Saturday, November 23, 2013


These little things gather and multiply,
masses of tiny things not seen before 
innovative inventions transcended
optical restrictions

Oh, the amazement 
in those eyes when 
they looked upon 
replicating things:
alien world of 
proteins and acids

I could see atomists
celebrating their victory 
over issues long argued
while skeptics loom 
in tavern shadows,
shaking their balding heads, 
knowing that nothing's solved


Monday, November 18, 2013


The snow isn't
here, but I'm waiting for it

Thunderheads loom
overhead, over the freeway
I haven't seen the news, 
but it feels cold enough to freeze
Lips parched and peeling,
hands sensitive and tingling
inside leather gloves

Tents and shanties line
gloomy and downcast alleys
Below the dwellings of the fortunate, 
I notice a woman and child
foraging through unwanted items

I feel a strange guilt,
standing here towering, looking
down upon them

The little girl coughs violently,
chest heaving, almost choking, 
and puffs of vapor forming 
and disappearing in bluish lamplight
The mother rubs a bare purplish hand
on the stooped, convulsing child

The girl stops
Distressing silence
I remember wisdom from
sources that urge benefaction
and turn around, ashamed
Too afraid to give away

Greatly troubled and 
wanting a diversion from myself,
I descend stairs and walk
toward rotating doors
Mucus in my nostrils freeze
as I inhale frigid air

I leave the building and turn left,
away from the alley of disgrace
I see the tavern sign a couple 
blocks away, white and frosted, 
rocking in the wind

I sit in the corner, 
mind laden with sadness
and bury my face in gloves
Damning reek of leather hides

A man approaches, drink in hand
He places it on the table, 
the glass connected with wood 
and there was a tap of misery
"Cheer up," he said, nodding 

Looking up, the man walking away, 
I sink into a more profound depression
I cover my face in hands once again, 
my temporary refuge from inadequacy

Outside, the snow starts to fall
Small droplets crystallize,
gathering on the pavement
There's a woman near the hearth, 
cozily stroking the fire 


Saturday, November 16, 2013


Falling rain looks like 
ripples in my vision:
little waves of moisture
that speckle the 
canvas of reality

Bare feet sloshing through
street side puddles that
coalesce in concrete cavities
Worms creep from earthy homes and 
settle like hairs on a woman's arm

A car passes by and splashes
Splotches of blackish gunk and
scant, ghostlike lines where tires rode
atop inching annelids
Stringy spaghetti corpses

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


Thursday, November 7, 2013

Butcher Shop

My gloves, once white and unblemished,
now splotched with blood and snot 

Cavalcade of carcasses:
pigs, heifers, ducks, chickens
Reeky room of death and squalor

My first glance at
hooks in the freezer:
hooks painted crimson, blood crimson 
with flesh dangling: gelatinous ooze,
remnants of things that lived
Hanging, just hanging from the hooks

The apron now matches my gloves
except for occasional splashes of urine
or smeared feces  

"Time is money," my boss always said
I learned the trade of swiftness:
drag the meat, throw it, hear the
slap of flesh on concrete
floors; lured my morals away 
and left them at the door
I got used to it


Monday, November 4, 2013


Riding down the tracks:
shadows from the tunnel
approaching fast
It devours the car with menace

The cabin lights flicker,
burying, steadily subduing
any trace of worry
Calmness arises from 
abyssal security

Peace is here 
when I think of my home
of many facets:
house, job, 
money, bills, 
girl, love,
writing, car
I sit on the roving seat of affluence
Sometimes, self-consciously, inwardly 
I feel shame at my immodesty

Pained by many trivial matters,
forgetting, once again, 
fortune's  favor

Shadow recedes and gives way, 
daylight emerges from confines
Mountains stand assembled 
in the background of sight:
breathtaking, magnificent  
I'm lucky to have eyes


Against Strong Athiesm

 “I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers and possible beliefs and different degrees of uncertainty about different things, but I am not absolutely sure of anything and there are many things I don't know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask why we're here. I don't have to know an answer. I don't feel frightened not knowing things, by being lost in a mysterious universe without any purpose, which is the way it really is as far as I can tell.”
-Richard Feynman, interview in BBC's Horizon program (1981), emphasis mine

I hear it time and time again. In the atheist community, people are very overzealous about "disproofs" of God's existence. I find it troubling to see a group of people who, with great enthusiasm for skeptical thinking, accept propositions that assert the disproof of God. One could say, as I have, that these people are absolute atheists: people who assert that God (in all possible forms) does not exist. This position is also known as strong atheism or positive atheism.

This position is dishonest in one respect. As the Richard Feynman quote suggests, how can we be certain about anything? Of course there are reasons to believe that a future event would happen due to past experience. But this is far from deeming value to a case with absolute certainty. This kind of certainty is a higher rank than trusting fallible human perceptions for a length of time. The requirements that justify absolute certainty are, quite frankly, unknown. I am disappointed to see so many people claim that they know things which they do not.


Sunday, November 3, 2013


Broken glass on bathroom tiles:
troubles materialized
by a frenzied fling of hand

There, my mind spills,
puddles accumulate,
carpet saturates
with content

A calm voice is heard
from a pleasant place,
made pleasant by her presence, 
down the hall of hope:

You've got it all wrong 
You've got it all wrong

That voice, ignored
many times past,
permeates my mind
while I stare
at the wreckage below

When I think myself impervious
to the vanities of life
That voice, calm voice,
reminds me, soothes me, 
when I shatter


Friday, November 1, 2013

Clocks, 1822

Tick tick tick tick
Staring at a face - old, hardened face
with hands that journeyed across points,
I think of obsolete shadows befalling
copper sundials, brown faces
warn, mingled with oxide

So peculiar were those instruments
made by ingenuity
Curiosity drove and almost forced
mankind's impeccable nature 
to reach an understanding 
evermore grounded than before

Centuries later we now hear 
(tock tock tock tock)
the mechanical circumvention,
the steady intervals of seconds
Analog clocks talking, telling
of new moments

I wonder, looking toward the future,
if new designs will come forth,
turning these clicking things into 
dated bits of technology
I wonder if they will ever
return to the hush of dials past