What if everything did not conform

To what you thought

The blue sky was not blue

The clouds did not obscure the sun

Or lead to darkest night

What if the eyes of your love were not true

Or a man was really a woman and a woman a man

What if everything you thought you knew

Revealed that you were not even you

A flock of bIrds fly

To the bare tree in winter

They sing and fly on

Tiny invaders

Imps that serve your

Fears on a platter

What most disturbs

Brought near 

With quiet efficiency

Unless an angel of the mind

Drive them out

The real question is not

To be or not to be--

The question

Is how to be if

To be leads inexorably to not be--

To question if cessation is proper

Suggests infinite time--

But cessation is already there

Waiting

Slings and arrows, fardels,

They all disappear like a cloud

As if never there

Along with you

It's that thing about dying

It takes care of itself 

And everything else.

]

For those interested, an instagram page: playwrightskarlan.

This strange lassitude

A seductive somnolence

Where you fall off

Into lost days

With unfinished dreams

And the sound of rain

Portrait of a Lady (after Van der Weyden)

Her eyes steadily gazing

Past history, past death

Her features set 

In calm determination

Her fingers modestly clasping

For eternity

It is a noble art that imparts

Such tranquility to existence

The bold squirrel

Desperate for food

Gnaws at your bag

In belief that food is hidden

Not surprising that manners go

When hunger is severe

Body heavy

Drifting into sleep

The clouds are pillows

The earth your bed

Fatigue imposed by life

From rage and fear

Tiny rabbit

Poised before a bush

Heedless of the coming storm

You were left to fend for yourself

And now your sensitive ears 

Catch the sound of thunder

You and the squirrel

His brown eyes signaling recognition

He stands in begging posture

On his finely articulated feet

Imploring you as a brother

In a world we did not make

Or a shape we did not voluntarily assume

In a past life he could have been you with the bag of nuts

And you could have been the one with the fluffy tail and searching hard brown eyes

It is only reciprocity

It is the blue sky

Calm as graves

That impresses peace

You wander among the stones

And stare at a large white motionless

Cloud

The nervous twitching of the birds

Heads cocking and bobbing

Eyes scanning

Feathers ruffling

With beaks darting to inspect and clean

You throw food and they fly away 

Only to return with great caution

To get their free meal—

Such anxiety and suspicion is

Almost human 

You thrust a spear into time

But like water time absorbs the thrust

The moment of now becomes past

In the river of history

Everything enters but nothing comes out

Gliding to an obscure ocean

Where only memory can prevail

You walk the hills

Your steps heading

To the high mountains

The country of snow

Where eagles glide overhead

And ice clings to the trees

Where is the red bird?

Your astonishment, your joy?

You hear its song

But it’s hidden in the treetops

Shielded by clouds—

You wait the long day

For a glimpse

But are kept waiting in hope

A thin house in the distance

In mist and pale sunlight

Birds fly over

Dry, dusty grass

As you fall 

Awaking from a dream

The voice comes in the middle of the night

A voice without sound or words

Instructing you as you bolt from sleep

From a disturbing forgettable dream

That there is an end beyond the days

Of toys and sex and youthful longing

The wordless recognition

That the film you are in is not yours

And the director will call the shots

Until the film has run its course

When poison fills the porches of the ear

And corrupts the mind with a loss of trust

That can never be regained

Grievous doubt persists

And chills the heart

Love is a fantasy that cannot be stained

With reality

Waking up to hunger

The spur that sets the animals

To their games

An autumn leaf floating

And spinning in the chilling air

Tumbling to oblivion

Numb with the cold

Forgetting it is a leaf

Forgetting it is tumbling

Forgetting the oblivion

While the sun descends below the horizon.