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Thinking about chance a lot lately. I was trying to write awesome landscape poems, and I can’t do it. Not right now.

I don’t even know what to say about that except this:

It Happens Sometimes

It happens sometimes, that the boulders fall,
and sometimes they crush and sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes there is metastasis. Sometimes there is a motorcycle and a car.
Sometimes there is a small aircraft. Sometimes there are wild viruses.
It happens, sometimes, and that there is a grown-up lesson learned far too early, no matter the age,

It happens, so it happens, on occasion, that we say the wrong thing, or we roll our eyes, or shrug, or otherwise, it happens sometimes.
Sometimes we we do small things that carry over into always,
and sometimes we are embarrassed, and we are usually humiliated.
But sometimes it happens, all the worst of the un-imagined and forgotten day-mares. Sometimes it it happens,

it happens sometimes,
and chance is the big lesson then. If it happens by design
then we should be able to hear it in any and all music, but we don’t.
Not yet. It happens sometimes and we are reconciled to that,
but the worst fear realized surely confirms all the crazy ever thought entertained,

right? That seems right and reasonable, right? All the worries seem right tonight, and yet they are not, not at all, not even close to happening. Not right now.


Happy Thursday, poemies. I hope you know what I mean.