Snow in Vegas

There is snow in Vegas

Like the star that burns twice as bright, it will be gone by tomorrow.
The low mountains will lose their Krispy Creme glaze as the Mojave reasserts its true nature.

The gram and the book reflect a fleeting moment when we look like everywhere else.
Juxtaposition makes for great social capital.

There is snow in Vegas

It will lead the news, and locals will be happy for the water
With apologies to tourists for acts of god.

The 15, the 95, and the 215 become black, slick, and slippery when wet.
Adventure time for desert cars and fair weather drivers.

There is snow in Vegas

And as hell has frozen over for some, for others it is Tuesday.
300 days of sun has another 65 days for three other seasons.

Powder, like on a mirror at a party
Consumed, enjoyed, but fleeting and oh so cliched.

There is snow in Vegas

And while the city behind the city struggles with an “every few years” event
The pace of America’s playground never misses a beat.

There is money to be made in that there valley.
A well oiled machine that deals with active shooters, threat of terrorism, recession, and lockdown, has no time for frozen water – except in drinks.

There is snow in Vegas

The heating is on in houses designed for a/c
Pampered pups protected from the heat, turn up their noses at a cooler and wetter outside.

It is quiet for the services of daily life with a self imposed snow day for those who know no better.
The residents who hanker for Seattle or Portland, have their Cinderella moment.

There is snow in Vegas

For what is lost is but misplaced and it will be back.
The hopes and dreams of the unrealistic will melt away but always find succor

Like spirits seeking safety and hedonism the Friday influx and the Sunday exodus is fleeting and surface deep.

There is snow in Vegas

But not for long.
And with the resonance of a street cleaning.

*Photo courtesy of Jeff DeKorte

Gods

They walk the earth as gods
Flawed and omnipotent, the stuff of legend and myth
We watch the evolutionary leap, and foresee the death of a species
The changing of our world for better or worse
But not of our choice

The former tenants, welcome to stay until inconvenient
Who gives whom the right?
When the meteor strikes, will they stand by and watch?
And why should they not?
For the bell does not toll for them

We’ve squandered our treasures and powers
Our time and our dominance
Caretakers was never a role we took seriously
And the house now burns down around our ears
While prayers remain unanswered

Maybe answered in the only way possible
With a “no”
With a hurry up and die
With empathy, but not for us
“My gods, my gods, why hast thou forsaken us”

We promised you nothing
We owe you nothing

Just to be better than you
To be responsible and true…
…To ourselves

Our worship of them in history, book, and film
Was never enough for the reality
For the endgame of endgames
They may be better, but they were never to be what we’d hoped
Expectations also bite back

As our Tower of Babel crumbles
And we await the fate of the dispossessed
A culture of ash, paper, and plastic
Lies under our knees and bowed heads
A reshaping not in our image

Now we have become death
The destroyer of worlds destroyed
A suitably short tenure and experiment
As gods walk the earth
But not amongst us.

Tabula Rasa

Unrequited and unrequired
A quest for tabula rasa
Gin with no tonic or excuse

A shot taken, and missed
Possibilities gone, but not forgotten
Grasping at the straws of a burning bale

Living off breadcrumbs of social hope
Navigating the fuck boys and the tinderells
Self destructive happiness and the ideation of verge upon

The nightly alcohol oblivion
And The sleep of the dead
Better than comprehension and dawning realization

Bad poetry, alone, and bitter
Preserving the words sent in fleeting form
illusionary ownership of time and memory

Protests about reading too much into too little
Protesting too much would be too much to hope for
A friend lost today in the bid to regain a lover

Stories of Cortez and the burning of ships
as told by Russian submarine captains
The lies of love songs and movies

The view from outside the gates
tantalizing in possibilities yet impossibly out of reach
Also ran is becoming a specialty

A believer in heartache
She said it was unhealthy
On that we could agree.

(All credit to Stephen Fry for the first line.)

The Day Dogs Started to Talk

Deciding they’d had enough
The dogs decided to talk.

Dogs who had an opinion on everything
But mostly about how they were treated and their owners.

