Everything you see
I am.
If you see me happy
I am.
If you see me cruel
I am.
If you see me lazy
I am.
If you see me brave
I am.
If you see me bright
I am.
If you see me sick
I am.
And everything you cannot see
I am.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?”)
Exhausted, hangry, horny,
Behind, beset, worried,
Impatient, nauseous, confused.
The day was spectacular
But my view kind of sucked.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “When I Heard at the Close of the Day”)
Seeing and seen,
Friends, unguarded
Sitting sharing round.
We ask each other
The deep questions,
Excavating worries,
Unearthing brilliance,
Metabolizing doubt.
Here we are together.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Base of All Metaphysics”)
Little dots of color
Red, green, blue
Turn on, turn off,
No shape or form
No stories to tell.
Yet, before me I see
Black and white,
Faces and things,
Comedy and tragedy,
Digital illusion.
-T. Weeks
(A response “Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances”)
A splendid treasure I have found,
As I wandered by the pond, lost.
It may have always been there
Or maybe it was left by another.
Shall I share what I’ve found?
It is spectacular and dangerous.
Or should I scrap it as blunder?
That might be safer, but for who?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “These I Singing in Spring”)
Why do you say you love democracy?Democracy will never love you.
Yes, it feels good when you’re lonely
But don’t expect tricks for free.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “For You, O Democracy”)
The desert holds a quiet disappointment,
The loan tree, silent misplaced hope,
A jackpot almost again and again.
Do poems tell anything about the poet,
Or just the transient passion of one night?
Do they also bloom in splendid desolation?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand”)
In a secret lonely place
Death will come to me
With a trowel not a scythe.
For what I leave is all I am
And I hope that’s fertile soil.
See the happy Sugar Skull
With blossoms and buds
Filling its empty sockets,
Painted naked bone
Vibrating in electric color,
And that long toothed grin
Cast in blooming satisfaction.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Scented Herbage of My Breast”)
Mischievous twins before me,
Option one and option two,
Both claiming black and white,
When I see only shallow gray.
How precious such ambiguity,
For I am free to paint my path.
If the wiser twin were clear
I’d be a prisoner to propriety.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As Adam Early in the Morning”)
• Hello?
– Oh, sorry, wrong number.
• You sound familiar.
– Really? That’s weird.
• Have you called before?
– Not that I know of.
• Hmmm, maybe I called you.
– Maybe.
• Until next time…
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Facing West
from California’s Shores”)
Life Immense 