Evil Eyes

With coal dust in your myopic eyes
You see warped, distorted images

Like reflections in carnival mirrors,

The surface of disturbed water,

Or the cave of a polished spoon.
Seeing with a visual apparatus 

Slick with a film of judgment 

Perhaps renders your discolored, 

Tinged view of my world and me

To yourself most sightly.  
But, how long will you bear to see nightshade where there actually bloom roses?

Serpents where there actually stand people?

Relieve yourself of that judgmental culture, your cataract, your coal dust.
Do yourself a favor: wash your eyes and see,

Behold the beauty that is,

Rather than contriving an ugliness that never was. 


We Are

Like a rope that frays and snaps when one holds onto it for too long, 

Like a flame that dies a slow but sure death in an upturned cruse 

We are. 
Like a cloud that is not faithful to a single phasis of the sky, 
Like a butterfly that hop-skips from one capsule of nectar to another 

We are. 
Like the achene of a dandelion’s blowball that is whisked away by the breath of the air, 

Like the ebbing afterglow of an incandescent lamp 

We are. 
Like a moment lost and never to recur, 

Like a stub of charred coal that will never harbor another flicker 

We are. 
Like this ephemera marked by breaths and beats, 

Like a smaller impermanence in a larger impermanence 

We are.