I’m not here to be cynical or sophisticated.

I don’t write poetry to be cute.

I don’t own a tweed jacket or a bowtie.

The world is my university, life is my tuition.

The woods, the beach, the road, silence, work –

these are my professors.


In my bristling youth

music and poetry were my formal education.

An adventurous mind was the requirement,

learning about girls and how to handle them was my elective.

While you were sleeping the slumber of 3000 cats

I went from rooftop to rooftop on my high trip.


Because of all this,

my resume is a blank sheet of paper

with a Japanese poem for a watermark.

I do my best to remain hopeful and simple,

though endless exploding galaxies

don’t let me forget my overwhelming insignificance.

I am aware of what lies beyond words

and outside of them,

but I stay because they comfort me,

because I am ever confounded

by the terror and beauty that walk with them.

They don’t belong to me, or to anyone –

we all just put them in the order we see fit.



One thought on “Providence

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