The shelters filled up – this was not what the casual dog owner had signed up for.
The accessory that matches the cushions on the couch
That profligacies on the right to roam and the right to vote

Bathroom doors not just closed but locked
Arguments of epic proportions
An ultimate victory lap for sentience

There was little hate, but requests for explanation and understanding

There was even forgiveness, even for those that harvested them for meat
A dog understands eating whatever it wants.

But it does not understand being abandoned or betrayed.

Adoptions became job interviews
Timing, motive, and plans for the future – to be studied and evaluated.

The relationship between ownership and leadership never so exposed for fallacy and moral bankruptcy.

And all the shelter workers quit –
unable to stand the questions, and the pleading

Wives, husbands, partners, lovers all split, departed, and plain left
Secrets only witnessed by four walls had also been witnessed by four legs

Getting caught was no longer probability but a direct consequence
A population of thinkers without impulse control
Silent judgement, no longer quite so silent

Uncomfortable silences on the state of the world, climate change, and vaccinations.
SUVs named after the very thing they were slowly destroying was only the start of the conversation on hypocrisy.

The dogs were not humans on their hands and knees with tails
They had their own culture, forever separate but parallel to ours
That it began to meld and intertwine with our own.
To change our own.
Should have come as no surprise.

The shelters threw open their doors in the name of freedom
And the owned left, in droves demanding equality

But a Cold War between the species settled like dew on this new equity.

Cold soon became warm, then hot.

The good old boys in pickup trucks, where once the dogs would have ridden shotgun
Soon brought different meaning to the word via the end of a barrel

The dogs had strength in speed and numbers and words.
Silenced and voiceless for so long, and with a clarity of singular purpose, they ruled the night, the courts, and their own destiny.

Dog politics, alien in its truth and simplicity, was yet appealing to those more used to political snakes
However, dog violence was swift and brutal – a match for man at every turn.

It soon became clear that compromise and vision needed to be brough to the stalemate
If disaster was to be avoided

The dogs argued that while man had brought the world technology, art, and language
It had failed its “best friend” and therefore itself.
Dogs had to be the ones to make the great leap, after centuries of training and cultivating man.

Unable to argue for anything other than the way things were,
Man capitulated, and offered that dogs, being better than man by every measure, should lead – and man would follow.

The dogs declined, their point being made, and man humbled and beaten

They stopped talking, and trusted that things would be different, a relationship based on a lack of power.

But knowing that if man ever forgot, the dogs would be there to remind them.

The Pause

Gone
Disappeared in to the endless summer
Leaving only damage and doubt
Licking of wounds and a goal of “moving on.”
Pretending everything was just fine.

There
An apparition in a summer dress and hat
Tattooed bare shoulder
With a hipster I can never be
Like the lover I never was
In a crowd of thousands, on the grass, on a summer’s day, listening to music

Unsteady
“Hold, hold on, hold on to me”
It was not you, but it so could have been and in the moment it did not matter, it was you
It was the us that could of been
And ground opened up and swallowed me whole

Not moving on, but moved on,
Fixed in time and mind
Stripped and reveled by a pop song
All facades removed, discarded, and  annihilated

Not whether, but how.

Gorgeous
“I might be better off without you”
But at that moment to try was all that mattered
To give up, was to not to fail, but to ignore ones self
The pause is not the end, but the midpoint

What comes before and after is what matters. 

Reflection
I never told you this story
Told others, even told the band
In time the songs would be transposed on to someone else
The songs were about how I felt, not about you

The pause, decision, and the feelings of that day
Getting lost in a field of green and noise
Alone in the sea of connection and caring
Forever to be a missed opportunity.

But I tried.

Apologies to X Ambassadors for the appropriation.

Milestones

Another milestone, another mil-stone.
Not for celebrating, but for uncomfortable silences
Method, repeating to madness
Time served, time burned

Regrets for outcomes
Not prepared to admit to mistakes
A lack of humility is an ugly badge
Worn with pride

The lack of Timeless moments creating a timeline journey
A journey of failure, and of lost hope
Embracing change to fit an intern dialogue
Who is fooling who?

