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I bought a pair of glasses
To look like the masters.
Must be the wrong kind,
I still can’t see like them.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “To a Western Boy”)

Bombs away, let it drop,
Misguided enthusiasm
Falling from 10000 feet
Always finds its mark,
While manicured targets
Sleepily look on, pristine.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Sometimes with One I Love”)

Sitting above the tree line
Astride the troposphere
Lungs empty, head clear
Axis of the peripheral horizon
Freed from all, disconnected

Sitting below ancient pines
Cocooned in death and life
Senses alert, aware of struggle
Frail mammal pondering
Biosphere tenant, connected

Sitting at my equilateral desk
Under perennial glowing tubes
Filtering emails, grooming sand
Steward of profitable nonsense
Here I am now, everywhere

-T. Weeks
(A response to “To the East and to the West”)

Superlatives are the worst
But hyperbole kills me.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand?”)

Prayers and banners
Pageantry and libations
Community gathered
Officials hands raised
Sacrifice witnessed
Faith replenished
A single voice lifted
Their savior praised
GOOOOAAALLLL!

-T. Weeks
(A response to “I Dream’d in a Dream

A spinning molten nickel core
Generates the magnetic field
That drives solar radiation
To dance high in the polar sky.
Squeezed by gravity it burns,
Our subterranean dynamo,
Animating the magma sea.
Voracious continents,
Brooding oceans,
Aristocratic mountains,
All dimples in the ferrous crust,
Fertile exoskeletal flowerbed.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Earth, My Likeness”)

It’s hard to be mindful when you have to pee,
To be present in this moment with the universe,
While toes wiggle against a struggling bladder.
I see friends, hear laughter, feel the atmosphere.
Five minutes from now all that will be wonderful
Right now, in this moment, distractions all.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Leaf for Hand in Hand”)

Fiddle, bow, and banjo
Stomping green ancestral tunes.
Laughing scattered tables smile.
Stories eddy in lingering faces
While thinkers crowd vigilant
Over aspiring silver laptops.
Friends strangers passing
Together in one hearty shop.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “A Glimpse”)

Cracked, root riddled concrete,
Sprinkled with a confetti of insurgents.
Spouts of budding green innocence
Bursting from every sad jagged seam.

Lying amidst this embryonic forest,
A penny, tarnished, smooth, retired.
34 years afloat in the system,
Mediating countless transactions.

Your travels are lost my faux copper friend,
Tendered tenure of pockets and ash trays,
Unwitting watchman of wishes and wells,
Without a story you’ve become any penny.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “No Labor-Saving Machine”)

You’ll be comforted to know
My Bogeyman just barfed.
A patron of unforeseen doom,
Shadowed crusader of fright,
Glowing eyed minister of fear,
Is clutching the toilet bowl rim
Puking his sinister guts out.
The fog of fearing the specter
Lifted by a gastrointestinal spasm.

-T. Weeks
(A response to “Here the Frailest Leaves of Me”)