Month: February 2017

Tyrants and matchsticks rattle in the glovebox
Chipseal crunches against balding tires
No lines define lanes but the vehicle knows
This side for going that side for coming
No navigator moves the wheel or accelerates
Backseat drivers act by committee
Voting bickering committing
“Stay on the road” their invocation
“Stay on the road” their benediction
Confident they will because they always have
Nobody sees the fork coming
It doesn’t matter
They wouldn’t know what to do anyway

-T. Weeks
(A response to “As at Thy Portals Also Death”)

Hello sun and waves
Hello wind and stars
Hello horizons and herds
Hello faces and flocks
Said the Universe to itself

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Song at Sunset”)

This creation is missing just one little piece
Hiding somewhere in the polychrome jumble
Diffusing out of sight with each scoop and sift
I’ve been searching for an hour
Combed every corner
Spread the collection across the floor
Hunted one by one
Yesterday it was in my hand and tossed back
Today it’s the only brick that matters

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thoughts”)

You don’t own me or my money
You’re just a stupid rectangle
Tapping its cursor
Mumbling “Forget your password?”
Under your snide breath
Don’t act like you’ve got somewhere else to be
I know you’re here all day
And I’m leading this dance
By the way I didn’t forget ‘MY’ password
I remember that one just fine
But you insisted on a special character
Which means I had to use not-my-password
So really I forgot ‘A’ password
By the way it was just one out of probably a hundred
So now we sit here staring each other down
Across a deserted pixel-paved highway
Fingers twitching waiting for the draw
Who wins this one?
Well definitely not you rectangle

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Ashes of Soldiers”)

Warm pancakes stack one upon the next
Floppy folding disks irregular at the edges
Hungry hands reach at the precessing tower
Pulling at the warmth of the fresh top
The ground floors cool to lukewarm
Bearing the burden of a lazy morning
Cake after cake comes out of the pan
The same almost
Layer after layer they lie on the plate
Golden tick marks counting time
Each suspended by their neighbors
All unaware that there’s such a thing as a stack

-T. Weeks
(A response to “As the Time Draws Nigh”)

Beds are stripped and the dryer is running
Trunks are bursting with dirty cloths and sleds
Kids restless and playing against the hour
Steadfast roads stretch and yawn
Everyone’s ready but slow to start
Worlds and lives wait for our return
Excited to see us and tell us everything we missed

-T. Weeks
(A response “A Clear Midnight”)

In the lee of a weekend
Emails and headlines
Stray into the conversation
Penumbra tokens
Intruders from an anxious world

We are almost free to laugh
To set down responsibility
To play with the moment
To speculate and wince
To leave work for tomorrow

-T. Weeks
(A response to “As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days”)

Cool against my sweaty brow I feel the breeze
Pouring through the open window of wild opportunity
Untamed rebellious hazardous hungry
The wildness draws fear and lust
Putting me in danger of glory and ruin alike
I cannot stay here but I am afraid to go
And so into the night I leap
Shards of hesitation swirling in my wake

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Thick-Sprinkled Bunting”)