“Wild World”

‘He was unheeded, happy,
and near to the wild heart of life’
— James Joyce

It seems so silly,
this business of living
doll-like, dull lives
soft skulls of language
with strange alliterations
building boundaries, binaries
to bind the blind masses
cheerfully chanting
their stilted slogans,
stripped and shipped
by a haunted history.

Yet wild hearts exist!
with madness enough
to let it be.
Who would rather spend
a lifetime answering
the question of
her laughter,
or measuring the
half-life of love
than getting lost

in loose alliteration,
trying in vain
to capture life:

There is only love and loss.
The rest, they tell me,
is just rust and stardust.

“Full Moon Lover”

She dances here
in clear moonlight
on a cold night,
her reflection caught
by silver clouds,
whispering waltzes
in windblown flights,
just like she danced
and the place before,
still beyond sight.

The greatest tragedies
make life beautiful,
jaunty puppets
that we are,
play-acting life,
singing ‘Fight, fight!’
in the oncoming night.