Western Hemisphere

The Western Hemisphere is still mostly covered in daylight, and for the last few hours I've been at home, moving from one window to another as the shades change and the temperature steadies itself. More than ever before, I have nights where I lie awake over the meaning of everything, and more than ever I think I'm okay with there being no answer. There are other questions that feel bigger right now: how can I change the world outside myself? How did we all get to this point? What have we learned and what should we teach?

Home since November, another year older, not quite ready to write something new but ready to feel the things I'll eventually write about. This year marked the biggest personal shift I've ever experienced, and I am still making amends with the person I was before. I hope I eventually figure out how to make amends with everyone else.

I've been working on a new poem. I think it's done.


Cold enough now to stay in
Remember the western route
apart on the same road
rushed in once, first,
then let years pass

On the whole we do not lie
I am too aware of the blood we share
Some veins corroded from the oceans
Timelines too immense to follow
When we met I was a monster
But who remembers

Through the desert I saw signs to
make a home for $20,000! Now!
Then eons of such empty spaces
Holy places, untilled greatness
A mule, squat southern trees, sparse sagebrush on a
rare gray afternoon
In the opposite direction but I want to go home soon

In the hours I've given to wishing for a life I understand
I willed myself into Love, permanent hallucination
on the superego drug
and then to travel, its rabid teeth in my neck
The open country spreads so far
we’re not even halfway yet
High speed, navigation traps, 
imagination bureaucrats
I could listen but I don't
There's rain on the glass
Warm enough to leave and whole enough to last