Between real and eternity

England New

mixes give-in in its resilient pride

is itself once

certainty in doubt shines and decays

certainty in doubt shines and decays

remains in its transcendence

 

Saratoga smells old dry wood and copper baking tins

Dust

Dust is only unevenly

A fish and a jelly mold

Cragsmor sounds of woodpecker knows

Is always autumn

Birch bark crust

and grass

all brittle with crows

 

I think I should hear the rustle of sheep

Or cow bells

Clink

clonk

Footsteps can carry so much

 

Sometimes its hard to tell if I am where

How far can I travel in a look?

Appalachian hills are frightening when they close

It sticks in me they close in on many

Such is seduction

Paradise and turmoil still

History

dispels when it’s too much to forget

“of disillusion”

you should take

without shame is the gift

of being oneself

 

that is

unselfed

 

a light showed through a chink of darkness

and spoke in many tongues and none

find what never exhaust in giving

 

i am food

the eater of food

a rapture in consumption

Waddles and Breakfast

This was in

a pause

for realizing

when until then

inexplicable

wraps upon you

like the scent of our loved and dead

or floors in spurious quiet

a perfume that wafts about that someplace

sojourning ghosts

fugitive violets

fingers tip

i would prod my mother’s mother on her smoking couch

to waddle the flesh beneath her arm

thick grandma glasses resting on book-side table

a mystery novel

i’m unsure how well my innocence brokered the deal for waddles

not often

and then even, i learned the pressure in the air

when, despite themselves, thoughts

won’t be held back in their skin.

one morsel in my stew

a limit on love

wafting

on the merry go plumping

and I thought with the sweetest mix of nostalgia and promise

life would be all bands of gold

if I could play with dirt and doodles

after waddles and breakfast.

The economy has grown bored of the University

The economy is bored with the university – The expendable faculty majority.

The outcry is unavoidable, and its message though varied in circumstance, is largely the same – I am an adjunct professor and I am struggling.  Remarkably, the tensions have caused enough stir to illicit a report from the House Education and Workforce Committee, not to mention nearly every university organization across the country.  Terms like abuse and exploitation are bandied around the topic without pause, and unfortunately, I suspect the noisemaking is more akin to a toothache signaling heart disease than a begrudging cold.  We all want a way to support our communities, follow and share our passions and live without a constant fear of illness.  Yet, while these aspirations have historically been ripped from beneath the feet of the uneducated classes, it seems we are now seeing the black hole of debt gobbling further up the ladder.

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