I need to write early in the morning

before the requirements of living

get in the way, for once obligation

emerges into focus, I lose the veil

that separates us from our fantasies,

that other world where vision takes

wing, dreams dance, and love wins

so if cannot answer the phone and

leave you waiting at the door, know

that it is nothing personal: I am just

feeding my inner child on his daily

ration of things that don’t matter to

the rest of the world, unbelievability

and all the dragons that come with it.

Long and slow and painful,

that’s the way life goes,

unless you find the remedy

not everybody knows

Get a sturdy surfboard,

find a steady break,

learn to surf and leave the suffering

trailing in your wake

I know it sounds simplistic,

a pill to end your strife,

but when you struggle on the waves,

you won’t in real life

For paddling is endurance,

and pearling is a drag,

but when you find the balance,

you’ll have living in the bag.

when you clean your house thoroughly,

anyone who knows what they’re doing

will tell you, start with the closets

get the old clutter sorted out, the bags

you’ve stashed away, boxes you haven’t

opened in years, the chaos you tossed

in there when someone was coming over

and you didn’t have time to clean

do the same for yourself—

address the skeletons first,

then work your way out to where

the daylight shines

Stop telling me to verify my identity using two-factor

authentication by sending a stupid code to my phone

as if that proves anything, as if someone who hasn’t

stolen my computer might have also stolen my phone,

that if they broke into my house and shot me to death,

as my corpse is still bleeding on the floor, they can be

happily logging into my accounts because your stupid

code allowed them to, and if it’s sent to my email, for

some reason, it never comes through or it takes thirty

minutes, and during that time, am I not myself as I sit

there, my entire identity in question, decades of being

myself gone to waste because a fucking number says

otherwise? and if I want to check into a hotel or enter

a concert or board a plane and they need some stupid

verification code that is supposedly sent to my phone

and it never comes through, did I really just spend all

that money for nothing? hundreds of dollars all gone

because some stupid fucking number has not showed

up on some stupid fucking little screen? That number

tells you nothing about my identity or who I am as a

person, it tells you nothing of my history and struggle

and hopes and dreams, yearning to be free, to rest or

to listen to live music or travel to some foreign land

far, far away from all of this inauthentic protocol, so

stop acting as if all this technology is somehow more

important than me, than you, than all of us. Fuck off

with your fucking numbers and codes and screens and

every other performative procedure that serves us no

purpose except to put more money into the pockets of

the autocrats who have decided that our lives should be

reduced to ones and zeros, for we are the only ones who

will be left with zeros both in our bank accounts and in

our hearts where human connections once lived before

we allowed the robots to remove them from our bodies.

If ‘Post-Traumatic Growth’ is defined as

positive psychological change that occurs

as a result of experiencing and surviving

the struggle with highly challenging life

circumstances, then I can state undeniably  

that I am now fifty feet tall and counting.

I’ll judge my worth by what gets done

by twelve p.m. today,

for if it’s not complete by noon,

most likely, it will stay

For then it’s lunch, so I will lose

an hour, maybe two,

but then I’ll feel drowsy,

so a nap will have to do

And when I rise at three,

I’ll have some coffee and a snack,

and that’s a perfect time to lounge

and read a book out back

And when I blink, it’s five o’clock,

so I’ll get back on task,

for working until dinnertime

is not that much to ask

At six o’clock, it’s time to cook

and take a weary seat—

the news comes on at half past six,

and then it’s time to eat

At seven, I can work a bit,

but now, it’s getting late,

and I’m not really good for much

at any time eight

By nine o’clock, it’s rather late

for laboring, I think,

so I will sit and watch a movie

with my favorite drink

So, like I said, there’s not much done

unless it’s done by noon—

the problem is, I wake at ten,

and even that’s too soon.

I need no ancient epic tales

of Trojans under siege

or magic men to blur the eye

to bring you their prestige

Or minstrels stringing homages

to warriors and kings

or ministers to speak of gods

and what their anger brings

I only need a simple vessel,

watertight and strong,

to hold my endless ale

and an ego just as strong

Knowing what to do his half the battle,

and doing it is the rest, and just as hard;

just know that you will never be unerring

and seldom leave the battlefield unscarred