Not Alone in My Aloneness

As essayist and American culture critic

Gerald Early said in Ken Burns'

documentary Jazz, 

"No matter how much you yearn for

community and yearn for community,

in the end there is this loneliness

and there's no way you can escape it."

No matter how much I yearn

for community and work to foster community,

in the end, it appears that my lot

in life is loneliness

and there's no way I can escape it.

Facebook from Another Perspective

I remember when I used to check

my Facebook page and you were

in our bedroom while I was in the office,

just a room away

in our house.

I remember when you were

my best friend, partner and spouse.

Now, you are merely a little circle

on my Facebook page,

living clear across the country,

in someone else's house.

Seasonal Criminals

There's something about

summertime sandals --

they're too much

to handle

when it comes to

the stench that

sweaty feet and

leather create.

My nostrils don't

celebrate or salivate about

the smell that emanates

from the partnership

that perpetrates

heinous crimes
against olfactory.

Somewhere in Between Self-Loathing and Narcissism

If you're self-loathing,

there's a deficiency

in your ability

to value yourself --

much less anyone else --

which renders you

incapable

of truly loving others.

If you're a narcissist,

you value yourself to an

unhealthy degree,

leaving no room in your

mental or emotional bank

for others,

rendering you

incapable

of truly loving anyone else.

The goal

is to live and love

somewhere in between.

Missing My Other Half

Even though I know

that you live halfway

across the country now,

I can't help but look inside

every dark red CR-V in town

to see if you

are driving it.

I know, intellectually,

that it can't be you

but, emotionally,

somehow, I hope it's you

every time.

I can't help myself.

Somewhere

in the recesses of my mind,

I'm looking for

my other half.

I'm looking 

for you.

You’re not Here

The daffodils still bloom

in the backyard,

but you're not here.

The lights that you installed

under the kitchen cabinets

are still working well,

but you're not here.

I still wake up every morning

in our bed,

but you're not here.

Death by Divorce

I was widowed at 47

not by death

but by divorce,

which is a death

all its own.

(At some point,)

At some point,

I was deemed worthy of

abandonment.

How I Roll

In the same hour,

I listened to a jazz album

recorded in 1924

and pre-ordered the debut record

of an indie pop artist

dropping on Aug. 2 of this year.

(Golden)

Golden:
A grandmother's love,
like the arms of the sun

(summertime snow)

summertime snow
cottonwood seeds
float, flit and blow

(I’m listening to)

I'm listening to

a harpist's album on my

way to a ska show.

(Your fingerprints are)

Your fingerprints are

still all over the house and

all over my heart.

(Little by little)

Little by little

every day, I let go of

you a little more.

Happily Thirsty

I tip the cornucopia of

sound to my mouth

and drink the music

in sonic swallows,

savoring every sip

and drip and greedy gulp,

knowing that I will

never get enough;

grinning all the more,

grateful that the sounds

abound and multiply galore.

I will never get my fill.

That is not a problem,

however, but, rather,

a good old-fashioned thrill.

(It still hurts to see)

It sill hurts to see

your Sure Jell and Lemon Pure

Paste in the pantry.

Paint Blobs and Age Spots

As I have continued to age,

my skin

has increasingly become

a sort of palette

that life

is using

to manifest

all manner

of odd growth,

like a surface 

on which a painter

squeezes blobs of pigment

and paint.