In the Middle of Nowhere at All

Sounds like a country song, except
without the sentiment settling
at the bottom of every verse.

The horizon harrumphs flatly away in
every possible permutation of north,
south, east, west—testing distance and time.

You and I stand at the steady axis
of our grief-stricken lives, watching
our children stumble, fall, rise to fall again,

like mother, like daughter,
like father, so—so—like son.

Blank Document

And there you have it,
Two words tormenting
In their willful challenge,
Sassy and streetwise
Beyond their limited
Number of characters,
Cocksure, strutting,
Very much in your face,
Ace, turn up the bass
And hand over
The damned microphone,
You’re about to be schooled
In the fine old-time art
Of saying nothing (for,
Really, what’s left?) but
Making it sound so good
The pixels cling to the page
In something very much
Like love, like meaning,
Like a momentary, though
Fragmentary, stay.