It's been a while, so here's a poem

The shape of lit windows
It's a technique we've seen since forever
Placid, the blurred whatever outside
Dark-neutral frame for the clarity light brings
The rigid box for bright fights or
Sex, or maybe it's just TV
Quickly painting the faces different colors.
It's a porthole, outside of which are buses
Moving rectangles lit up like anglerfish
Cruising, stopping to swallow you up
And you are glad to be
Away from the ambiguity of night.
Fixed boxes of light float by
And you wouldn't see them in the daytime
And as you're digested in this bus,
Gliding into the dark you think,
I know it differently at night;
I can see you now, your lives,
in these windows.

New Year thoughts for 2011

On my desk there is a clementine and a hard-boiled egg.

The clementine has a delicate, fragrant peel and bright, juicy segments all following each other in an endless radial loop. To consume, we peel the segments off the whole one by one and pop them into our mouths. Each one bursts with citrus freshness and the sweetness that comes from all things wholesome, simple, and natural.

The egg has always been the symbol of beginning. It is an oval capsule of life yet dormant. The smooth shell - still unblemished - will be cracked, destroyed: a jagged discard. But something animate comes out. It is blinking, peeping, stumbly. The fluff we see is the cushiony buffer of promise and potential.

Happy new year.

Rule: Get a little dreamy about the new year.