the elephant in the room.

what you swallow becomes what you think.
what you swallow becomes what you feel.

Monday, that’s the when I said I’d begin,
begin taking my new medicine.  three pills.

more than enough.

ten in the evening to be precise.  here,
set the alarm.  distractions are easy for me.

the brain is a survival machine.  but,
define the kaleidoscopic notions of survival.
in one way, that means maybe no pills
instead.  resistance is futile, they say.

imagination is painting paths that include
no harvest of medicines.  how do I get out
of these ropes?  consequences?  yes.

I’m not much for dramatic decisions.
but thoughts are busy butterflies.

the hour approaches.  years past when
they first said cancer I was not afraid.
still not.  but here, creative thoughts.

unkind.  ungenerous.  unconnected.

my blood is becoming confused and sour.
the remedy is toxic too.

do, don’t do.  I think I already know.
but I’m a cat in water with no traction
out.

when my mother’s late life dementia
became severe.  cruel in a manner of
thoughtlessness, better just letting go,
came the thought.

but really, would this be the last sunrise,
the last sunset?  not easy then to say.
not then.  not now.

reasons to go.  better reasons to stay.
let the universe call me home when
it wants.  I have a different job.

when it comes to writing poems I have
only one real rule.  don’t lie.

tell me, where do you see Paradise?

I may fall away from good seeing, but
that is me being blind.  the universe is
eyes open.  no fear.  no lies.  don’t lie.
 
 
      love loves difficult things  01

      the answer to joy is life
      the answer to sadness is being
      the answer to promise is spirit
      the answer to pain is love
 
 
good boy.  nice elephant.
 
 

01 This poem is a rephrasing of All This Joy written by John Denver.

    If life is a question, then the answer is…