Joshua Keiter

We cannot always 
be together but 
together we will 
always be 

the grass beneath 
the stars above 
two of us between 
the living earth

words become tears 
time a memory 
cake becomes pictures 
we forget to take 

the cycle repeats 
even as it stills 
each pulse infinite 
unmeasured alone 

parts of the passing

The Quarter Horse 

Life is a bus ride 
through a new city 
listening to the story 
told by the driver 

each time a new rider 
steps on the bus 
the driver tells the story 
whole again the same way 

soon you are listening 
for the responses 
from your fellow passengers 
discovering the story 

for the very first time 
while you hear every 
repetition with a difference
the exuberant ride 

screeching to a halt 
you put in another quarter 
because after all you were 
riding a quarter horse

The latest report confirms 
what we knew all along which 
is that you cannot predict 
with any certainty the weather 

based on any solid interpretation 
of the facts as we know them 
at this time in the face of 
insurmountable odds 

be grateful the molasses 
you walk through on the way 
to the car remains breathable 
for now anyway for the time being 

while beings still roam the planet 
making terrible decisions 
that might be uneducated guesses 
checking the unpredictable 

which is completely foreseeable 
not to be undermined by any 
long range forecast that even 
if we knew would come to pass 

still leaves us gasping aghast

The consensus is certain 
humans are terrible at communicating 

half a year driving in this sort of city 
and I have yet to see someone using a turn signal 

even in this summer of cicadas 
why has no one invented the bug weather report?

follow the latest guidance based on 
irrefutable studies we’ll get around to publishing someday 

which also contradicts it turns out 
everything people could possibly misinterpret 

to mean whatever they want it to mean 
too many people following what they hear 

sneaking into their ears guileless and natural 
propaganda a self reinforcing cycle 

true facts apply as long as they are sound 
falling into forests where nobody can be found

What if we are the variant 
accelerating the loss 
of conditions that made us 
unique among creation 
wreaking destruction 
on a scale never before seen 
except on the microscopic 
ratio of cells in say a lung 
a respiratory system 
trees breathing the forest 
we have no hesitation in 
tearing down at our convenience 
no wonder replication 
enabled by such a situation 
homeless camped on the median 
asking for loose change 
as we rush back to the office 
we never wanted to return to 
so much energy expended on 
the opposite of our inclinations 
to stay still supine suffocating 
the thought of sharing this space 
with such a virus promulgating 
what humans habitually do 
infecting the air with bugs 
we have no choice but to cohabitate

Becoming convinced 
roads around here 
stay under construction 
for no other reason 

than manifesting 
eternal turnover 
traffic as a standstill 
evidence of the sudden 

clearing out after an event 
you would not expect 
would take forever 
however another detour 

around the next corner 
witnesses the same distress 
damaged cones upturned 
left lane closed merge left 

pay no mind to the blinking 
lights advancing along with 
the perfectly fine tarmac 
orange figures stand listless 

unsure what they are looking at