Mtskheta, Georgia

The passing of time,
bleeds like an open wound,
refusing to clot, to still.

The moments come and go,
insignificant things, and
yet pregnant with import.

Bleeding, leaving behind
carcasses in desperate need
of transfusion, transcendence.

For this operation, there is
no wait list, no billions
that will stop the flow.

This oblique river stops
for no man, bleeding on
unchecked and without remorse.

Mało wiem

Yerevan, Armenia

I know not everything of this place
such have the die been cast,
scattering me and mine far away,
but the memories of some last.

A taste here, a smell there,
deep breathes of memory.

The smell of grape leaves in the air,
the taste of dough that sings to me.

I know little of the details,
my memories few and far between.
But I know that love prevails;
love for this place lives in me.


Somehow I knew,
that somewhere deep,
sand deep in ocean blue,
that the enemy of me
was the enemy in you.

Try and turn the tide,
and wash the murky
from your waters, but
the Ocean is what it wills,
a natural ebb and flow

of color. White only appears
as the wave kisses the shore,
a lovely glitter in a lovelier
canvas that cannot be undone.
Nature cannot be fought.


Watch the ebb and flow
the outrage come and go.

So easily we give yet more.
Just a bit, we let it go.

So when they come around
again, hands out and asking,

we slip out a little more
just a bit, we let it go.

Initial anger, then apathy.
Outrage, followed by release.

Why fight? It’s not so bad.
Why leave? Where’s the honor?

Quickly dissent becomes assent,
no one stands their ground for long.

Cowards in the cave, all warm,
for comfort they’d let it all go.

Watch the ebb and flow
the outrage come and go.