Cyber Vision

My astigmatic imagination
cannot picture your face
only callused fingers
flying over pitted keyboard,
cigarette ashes
flicked on mouse pad,
flying fingers transmitting lies
through high-speed fiber optics

With guarded, cynical interest
I am drawn in
by your insolent, witty cyber-chat:
words that say nothing
and everything
keep me on the line

I am attracted to you
like dust to a cathode ray tube

Dear Evelyn Wood . . .

When I read a book
I don’t want to
suck-up-ten-pages-in-ten-minutes
finish-five-books-in-a-day
skim the surface
looking for answers

but rather
gaze at the words
feel the phrases
absorb the intent
slowly
and purposefully
taste . . .
roll it around
in my mind
and then . . .

devour
what the author
has kindly laid out
on my plate

Metaphorical Questions for the Reaper

Can you incinerate
the flesh
and not destroy the soul?

Are you
a hyperlink to life
a hyperlink to death
a hyperlink to life . . .
a virtual endless loop?

Could you be
an awakening?
a gift?
a jailbreak?
an honorable discharge?

Do you represent
commencement?
career change?

A simple
turning
of a page?

Is death
life’s ultimate resolution?

Iris of its Own Volition

On the sloped yard
preceding my old house,
in the tangled mess of ivy,
sumac and orange
tiger lilies,
a lone iris appears
of its own volition
with no assistance
having slept at least 8 years.

In my well tended garden
of azalea, juniper, holly
and mountain laurel,
the iris I plant
refuses to bloom or thrive,
preferring to lay dormant,
though alive . . .
teasing and mocking,
"I will rise
when I damn well please
and not to please your eyes."