Dealing

t rasa

Tonight, a waxing gibbous,
thermometer at seven below
and a big-assed boulder
hell-bent for Mars.

Forty years ago,
I could have used a stiff reminder
of my ephemeral tenure here.
Now, reminders surround me

like Pandora's plagues.
I awake with the feeling
of a gun at my head,
cringing into daylight.

I blame the preacher,
Disney, Santa and rabbit eggs.
Mom and dad
had a hand there too.

I shake it off by noon
reading Stephen Wolfram
with no hope of comprehension.
That seems the trick.

Fill up my mind
with the incomprehensible,
crowd the known into the void.
Safe to the next dawn.