A digital living room

Opening a laptop
is like entering someone’s
digital living room

Browser tabs tell a story:
half-read articles,
something you thought
about buying, someone
you thought about
sleuthing

The potential
of what we could
learn / see
laugh at / watch
read / understand
be

pinned against
time & attention

Which is why
(and listen close)
we must close every tab
(every once and awhile)

Release those possibilities
Let it all go into the ether

 

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Longwood Gardens | Pennsylvania

 

The last sunset of summer

A slow breeze
brushes across
my cheek, sways
easily through
many leaves

Summer synonymous
with comfort

Warmth with
moderation, inviting
a couple of layers
or only one — both
will do

Abundant views
that look like paintings:

Bluish mountains revealed
(like magic) when the
clouds vanish midday

Liquid gold peeking
between buildings
obstructed by cranes
at dusk

 

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Seattle summers are delicious.

WILDFIRE SKIES

Once again,
in the height of summer
mountains shrink behind
curtains of haze
conjuring the familiar dread
of winter’s opaque skies

But it’s different, ominous
the way the sky brims
milk-white
replacing the meticulous
clear blue of
Seattle summer sky

Collectively we wonder,
the air feeling thicker
than usual, if this is
our new normal

The dim sun pressing
neon rays through
layers and layers
of crispy trees,
houses, anything
flammable

 

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Seattle, WA • Photo by Ryan Adams

THE HALLUCINATOR

The hallucinator sees
the contents of their mind

spread out before them,
like dusty old knickknacks

brought up from the basement
and strewn out in the front yard.

Their minds become a
kaleidoscope.

They look at their life
and see themselves
as a miracle.

An accidental poem by this article in The Atlantic.

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Volunteer Park Conservatory, Seattle

PHILADELPHIA, NAKED.

It is a wonder that my eyes
may see the city from such
varied perches, day to day:

By bus: elevated so that
I may gaze indulgently
into wet, dirt-caked
cavities of construction sites
hidden when I am

By bike: so that the flawed
contours of road, frenzied
traffic patterns spill soft
city breath on my cheeks,
ever still when I am

By foot: so that I may watch,
observe, stop at the apex of the
Walnut Street Bridge and see
(for the first time) clumps of
bright clothing, remnants
of bicycles, water bottles
sticking to the concrete
embankment below.