Let us bid good riddance to the zeros—
the oughts, the nils, the nuthins or the nadas—
whatever they get called, we are all heroes--
we survived a decade scripted like some dada-
istic prank that started with an (OMG) “election”
of a fool that managed to out stupid Harding
when two wars were launched by his misdirection
(financed with borrowed money) before parting
the scene leaving us two trillion bucks in debt
& verging on an idiocracy
as our citizens increasingly forget
to base their “knowledge” on reality.
I’d liked to be relieved right now but then
lets just see how we fuck up the tens.

The Monkey returns in a few days.

12/27
Sonnets From Other Lives: Angel

The vision will emerge from knife & brush
onto the canvas in waves as when time
folds from contemplation into rush
of colored locomotion through his mind.
Change will be subject & the light
waves’ choice reflections on the eye.
But this painting will put up a fight.
It laughs at him--at everything he tries.
The colors darken—become melancholic—
the line turns jagged—geometric—forced
into language—remotely symbolic—
Angel lets the process take its course
until he steps away to stare at the divide
between the picture & the vision locked inside.

12/26
Sonnets From Other Lives: Brian

--Now that’s the beigest dude I’ve ever seen;
khakis, camel coat & sandy hair--
Do you think he has a personality?
Brian would describe his underwear
if not distracted by somebody else.
Passersby will get identities
painted on them by Brian himself.
He’ll scan the room & lean over to me
with: Fo sho she’s getting some tonight—
them jeans are locked & loaded yessiree.
or That couple there is two drinks from a fight--
the table fairly reeks of jealousy.
I wonder sometimes if he can begin
to imagine what his friends all think of him.

12/25
Song

It's raining on Christmas.
What did you expect?
This isn't New England--
It's the Pacific Northwest.
We don't do White Christmas
or one horse open sleighs
because here in Seattle
it'll most likely rain.
Santa comes down our chimneys
dressed in Gore Tex
& Frosty the Snowman
is a puddle at best.
Still we light up our houses.
Fire up a Yule log
& sing along with Bing Crosby
in the mist & the fog.
It's Christmas in Seattle
but if you need proof
check out the holly
growing out of your roof.
So it rains here on Christmas--
we think that's alright
'cause it rains here on New Years,
& Kwanzaa & Hanukkah & the 4th of July.

12/24
Song

Ebeneezer Scrooge got his
& sometimes I get mine--
a rush to the heart that hits
right around Christmas time.

Could be the Ghost of Christmas past
whispering a line
from a Christmas carol.
It's a wonderful life.

December twenty fourth
reckon where I'll be
playing those sweet old songs
to a Christmas tree.

So come all ye faithful
& deck the halls
with the holly & the ivy
& silver bells.
I wonder as I wander
on a midnight clear
at all we do to bring light to
the darkest time of the year.

12/23
Sonnets From Other Lives: Olivia

Initially invisibility
angered her—but in time her rage
abated as she slowly came to see
that for a woman of a certain age
a weight is lifted. Burdened by desire
for desirability she had
labored long to kindle little fires,
when in fact the effort made her sad.
She gave it up—the rigid painted face—
starvation diets—agonizing heels.
Her clothes fit loose. She let her hair go gray.
She shocks herself at how good all this feels.
Her favorite moments now are spent alone
She’s stumbled on the wisdom of the crone.

12/22
Sonnets From Other Lives: Larry

Larry reading in the Tao Te Ching:
The Ancient Masters didn’t educate—
better people learn the way of not-knowing.
--O…K… Larry thinks—that all sounds great,
but ignorance these days is hardly bliss—
we got too good at knowing stuff that’s wrong.
In the flood of data many miss
the truth itself. They get the lyrics wrong.
They think their taxes rose (when they went down).
They cheer for war—against the wrong opponent.
We’ve become the Democratic Republic of Clowns—
but since we don’t know what we lost, we can’t bemoan it.
He lays in bed and ponders what to do
in lieu of sleeping. Thanks a bunch Lao Tzu.

12/21
Sonnets From Other Lives: Naomi

She has an eye for serendipity
& views the world through kismet colored glass.
What other eyes ignore our Naomi
catches & connects & fixes fast
into a web of interwoven circumstance.
She’ll take each moment as its own surprise—
a grace note in an improvised square dance
that she can see unfold before her eyes.
So when her cells launched their ambuscade
she felt their spreading networks intersect
through her opioid & reefer haze.
She sees the drama with a new respect.
These things never unfold as she expects.
She waits—observant—for what happens next.

12/20
Sonnets From Other Lives: Second Person

You take things for granted when you can—
like the cracks in your old coffee cup—
they still hold water ( or for time’s sake—sand)
& so bear inattention. Looking up
from darkness out the window at
the shadow play of streetlight & tree bones—
you surprise yourself with your knowledge that
everybody else is as alone
as you are & we all are walk the same plank—
our heads & feet share the same sea & stars—
& the smoky whiskey you just drank
is now another part of who you are.
So set the mug down & own that it’s true
that in the end it is all about you.

