The Clothes’ New Khan

The skirt of what is
Is what seems to be.

It’s not that what is
Is bare, it’s just what’s

Not there in the skirt.
What’s not wears the fringe

Of what seems to be,
Since not is as close

As seems gets to be
To what is as is.

The Khan is not well
Dressed; there is no Khan.

Dire

It’s a dire choice most who make
Don’t know they’ve made or had it
To make—claim you have some choice

And pay for that choice in guilt
And shame, or note that the truth
Is you have no strength to choose

And live with that, and the blame
That comes with it. Make no choice,
You’ll do your best to have both—

Feel like you can choose and did,
So long as things go half well;
Back off and throw up your hands

Each time it all goes to hell.
You try this when you’re still young.
You try it straight through your prime.

You will try this when you’re old.
If you choose to have a choice,
You don’t want to have a choice.

Have Lost or Do Not Learn

For want of time,
Last year was lost,
For want of last
Year, school was lost,

For want of school,
The arts were lost
Of books and math
Or what were years.

For want of arts,
The peace was lost
To those could not
Parse news and views.

For want of peace,
All love was lost
For who was not
At war for you.

We Aren’t but by Turns

As none stay still,
There is no be,
No firm to be.
There is like this,

More like, like less.
There is no is.
The waves roll out.
The waves roll in.

They hold no place,
No start, no end.
At most they turn
To force or fire,

To crash or burn
In waves like them
But not the waves
They were. They turn.