Don’t moan!

Just pull your hair

as I do—waltzing

in my head

with death

& a glowing point

straight before me…


Who appointed you? Nah. Forget Spinoza. I mean “who” besides your mother told you your thoughts are worth a damn?

“Well, when I was a boy the postman said I was smart.”


My face is a flag of surrender. I’ve cultivated it. My torso fights on…


Happiness crawls in and out of me like that childhood song about the worms and the corpse…


How beautiful to see we are still funny. Five friends and no one is selling anything. Though one of us who has lost a lot of weight lifts up his shirt and I say if he keeps this kind of display up, a piano will fall on him. The dog walks into the room with her dish clutched in her teeth. A five point buck looks in the window. Any moment now, Dr. Doolittle will drop by for coffee. We are just laughing animals. Save the human textbook for tomorrow.


Carl Jung thought the plants were talking to us. I’m with him.


I want you to understand me. I come from one or two regions beyond the blurry pasture. The dark pines are engraved with the bold eyes of my sleep. Here I am, new to this day. What should I do?

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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