12/19
Sonnets From Other Lives: Coogan

Coogan ducks under the yellow tape
& steps into the crowded living room.
That familiar fight or flight urge to escape
he forces from his mind—there’s work to do.
A white female is sprawled out on the bed.
Coogan estimates five bullet holes.
White male on the chair, much of his head
is all over the wall. A young patrol
officer lifts a pistol with his pen.
--.357-- all the chambers fired.
Coogan’s thinking—Here we go again—
another fucking murder suicide.
He wishes these things were done in reverse—
where the killer does the suicide part first.

12/18
Sonnets From Other Lives: Padgett

Do you confuse your left from right or wrong?
Are there too many punctuation marks?
Could misremembered lyrics to a song
be like walking backwards in the dark?
What three things would you give up for love?
Have you ever spied on anyone?
Does your glove compartment contain any gloves?
How can I get paid for having fun?
Will anything you’ve done live after you?
Don’t you think that callipygian
is a word that’s too much underused?
How many times have you been ‘round the sun?
Really—is this any way to live?
Do you find my mood too interrogative?

11/17
Sonnets From Other Lives: Smitty

They say a rising tide’ll lift all boats
but this sinking dingy that’s my life these days
for all my bailing barely stays afloat
& now they say they’ll take my house away
‘cause I can’t make payments on a stinkin ARM
I got talked into in 2006.
I thought—Why not? What could be the harm?
But those bankers & lawyers got their tricks
worked out eight moves ahead of you & me.
& O I took the hook & swallowed hard.
Now it’s two more weeks or maybe three
before they put a sign up in my yard.
Before we all sink we should set a course
for CitiBank with torches & pitchforks.

12/16
Sonnets From Other Lives: Rex

Whatever that shit was it wasn’t X—
most likely crappy acid mixed with speed.
Sprawled out in the chill room—tweaking—Rex
could go for some peace, love, & harmony
to replace the ogre armies on the wall.
He struggles to concoct an avatar
to wade into the horde & slay them all
but all those visits to the open bar
have left him hella short of in control.
Plan B—he’ll focus solely on the drone—
C# major bass chord vibrating his soul—
until his girlfriend takes his sorry carcass home.
He’ll rehearse his lines in case somebody asks
--How was the party? --Dude that shit kicked ASS!

12/15
Sonnets From Other Lives: Holly

Holly loves these skeletons of trees—
exposed after the Pineapple Express
gleaned them of their last reluctant leaves
& left the copse behind her house undressed.
She pulls her wellies on & calls the dog
& swathed in wool & oilcloth steps outside.
The pathway’s muckish, but she’s game to slog
across a barren field where someone tried
to make a go of growing Christmas trees
& after harvest never did replant.
The rains force us to just let the land be
free of all the things we’d do but can’t.
Holly scouts out newly exposed nests.
The dog is busy. The world around him rests.

12/14
Sonnets From Other Lives: Omega

here he is the last human left standing
in the ruins of that debacle that once was
a failed experiment in understanding
the particle theories of dust to dust—
we thought that we were in control—
he muses from his home under the rubble—
we were so clever --we thought as we stole
the future from ourselves—we were untroubled
by the cloud of devastation in our wake—
living off the land’s obesity—
ever ready to reach out & take
everything--it came to us too easily

he wonders at his wonder & surprise
to learn a thing is empty once sucked dry

12/13
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jefferson

Supermarket closed a month ago--
two years to the day after the mill
shut down. Now this old town’s left with no
real reason to be on a road map. Still
folks hang on to what they used to, but
you don’t see young folks stickin round no more.
They’re all gone & sure if I wised up
myself I’d prob’ly walk right out that door.
But roots go deep & then they hold you down
& there you are & whatcha gonna do?
Everything I am is in this town—
Ain’t no place else I’m good for goin to.
Won’t be long before all us is dust.
& this is good as any place to rust.

12/12
Sonnets From Other Lives: Spider

Went down to the crossroad at midnight—
hoped to cut a deal with Old Scratch—
so I’m standing at the corner with my flashlight
when someone ‘cross the street lights up a match.
She wasn’t really what I was expecting.
I expected more obvious danger.
But I’m not a guy who goes around rejecting
sudden meetings with imperfect strangers.
The moon had much to say about the matter
as did the flashing sign that said “Don’t Walk”
but all my best intentions tend to scatter
when I forget to give myself that little talk
about thinking first before moving my feet.
& so I made my way across the street.

12/11
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jake & Pablo

--Fuckin banks crash the economy
just like they did back in 29
& the only difference that I can see
is back then Democrats still had a spine.
--Welcome to the Roman Fucking empire.
Beer always brings out your inner pundit.
but I’m good drinking & watching you breath fire.
--A person has to be to be a total dumbshit
if he can’t see that there’s no way this can last.
These corporate fucks will suck the country dry.
--Already did in Michigan. I drove past
ghost town after ghost town—give them time.
So I’m buyin—want another one?
--The war is over Jake. The bad guys won.

