Uneasy Weekend Alone

What if the one love,
the one I love, the one I...
dies before I do?

Epitaph for Ciudad Juarez

When I was hungry
the world made complete sense. But
now I am so old.

Hai Way

Or Why Policy Wonks Rise Earlier Than Students of Zen

Asphalt and mountains.
Dharma infrastructure in
The spotless rearview.

Hai Finance

My credit rating
Is almost enough to keep
Me counting syllables.

Who Really Writes Like This Anyway?

Dude. What does this mean? It showed up in my e-mail from someone named Tu Xiao Fang, whom I have reason to believe I at some point knew:

〈雅典集會場中的帝國建築與修辭〉見麻省理工學院論文

V.

Prayer

God of Jacob!
I know you can hear me!
Odysseus!
I know you cheated death
and have crossed my path.
I need you now!

You see, I am dying.
I am not smart enough
to do my work with all
these distractions
and encumbrances.
I need some of what you got.

Some of that wrestling juju.
Some of that mendacious charm.
Some of that fancy-footed
ability to make a deal
while the sink's full of dishes
and the sun is shining
and the kids're failing math.
Some of that cock-sure strut,
like wearing yellow without
my pink skin crawling with shame.

God! Last with me this work day!
Odysseus! C'mon, brother!
I really need you! I shit you not!
I can't bend this bow! I can't
get past the one-eyed merciless
sentry of government! I can't
get my shit together! I really
want to DO something!

If you two could just take
a break from whatever God-like
administration or avventura or
whatever you're doing and
help me get the dishes done,
or rain fire on my enemies,
or go to bat for me at the I.R.
fucking S. I would be able
to get something meaningful
done before I die.

Please!

Amen.

Love, Van. You know my number,
or how to find it.

Haiku

Speak softly this line.
Inhale, exhale, then go on
crescendo. The end.