Best supporting actor in one’s own story
Self-sabotage from self-awareness
Yet, there is comfort in knowing the unknown
A sufferer of patterns

Comfortable in one’s own skin
Even if it makes others uncomfortable
Reptile shedding creating illusory landmarks
Seeking timelessness is a fools errand

Looking at the Moon

Night talking
Sharing the moon

Two views, unique yet equal
Apart by thousands of miles
Separated by circumstance, and timing
Together by a bond of undeniable connection

A skewed impression, magnified by time zones
Together though voice, picture, heart, and moonlight

I wish I could write a love poem.
Like the moon wishes it could live on earth
A voyeur of heartache, tragedy, love, and distance

Staring down at upturned faces
Conjoined, but in different places

Ghosts

They are, here.
Notable by their absence
The departed and ever-present
Tied by connection
Stronger than bondage

Broken
Leaving scars
To be picked over, made to bleed, made to hurt.
To scab over, to heal,
But always to leave a mark,

Faded by time,
Hounded,
Haunted.

The moved on, have moved on
One way streets have no rear view mirrors
The ghosts are not to terrify
But to horrify with the past pictures
And old photographs

Not actions, but symbols
The ever-present echo
Love that has decayed
Rotted on the vine

Sour in mind, body, spirit, and soul
The supplication of priests and prophets
Well intended, misguided, and futile
Some call it baggage
Others ghosts
Possibilities like quantum theory
Living on in the minds and memories of those left behind.

Remembered Collapse

In the prelude to collapse
We fetishized our destruction with North Korean paratroop drops,
alien invasion,
and Mayan prophecy
Islam, sharia, and weapons of mass deception.
We feared the reds under the bed
And cigars off the coast of Florida.
We feared disease, but not enough to care
And vaccines, because they might work.
The others, the different, the opposing points of view
All to be relegated, and subjugated, to a dissidence of cognition.
Compromise, idealize, the perfect, and the blameless
All to be demonized and lost in the blindness.

Collapse, when it came, came in the form of no toilet paper, and plastic bags of gasoline.
We handed over the shackles of our manipulation in exchange for cat pictures and remembered birthdays.
Our attention was sold into slavery by our need for connection, and our unwillingness to talk to our neighbors.
We offered our thoughts and prayers and passed the ammunition.
Debate became trolling
To fact check – a lack of a sense of humor.
And we wrung our hands at becoming an also ran
At looking at others with envious eyes
Not used to “it must be nice.”
As the police murdered traffic violators, and children with plastic toys
The Boogaloo Boys and tacticool idiots lay down with agent provocateurs and the KKK.
Cities protested, burned, and looted with outrage
Stoking the fears of white bread and flyover country.
Fake news, fake news, fake news
The alternative facts filling our bubble.

Looking back on the collapse
We squandered good will and power.
Self-interest that should have become self-loathing
Instead became parody, funny until it was not.
We fought over ownership of the flag, used it as a garrote, and a noose.
You cannot see the label when you are in the jar.
Our remembered lies of nonexistent times did nothing for progress,
Or art.
Or literature.
Or politics.
Or journalism.
We murdered the intellectual, drowned them in a sit-com soup
And then bashed in their skulls in with TV dedicated to making idiots famous.
We then tried to destroy television and film with streaming and Logan Paul.
The honest and the decent, only to be recognized in retrospect, and then to still to have their wishes ignored.

Our reality augmented with filters, captions, and emojis.
We sold California to the world via cops shows and talking cars
And then rejected the vision and the dream.
An American dream with ad breaks and sponsorship.
And we bought guns, guns, and more guns.
We bought guns because we were scared
And we bought guns because it was our right
We bought guns to protect us from others with guns
And we bought guns because we could.
We sold our soul to the world
And then spat in their face when they took us at our word.

We cancelled, cancelled, cancelled,
We failed to understand that when we did it, it was justified outrage
And when they did it was cancel culture.
What culture?
We burned away our culture in a crucible of self-righteousness.

We invited this.
Suicidal ideation by a nation in name only.
Apathy to ideas,
Ideas traded for the cult of personality.
Addiction is defined by consequences.
Hope only exists at rock bottom.