Long and wide runs the highway
Carved eons before the land was here
There is only one road and this is it
No exits or rest stops or truck stops
Just a beginning and an end
Anxieties and emails buzz across the road
Only to splat across my windshield
Blocking the sunbaked periphery
I forget they were ever not there
Until a little sweat cleans the glass
Clearing my sight and the scene
-T. Weeks
(A response to “An Evening Lull“)
A night’s pain rolls in my stomach
Rolls into my gut and my brain and head
All I want to do is sleep
But the gears are slipping and grinding
Loud irreparable and deep
Medicine doesn’t help maybe even made it worse
What can I do but breath
Breath until my breath reaches the deep
Blurs the noise just enough to see it
It is a hill and every hill has a summit
No matter how much it tries to rise forever
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Now Precedent Songs, Farewell“)
There’s a joke I like to tell myself
The one about the wave that’s afraid of returning to the ocean
Yeah I know it’s silly
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Dismantled Ship“)
Life fills this house
Children arguing about Minecraft
Cat sitting on a cereal box
Plants green and vascular
Keep the soil from washing out beneath us
The Atlas of our home soundly napping
Setting the weight down for a minute
Only to shoulder it again in the next
-T. Weeks
(A response to “As the Greek’s Signal Flame“)
Another pen is empty
Milked for all its ideas
By thrust and parry
In a dance-off with entropy
It gave all it had
And all it had is in my sketchbook
Dried between pages
Covered in the entrails
Of pens before it
-T. Weeks
(A response to “The Dead Emperor“)
It seems like she needs some space
Rapid movements on stiff shoulders
Signal frustration or maybe anger
I understand
Sometimes I need space too
So I hang back and give her room
A peace offering
A gift of understanding
But my misophony efforts land hard
She is confused by my avoidance
Her splendid morning shadowed
Because I seem distant
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone“)
Many a great and inspiring bosses have I had
Idiosyncratic and wonderful and overworked
They have coached and advised and nudged
Fatigue and worry clinging to their ankles
While I am carried on their bending backs
Now I sit in a similar uncertain seat
Dealing in a currency of validation
Seeking wins and losses and stayings and goings
Keeping all our legs pumping in a direction
Any direction as long as it’s forward
-T. Weeks
(A response to “You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me“)
In the glass shade
Where questions lie still
After the long march
In that spot I’ll plant it
The last of all question marks
Set over it’s fallen comrades
To ponder forever their passing
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Twilight”)
In the shadow of tomorrow
Lurks a thing unknown
Gray periphery betray energy in the darkness
And obscure its form
Until the pop of a jack-in-the-box sunrise
Tears the curtain aside
And I see it clearly
For a millisecond
Even as it shrivels into the distance
In perfect hindsight and shifting definition
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Orange Buds by Mail from Florida“)
In the center of the room
In the center of our attention
A woman leaps
Out of and into the past
A dance a song a photograph
Channeling her mother
Imitating her father
Recalling friends and teachers
And after 80 tantric minutes
She is here and so are we
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Twenty Years”)
Life Immense 