“The Omega Rite” The creation stretches its fingers to penits dicta in no uncertain terms: This is the end. There is noend. This is the beginning. There is nobeginning. You will see. But you will notsee it unless youseeitwritten. See it.Read it. Read … More The Omega Rite: A poem on the beginning as the end and the end as the beginning
“By the Pond” A mallard duckling nestledagainst her mother’s downy breast here, among the reeds tiltingdry and crisp with the wind whispering into her carcass, her loss-notched bonesthat surrendered their heat this autumn. She became the boon of fox who stalkssnow-shouldered hemlocks at dusk.
I often find myself conflicted about humans, about myself. This poem goes down that road of confusion and plunges into that nagging feeling that we are no more moral than any other creature, that what we call good is a mere rationalization of our exercise of power over other things. “We” We have become mad. … More We have become mad. Crazed. Deluded. A #poem on our image