all i am has been paid for
by things i have been given


all i have done
and all i have been
is my currency

but no
it is not all current

i have let go of things
left them in the past
all i have done
and all i have been
is my pastcy

my currency
does not include
wounds that have healed
all that has been forgiven
nor times i have changed my mind
lessons i have learned

all that is
ripples dissipated
on the pond of my being
my past is my pastcy

only my current
where i hold my tenancy
that is my true currency

my hopes
these dreams

all like culling credit
they are my futurecy

yet of these three
only currency truly exists

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there must have been
a moment when
i first saw
this person you are

i remember you
truly i do
whether i shook your paw
or chatted from afar

but here’s the thing
to admit it does sting
i couldn’t draw
each freckle or scar

the you i think i know
i wouldn’t be able to show
any semblance of likeness
sketched with pencil or char

many moments i recall
fragments i remember
pieces of you i recollect
barely a sketchy avatar

i hope you don’t mind
but perhaps i’m faceblind
i’ve seen your smile, beheld your eyes
but in my memory you’re in disguise

your face is like the ocean
i haven’t the faintest notion
swimming swimming
in this ocean brimming

adrift upon this sea of nope
i chance upon an island of hope
an anchor on which to snag
a mast on which to raise a flag

perhaps i know your nose
or maybe your patented pose
alas, as i try to remember more
i am adrift, no sight of shore

your face is like the ocean
i haven’t the faintest notion
swimming swimming
in this ocean brimming

your face is like a trusted book
that’s hidden in a secret nook
locked in my mind’s library
deep in stacks i cannot see

your face is like a familiar page
of a book written by a sage
so many words are written there
i stand agape, can only stare

what is this prosopagnosia
but some facial amnesia
so i try, i try to read you
each time i see you

i notice your clothes and stare
i take a good look at your hair
distracted by these notes
jotted in the margins

clinging to the coastlines of the page
i cannot see the sea at the center
so many words like waves a-rage
the story of your face is washed away

i remember details so few
i know what i must do
i resolve to look at you anew
i shall notice the true you

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Happy Equinox

Happy Equinox! Here is a note I shared four years ago. While the Hobbit 100 day reference might not be relevant today, I though I would share this again anyway. I hope you have a great day!

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Equus who?
Equus Knox.
Very funny.
Well, I am a zebra.
White with black stripes, or black with white stripes?
You’ve seen Jack and Meg?
You’re digressing.
The sun is.
It’s the earth really.
Only from a northern perspective.
Well, Happy Equinox, then.
Happy qiū fēn, 秋分.
Happy First Point of Aries.
Happy Trumpet Day.
Happy Hobbit Day.
Are they really happy?
Only 100 days left.
Less than that, actually.
Of the year, I mean.
You’re not mean.
Sure are, totally average.
Night and day. Right.
Happy qiū fēn, 秋分.
Happy Equinox.
Are you regressing?
That’s a matter of opinion.
Are you a northerner or southerner?
Ah, hemispheric.
Knock, knock.

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dance of kismet

tender clouds
soft to the touch
grace the predawn
moonlit sky

orion peeks out
from a veil of white
dancing with the moon
in radiant light

the hunter waits
for the perfect sight
hunting hearts
this moonlit night

the dancers glide
through love-locked transit
hearts stolen by
celestial bandit

transient water wisps
these aeons-lovers hide
timeless and fleeting met
in beauteous dance of kismet

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boldly go

you hung upon my ceiling
sailed between the stars
explored strange new worlds
to teach us more of ours

eagerly i was stealing
glimpses of a hopeful future
this bold new enterprise
and tribbles that would purr

our hopes you were annealing
through missions of this premier crew
the original starshippers
people we felt we knew

i couldn’t shake the feeling
inspired by your treks
that soon we all would work
in worlds both near and far

looking up at our zenith
red blue and gold all greyscale
you’d beam into our lives
aboard our tiny speck

transported to other worlds
into tales both old and new
you made us feel at home
as though we had joined the crew

and after these fifty years
through all the crews and seasons
a good ten mission’s time
may your future continue anew

boldly blazing new trails
guiding us with new tales
to places we have
never gone before

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skeleton mingo
stalks across the yard
leading spooky flock
deathly entourage

foregone faux feathers pink
with plumage black as ink
watchers haunting to the brink
render all unable to think

curved beaks
like scimitars
emit their hellish
cutting calls

their committee
is adjourned
as to their pluckish
work they turn

they strut upon
their hookish daggers
flaunting with such
arrogant swaggers

they stride into the scattered fray
survivors captured in their thrall
everyone shall become their prey
no one leaves the blackmingo ball

enshrouded by their inky plumage
none left to assess the damage
every bone, heart, and brain they take
this flock leave nothing in their wake

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spice of lightning

flash of light
moonlit night
silent might
out of sight

echoes of déjà vu
lueur de déjà vous
mem’ries of déjà you
treacle of déjà yew

lightning flash
creative cache
secret stash
batted lash

horizon shimmer
beguiling glimmer
sky grows dimmer
stove cools to simmer

sunset sighting
moonlight delighting
summer seasoning
spice of lightning

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