.
Make friends without looking for Brutus’ knife.
Live as the Lord intended us humans to be, rather than
be Caesar’s Calpurnia. I am free to live
in the present, rather than in the future.
The future is not my present anymore.