• 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”)
There’s that lonely broken survivor, nonchalant guitar,
Rowdy frets smoothed by riff upon riff of notes bent blue.
Feral anthoms sublimate into a downtown afternoon,
Liberated from the lazy watch of the faded pick guard.
Soulful impulses, puddling in my passing ear,
Rehydrate dormant victories as I walk on, a thief.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the Organ”)
Choosing what I’ll remember is like choosing what I’ll dream.
The moments, the people, the feelings, and places
Surface in a sieve, drawn from the fines of life impermanent,
A scattered totem of anecdotes pretending purpose.
I puzzle with this anagram of souvenirs tumbling inside,
Arrange and rearrange, arrange and rearrange,
With each iteration I laugh or cry or regret or feel reassured.
Oh look, a new piece, where does this one fit?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City”)
Tomorrow never was,
Yesterday never will be,
Now is the universe:
This moment, thought, and me.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Native Moments”)
Flowing
She officiates
Priestess of balance
Even breaths
Vinyasa
-T. Weeks
Bodies massive locked
In tandem dervish arcs,
Drifting in a cosmic tide,
United on the fabric time.
More massive orbs yet,
Sitting deeply in their well
Distort the membrane,
Drawing the dancers in.
Orbit upon orbit twirling,
Dimples in the cloth
Merge in a vast funnel,
The sloped rim calling.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “I Am He That Aches with Love”)
The subconscious mind,
Though non-discrete,
Is like a quantum world:
Intuited by metaphor,
Changed by observation,
Aglow in forbidden transitions.
-T. Weeks
Yonder sits old man me
Boiling pistons poised aflame,
Bald tires on rheumatic axels.
Grayed ozymandian appetites
Leveling snide taunts anew
At my ever-bowing ragged brow.
From whence shall joy spring,
If not lusty youthful ventures?
TBD.
-T. Weeks
(A response to “O Hymen! O Hymenee!”)
Steepled hills ever green,
Sown into a lounging heathered haze,
Eddy about a dew soaked valley,
Innocent of their frosted emerald seduction.
This place neither knows nor cares
About beauty or my languid praise.
It neither resents the dozing fog
Nor pines for summers fair.
I am born from the same earth
Shall I worry more?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “We Two, How Long We Were Fool’d”)
Lucifer sits, coat in hand,
Fumbling rusty aphorisms.
He chews a thumbnail
Too far down, ambivalent.
The captives, emancipated,
Shade their unadjusted eyes,
Ashamed of enlightenment
Homesick for their garden.
-T. Weeks
(Inspired by “Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals”)
Life Immense 