For the Pedestrian In the Crosswalk Looking at His/Her Cellphone While Crossing

Generalizing like a foolhardy mystic
that’s where
the poem could go
couldn’t it?

Mediocrity jockeys
for some
kind of
modest stimulus.

what do you say what do you do what do you want to say or do?

there’s a stairwell
with doors closed

A sky, pigeon blue
(currently under investigation)
laughs–

Social Responsibility
(currently under investigation)
skips a rock down the road–

Are you unplugged and
away from
the screen

the screens, their shabu-shabu?

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The Trees are Women and as Women

The trees are women and as women
they wait and grow in patience,

hands lightly clasped, dressed in
ancient dress, forbearing, having

come here from the distant past—
bare of foot and without malice,

without pretense of speech I go
to them for comfort, to lay beneath

their solemn breath, their gentle
unsmiling goodness, to turn in my

ways, to feel their bare ankles and
know that living a life is a shared

experience not always spoken or
human