A Glass 

Half Full

It’s an easy 

alteration, 

flipping 

an hourglass

midstream 

before time

runs out

and we wake

from our dream.

As if time

were made 

of sand 

or wine

or stout.

The trick

is to exist 

between less

and plenty;

because 

a glass 

half full is

a glass

half empty.

How easy 

it is to be 

fulfilled,

yet drained, 

while the life

in our lives 

need still

be maintained 

no matter 

what we lack

or what 

may come,

as long as

there’s nothing

new under

the sun.

The trick

is to exist 

between less

and plenty;

a glass 

half full 

is a glass

half empty.

It’s a delicate

balance,

this patience

to persevere,

with just

the right talents

we may 

overturn

our fears. 

The trick

is to exist 

between less

and plenty;

a glass 

half full 

is a glass

half empty.

Do we dig 

in our heels

or put on 

the breaks?

Life goes

by fast, so

there’s no

time to waste! 

Do we have

faith in a wind 

that blows

us North 

and

not South

like a will

borne of

wanting

what we’ve

always done

without?

The trick

is to exist 

between less

and plenty;

a glass 

half full 

is a glass

half empty.

This feeling 

that nothing 

will be given 

without 

endeavoring

to make 

it so

with no need

for finagling.

To trust

in a God

like the money

says,

allow fate

to arrive without

undo distress.

If the trick

is to exist 

between plenty

and less;

a glass 

half empty

is a glass

at it's best.

11/22/21

 

Le Questionnaire 

du Surréaliste

The following are questions 

meant to unlock your soul

and dethrone your mind. Read

with caution as there may be

questions you’ll find your 

reason unqualified to answer

for risk of collapse!

What does it mean to be a serious person

and would it necessarily entail a 

serious reappraisal of both joy and sorrow?

Which of your greatest strengths were 

born from a recalcitrant inferiority?

Which answer best reflects your inner life? 

A) Your outer life.  B) Your face.

C) Your dreams.  D) Your words.

E) Your discriminating taste.

How does the law of compensation 

manifest in your problem-solving?

If it’s best never to look at your watch

when running late, then why do it?

Have you ever been hospitalized or 

institutionalized because you were 

too in love?

Should an odor taste like it smells? 

If so, name something that does

not rhyme with its appearance.

Did you know there is an octave 

in perfume the same as in music?

If sentimentality is the shadow of cruelty,

what shadow does the self cast? 

Have you ever questioned the efficacy 

of a prayer that arises from ego, fear,

or vanity?

Have you ever realized you were asleep 

by taking being awake for granted?

If you were to assign a color to silence

which color would it be? 

Have you ever rearranged your

environment in hopes of changing

your inner state?

What are the hours of the day 

you feel most alive?

Do you think colors could effectively

categorize feelings?

Do you believe weathers are 

the emotions of the earth?

Do you ever smell a sound 

and think of death?

Have you ever walked into a new shop

and felt the self consciousness of

the employees so deeply you wanted 

to cry?

How often do you question your privilege?

Have you ever left your body and

worried you might not remember

how to return? 

Have you ever felt everyday conversations

an inappropriate receptacle for your best

thoughts?

What percentage of words do you find

are meant to confide and/or conceal the truth?

This world is most like a _________.

A) Hospital  B) School  C) Church  D) Playground 

E) Museum  F) Psyche Ward  G) All of the above  

H) None of the above  

Which do you most resemble on the inside?

A) Predatory animal  B) Flower  C) Weed  D) Poem

F) Filing Cabinet  G) Student  H) Teacher

Which genre is best suited to chart

the arc of your life? 

A) Diary  B) Memoir  C) Movie  D) Docudrama 

E) “How To” Manual  F) Cautionary Tale

Are your heroes dead or alive? Do you

still have any and if so, why?

When you think of beauty, what is the

first prerequisite quality that occurs to you?

Is health a qualification for superficiality?

If you could take off your name

and dip your face in a stream

would you be ready to accept

all that would want to fill you?

11/4/21

 

Art

of the

Antibody

i

My bed, a hospital bed.

My sleep, a remedy.

This is how I work

with the universe,

by allowing angels 

to operate.

Sleep, my anesthetic.

Once under,

the surgery begins.

Serving a greater good

was not my youthful intention.

I am as selfish as the next,

encouraged by an errant 

culture. Everything a bait for

choice and self expression.

But a dream is choice-less;

the way of a leaf in wind.

I was born in Selfservia;

a country that is nothing

if not self aggrandizing.

I was born to individuate.

Illness is my muse.

From the very beginning I had

immense capacity for joy.

It sprung from disparity:

a sorrow of circumstance.

I felt the fate of things

having been discarded,

an inconvenient child. 

If a thing is valued for

it’s beauty, usefulness, 

or cost, we are objects.

But I am not an object.

I am an antibody.

ii

Our mission, a holy one;

to incorporate and disperse.

But first we must live as one.

One with things and people 

outside and all around us.

One we contain within;

a dream within a dream.

One we remember fondly.

One we recall with regret.

One we wish for.

One we deal with.

One we are afraid of.

One we escape from.

One we can’t escape.

One we return to.

One we come back from.

One you see.

One we show.

One we hide.

iii

To dream is to

perform our illness

on a stage

as both

play and patron

and most of all

player. 

In the first stage

my bike is stolen

and I’m stranded.

I need a vessel 

to do what I 

need to do.

With nowhere to go

I pass the time

halfheartedly hovering 

over a puzzle

whose pieces 

float up to

the surface 

alongside images 

awaiting inclusion

in a

more authentic

work of art.

Both suspended 

and in suspense,

I live under arrest

for living life 

as if I were

dreaming as well.

In stage three

a plane falls 

from the sky 

beside me,

the impact 

so violent

there’s nothing left

of the plane 

or any of its 

passengers,

as if the ground 

had swallowed 

a dead thing 

with wings.

My double arrives

on the periphery 

taking an interest 

in my puzzle,

dabbing at the pieces

in order to lock

them in place.

I allow 

my double

to dabble,

turning away 

ill at ease 

at being stuck 

in this place 

without a bike

to take me

to the touchstones

of time and space. 

Turning

back I find

my puzzle

whole.

How’d you do that?

My double says 

something 

I can’t hear

though I pretend 

to hear

and then I 

ask my twin

his name.

What does it matter? 

What will that do?

“I need to

call you something.” 

I notice my double 

scrutinizing my

impromptu attempt

at art

like a spy 

gleaning for clues.

I tell my twin

I lost 

my agency

in stage one, 

even though

this was stage two 

and there was

no assurance

of a stage three

we might

reunite in.

My double too 

had had 

something taken 

from him.

So we are

both in the same 

imaginary boat

on a fabric

of water

without an oar

between us,

let alone

a bike.

My double says, 

unbidden:

No worries,

we are many,

you and I.

One with things 

and others

outside and 

all around us.

One we have 

within us,

a dream within 

a dream.

One we remember.

One we wish for.

One we deal with.

One we are afraid of.

One we escape from.

One we escape toward.

One we return to.

One we return from.

One we create in.

One we perform.

One we observe.

One we move on from.

One we wake up from.

 

My twin continues:

In this operating

theatre,

habits, meals,

jobs, pastimes,

hold no weight. 

All that matters

is what we

let go of.

Yet, at this stage

we can’t make

anything happen

without incorporation,

while life goes on

being a grace

granted only 

through 

surrender.

11/1/21