windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

current events

resentment is the bane of our age. look around: 
if anyone seems an inch taller 
or shorter than you, beware. encountering blame, 
i bend to meet the truth.

untitled

the best horse runs at
the shadow of the whip. mid-
autumn: ouch. ouch. ouch.

tanka

my ancestors fell
asleep, on chilly autumn
nights, overwhelmed by
countless stars. i count them on
my fingers, between streetlights.

harvest dance

many who think they’re improvising
are following a script written in stone
many who think they’re reading the score
are making it up as they go along
if you think you know what you’re doing
think again, and play along
if you think you don’t know what you’re doing
think again, and play along

the new politics

to look, unflinchingly, into the eyes
that everyone agrees look back with hatred,
and see the human heart that animates them,
and meet it with your own