Obfuscating, denying, ducking, 
withholding (tantamount to lying)
work their way through halls of 
non-legislating and faux justice-making
not to mention the executive branch, 
which has become the citadel of lying
and what is the end result of all these machinations?
Before our very eyes democracy dying?
Oh, it has all gone on before: evil’s mundane mendacity — 
merely a one-note Donny, 
“I'm immune! I could kiss all the guys 
but only the good looking honeys.”
With these, corporate principalities and powers
usurp that which the Constitution guarantees 
to be all of ours
and for what? 
Some seduced plead their case, “The end justifies the means.
When we get there the good we will do will be seen.”
Ah, such stupid notions and silly lies
right before our incredulous eyes.
Ah, the mundane again — money, prestige, fleeting power,
while CEOs and corporate boards glower
and minions sing,
“We are climbing Babel’s tower,
One more rung, higher, higher,
we want to be as gods and have all eternal power.”
Isn’t eternity simply love on a cross, 
suffering with and for others,
humbly telling the truth so justice doesn’t smother?
Of these, there shall be no end.
It is with these, we courageously bow 
and with praying hands offer peace,
nonviolent resistance, 
and salutations, "Namaste, my friends,"
and then "Eternal Spirit, into, thy hands, 
our spirits we commend."

believers believe
non-believers believe in non-belief
some critical thinkers believe in thinking
and that alone
some non-believers and critical thinkers
believe believers have heads of rocks and stone
because some believers aren’t thinkers
and leave stuff like science alone
and to conspiracy theories do religiously adhere
and take metaphors literally
and to the literal do faithfully adhere
and believe that the 
falsity of certainty
alone and not agape love casts out fear
but, there are believers 
who see that "faith is 
the substance of things 
hoped for, 
the evidence of things 
not seen" 
(but things believed in)
but would never think
to leave their brains and critical thinking
in life’s old, dust bin.

When I was in high school, my dad put together 
the components of a stereo and we put it in 
what had been my room but I moved into my 

sister’s larger bedroom after she married.
It would be the listening den. He also bought 
boxes of Readers’ Digest 78 rpm records of 

classical music with short biographies (with 
photos or drawings) of the composers. After 
school I would listen and listen and read 

and read about the composers until I was 
pretty good at identifying the pieces of 
music. It served me very well in my college

music appreciation class. Years and years 
and years went by and I always loved listen-
ing to classical music and now as I listen 

to 90.3, the regional classical music station, 
a familiar piece of music will start and I 
will say, “Oh, come on. What the hell is that?”

The tree seems hard, bark and all,
in comparison to a human body,
but if the tree is alive, it is warm
and soft in comparison to a dead
tree or a dead human. Living trees
are huggable, living humans are
huggable. Dead trees are good for
lumber and hard, beautiful bowls
on countertops. Dead humans
make ashes placed in beautiful,
shiny, hardwood bowls on fire-
place mantels.

My little dog Happy and I skirted along the 
edge of the lake on our way through the field. 
We crossed the fence and began our journey 
westward. In front of us was a really big 
bull casually munching the grass. He was 
resplendent; so big and yet so gentle. He
stood by himself. Happy and I were entranced
wanting nothing more than to hug and pet
the bull showing we are one with our nature 
brother. We took one more step in the bull’s 
direction and he charged and we ran eastward. 
I jumped the fence; Happy crawled under and 
we both fell into the lake and immediately 
started looking for cottonmouths, copperheads 
and swamp rattlers.

The scientist said it was a slaughter,
     not like the image of a slaughter —
          
          some gruesome battle with swords
slashing and hammers crushing
     and guts gushing all over what had
          
          been a field of corn. Or what use to 
take place in the old Chicago Stock 
     Yards on a daily basis. No, this
          
          slaughter happened under the
the most sanitary of conditions
     in hospitals all over the land, places
          
          designed to keep people alive
but the patients were dropping like
     flies, like what eventually would
          
          happen to the fly that settled into
the Veep’s white coif, but a slaughter
     nevertheless, initiated and carried
           
          out by the one who was entrusted
with the privilege and responsibility
     to protect the people — yes, him, The                                                                                                                                                                                      

          Slaughterer.  And now he wants his 
political enemies jailed. That would 
     make him The Jailer, too. That's our 
          
          virus infected, Super Spreader, Jailer, 
Slaughterer. By January 20, there
     will be more labels, if we are still
          
          around to label him anymore.                                                                                                                                                          

Her ashes were tossed to the sea.
Those ashes found their way into aquatic life
some of which rolled up the sand onto the beach
— vegetation, turtles burying eggs.
Another’s ashes were tossed to the sands.
Those ashes found their way into dune life —
trees — beech, maple, oak — decorative grasses.
A third person’s ashes joined in the burials.
Some of those ashes flew up into the blue sky
amongst the stars.
One night, the whole gang greeted each other —
vegetation, turtles, trees, grasses, stars.
It was a magnificent symphony along the shore
of the Big Lake.

I wanted to write
a pithy poem ever bright,
but the block was there
and all I could do was stare
out the window at the air.

We have passed existentialism
and now are reaching the outer
limits of nihilism while entering
full-blown solipsism as the viral
Temporary Occupant says not to
take the virus seriously as he
leaves Walter Reed for the
White House so he can show
that he is the “manly man” who
needs to be out on the trail.
Has someone thought to start
the William Tell Overture as he
falls off the Trojan Horse in a
grand gesture of the utterly ab-
surd and as Tonto raises his eye-
brows and asks, “What you mean
we, white man?” and Alfred E
Neuman says, “What, Me Worry?”?

Everyday she watches detective stories
on TV. It is a great diversion from the

horror stories in everyday life all around
her. She watches as the detectives

discover a human skeleton in the bushes.
What is missed and dismissed is the

magnificent mystery of what is all around 
the bones — lush vegetation, pink and blue 

flowers, ornamental grasses and evergreen 
trees — life. And in the middle of all the 

lush life? A dead, white, human skull.