12/10
Sonnets From Other Lives: Amber

The insect trapped in amber at her throat
could be taken as a metaphor.
Somewhere in her journal she once wrote
about a dream in which she walked out of a door
into a world of water ankle deep
extending outward--covering her yard.
Luminescent fish swam at her feet
as rays of light extended from her heart
chakra like a bright electric torch.
She labors to turn vision into art
but the paintings leave the inner image scorched
& tattered—fossilized & trapped
forever like a lump of hardened sap.

12/9
Sonnets From Other Lives:???

People--you see--always want a name
so I give them one—I have so many—
I can spare one more—to me they’re all the same--
though now essentially I haven’t any
appellation I can call my own—
too much of a good thing as they say—
my tombstone will have to say unknown.
To my thinking they all should be that way.
I’m from that town where everyone’s a liar--
even he who just passed on that fact.
But someone set our birth records on fire--
left not one liar’s identity intact .
We’re who we say we are & nothing else.
Should our paths cross I’ll introduce my self.

12/8
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hugh

In my day we didn’t have no color—
the whole damn world was all in black & white.
We didn’t care none—didn’t know another
way of bein. I tell you when I
first saw red well I was feeling blue
about the hues that we’d missed all that time
& how you can’t trust anything as true
if you can’t believe your very eyes.
Felt like I’d been someway somehow cheated--
that everything I knew was all a lie—
& everyone & me had been mistreated—
tho I know I coulda seen it if I tried
but I didn’t try because I didn’t know.
I guess I was just waitin t’be told.

12/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Aristotle

Found this stump farm off the Skoocumchuck
Real Estate guy thought that I was nuts.
But it was cheap & so was this old truck
& that’s how I got out of my old rut
& finally left the rat race to the rats.
I’ve found my own decrepit hidey hole—
this sagging cabin. Now I reckon that’s
where I aim to drown my sorry soul
& distilled spirit. Everybody hurts
uniquely. I think creativity
is finding your way to your just desserts
& living with certain uncertainties—
like how an author finds a story’s end
or when the darkness finally closes in.

12/6
Sonnets From Other Lives: Deets

All I want’s a quiet place t’sleep.
It aint like I’m tryin t’be a pain
I’m not crazy & I ain’t no kind of creep
I’m just tryin t’get out of the rain
& this doorway’s dry & no one’s comin by
‘til eight AM when Doris opens up
& she just says good morning & then I
pack my bindle & go get a cup
of coffee at McDonalds—sit & wait
until the library opens its doors
& I can lose myself among the great
writers--think I’m not a bum no more.
So if you’d just get that light out of my eyes
officer, I’d like to go to sleep alright? Good night.

12/5
Sonnets From Other Lives: Lauren

There it is again—that hollow space—
the void where something she loved used to be.
Lauren liked to think there was no place
in her life for comfortable complacency—
that everything should matter—she would have
everything be fraught with great import—
thinking on it now—she has to laugh—
one more aspiration to abort.
Who knew emptiness could grow so heavy?
That nihility could offer so much weight?
There are assets & there are taxes levied—
losses that can never be replaced.
Looking on the wall—a shadow’s cast—
a lack of light she might well not outlast.

12/4
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alyss

Living underwater in this way
Alyss has come to an understanding
with the dark blue silence of her days
& the vertigo of falling without landing.
Everybody moves about in schools—
buses leaving ripples in their wake—
a curvature of light that always fools
her into thinking nearer things are far away.
She knows wiser amphibians than she
crawled out of the liquid long ago
& into airy light—eventually
learning keener ways to move & grow
but Alyss now has gotten used to this--
adjusted to her life in the abyss

12/3
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hector

He’s starting to grok relativity.
This meeting won’t approach the speed of light—
it’s slowed time so that Hector’s thinking he
might actually begin to mummify.
While someone tries to shift a paradigm,
Hector’s ass is starting to go numb.
The clock implies that for the moment time
has frozen like his petrifying bum.
Hector—desperate for some diversion
begins to systematically undress
selected female coworkers. Perversion
he hopes will speed up time—that is unless
his input’s asked for & all that he has
is an analysis of Marci Norman’s ass.

12/2
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alex

A steaming cup of Lapsang Souchon tea—
with its smoky whiff of campfire & old leather
brings up fond familiar memories
of oiled boots & cold inclement weather
& afternoons of poetry & her—
the first one—after classes—making tea
& making love—awakened & unsure—
but enraptured by uncertainty—
exploring intersects of soul & body
as the rain painted the windows of her room
& the trees outside impressionistically.
A cup of tea can resurrect those afternoons—
so powerful this evocative drug—
pine smoked leaves & water in a mug.

12/1
Sonnets From Other Lives: Easy

The black sky of the desert fills with starts.
The night is moonless—void of competition
save the headlights from the passing cars
out there on the highway. Easy’s wishing
he was in one now & heading west.
Ain’t much point in hitching in the dark
so he lays his bindle down. He’ll get some rest
tonight then in the morning he’ll embark
again on his journey to nowhere—
always moving—always on the way
to something somewhere—it’s not like he cares—
he likes to think that it’s the hand of fate--
but Easy refuses his reflection--
lest it reveal some unknown connection.