Profession Advent

My internet is back up.
So here is a poem for today:

Profession (12/3)

The labyrinthine mold of my brain aims to be the sun
It’s darkest corners alight over lands yet to be founded

I knowledge a room into existence
Purely to break it apart into microns

This particle of sand was a chair and it is now fodder
A tree was once a lily or a bedpost

I upright the world along a horizon that I cut from void
The maze will trick everyone in the end

It will pull you towards center then reveal nothing
There is no center that can possibly hold

This sun is a Milky Way spiraling outward alarmingly
Pulsing with the quickness of my heart and blinking

with my drumbeat eyes my mind is a guillotine
snapping at the necks of anything that comes close


And one for yesterday:


Advent (12/2)

New York opens its arms
The spreading expanse of Brooklyn pulling
Across the waters of the East River an aunt dies

Somewhere a leaf shivers on a bough – not having the good sense to fall
Snow drifts lazily and the bosom of winter is a subway ride at 5am

New York screams at all hours
A hushing sound more in line with an ocean than people
The leaf is still holding as buds begin to unwind

In the botanic garden the magnolia bloom
Each a teacup collecting water – a fragrant ivory curve

The arms are open but the breast is cold
Stony – she is too busy with the millions others
Across the waters of the Hudson more family drift silently away

Smiling and full of hope – dripping like the buildings
New York is a quiet succubus