See the dust
encrusted with dry rock
and you don’t think
flood zone,
water scouring sage brush
instead of brittle wind,
but it’s happened.
Block ice slouches
in the glass, dessert heat
demostrates the facility
of state change.
See a lazy wheeling hawk,
think gyre, gyre,
getting wider–
do things really fall apart?
Or just slump forward
in apathy?
Define a hole:
a lack of matter–
evil is nothing
but the absence
of empathy.
Say evil is nothing, see,
evil is nothing.
The hawk flies off.
Say in Bethlehem,
oh, whatever.
Say a clear blue sky
as if it belies
the existence of rain,
and when that hillside goes
pretend to be surprised–
say it, say it,
it couldn’t happen here.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
That rough beast is slouching towards Tornillo, Texas. Where will it go next?
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If past is prologue, nowhere good. Reading that poem with new eyes these days.
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Yeah, same here.
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Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
Will the center hold? Read C’s poem for her opinion. I’m uncertain, but have hope.
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“Block ice slouches in the glass”, …..very clever. An ominous poem.
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Thanks, and yeah ominous sounds about right
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Yikes for us all.
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“evil is nothing/but the absence/of empathy.” Ah, I love your work. You write with such wisdom an authority, it makes me want to make my own voice more sturdy. This is beautiful.
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Thank you! And I would very much like to hear more of your voice
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