Posts for June 10, 2015

Mathematics. The square root
of all problems. a = a;
b = c; c = a; b == a;
as long as numbers have power
more than words, then
we are doomed;
& deserve our demise.
Arithmetic causes brain cancer,
& a general unhappiness.
It causes one to think more than
they do. To think they know
the answer. a^2 = b;
Noone knows the answer. a == 42;
     The real problem is that it gives a
     sense of security to those whom
     dwell too long in its realm. It
     makes them know more than
     others, but feel less. One who
     knows math can no longer be
     satisfied with the underpinning of
     minute and mundane things. They
     must cleanse themselves with
     broccoli and uncooked noodles.
     There is nothing we can do for
     them. They will meet the end of
     the geometric plane.

There is one practical use of math.
That is to see how many times
I can divide into you.

Poem 10, June 10

Ten Minutes

Last night I dreamed

that before I die

the doctor comes to me

& tells me I have

ten minutes to write a poem.

If you have dreamed

that you were about to die,

then you know what came over me.

I no more could write than I have

wings to fly. RIP, poem.

While starlings Chaplin-walk at Main and Lime
A sparrow hops among them, looking prime.

Beneath the surface
we shoot ink

as a defense
technique.

I watched The Day After Tomorrow 
on my first date 
with the Man of Steele, 

disaster flicks are kinda his thing.

At dinner I told him the movie’s moral: 
the keys to the survival of humankind 
are in the library. 

He laughed, 
tilted back his neck and chiseled chin, 
and grinned, 

then I knew I was sunk, 
and not even Superman could save me.

You can take a photograph
of your parents’ anniversary,
or the dog that followed you.
A woman you knew loved you
absolutely, positively, forever
who left without a last kiss.

You can take a photograph
and hang it in a silver frame,
or set it on an old oak dresser.
Keep it in a drawer where
no one else can look at it
except your mid-night tears. 

You can take a photograph,
then watch the sunsets fade it,
the dusts of autumns cover it.
And when it’s gone its way
so no one else will remember,
you will still see it everywhere.

The Cumberland River

sucks venom from heel blisters.

I hurl sopping boots (they soaked up

A whole summer storm 6 miles back).

They clonk

near a box turtle

who extracts her limbs,

her exposed head,

makes herself a boot.

She tilts an orange eye toward the sole,

Slides out a leg,

toes an inch, two, three

Away—

Forward–

surprised each time

she peeks through the safety

and lumbers on.

We pull up to the curb

Daddy jumps out and says

wait here honey, I’ll be out quickly.

Somewhere in downtown D.C.

stood this little hole in the wall office

with the sign Scottish Exit on the door.

Daddy returns and drives off.

We are on the way to sail his boat.

I ask him what he just did.

He explains that he pays

money to this group that works

hard to make euthanasia of humans

possible and legal, worldwide.

He tells me his views and why

he feels the importance of this group.

Daddy is older and suffering.

He has some type of throat cancer.

He is blind by macular degeneration.

He takes chemo and radiation.

He is already bald.

Daddy is weak.

Daddy does not want to die.

Daddy bounces back and feels better

until the cancer returns.

Daddy does the treatment over

Daddy is weaker this time and needs more help.

Daddy feels sick and can’t eat.

Daddy doesn’t want to die.

Daddy recovers and starts to do things.

Daddy buys a tank of helium.

Daddy puts the tank of helium in the trunk of his car.

Daddy asks his wife to help him when the time comes.

She is in denial and she will not help him,

she loves him. It is illegal to help him die.

She tries to care for him alone at home.

She is worried and under stress.

Daddy won’t go suck helium by himself.

I ask Daddy if he is fighting his mortality.

I tell Daddy that it is time.

Daddy does not want to die.

Daddy gets sick again.

This is the last time, he says

new treatment guaranteed to work.

Daddy says new chemicals won’t make him weak or sick.

They lied to him.

He falls and bumps his head he needs more help.

His wife struggles alone.

My brother and I visit Daddy.

He asks us if he is dying.

We tell him he is.

We tell him that it is ok to die.

We tell him to let go.

I tell him that he has never believed

that he should be a burden.

We tell him that he is a burden.

We tell Daddy’s wife to move Daddy.

Daddy must go to a nursing home.

Daddy falls at the nursing home.

Daddy goes to the hospital.

Daddy won’t die.

Daddy goes home.

Hospice helps Daddy’s pain.

Hospice helps Daddy’s wife.

Hospice Helps Daddy die!

We pull up to the curb

Daddy jumps out and says

wait here honey, I’ll be out quickly.

Somewhere in downtown D.C.

stood this little hole in the wall office

with the sign Scottish Exit on the door.

Daddy returns and drives off.

We are on the way to sail his boat.

I ask him what he just did.

He explains that he pays

money to this group that works

hard to make euthanasia of humans

possible and legal, worldwide.

He tells me his views and why

he feels the importance of this group.

Daddy is older and suffering.

He has some type of throat cancer.

He is blind by macular degeneration.

He takes chemo and radiation.

He is already bald.

Daddy is weak.

Daddy does not want to die.

Daddy bounces back and feels better

until the cancer returns.

Daddy does the treatment over

Daddy is weaker this time and needs more help.

Daddy feels sick and can’t eat.

Daddy doesn’t want to die.

Daddy recovers and starts to do things.

Daddy buys a tank of helium.

Daddy puts the tank of helium in the trunk of his car.

Daddy asks his wife to help him when the time comes.

She is in denial and she will not help him,

she loves him. It is illegal to help him die.

She tries to care for him alone at home.

She is worried and under stress.

Daddy won’t go suck helium by himself.

I ask Daddy if he is fighting his mortality.

I tell Daddy that it is time.

Daddy does not want to die.

Daddy gets sick again.

This is the last time, he says

new treatment guaranteed to work.

Daddy says new chemicals won’t make him weak or sick.

They lied to him.

He falls and bumps his head he needs more help.

His wife struggles alone.

My brother and I visit Daddy.

He asks us if he is dying.

We tell him he is.

We tell him that it is ok to die.

We tell him to let go.

I tell him that he has never believed

that he should be a burden.

We tell him that he is a burden.

We tell Daddy’s wife to move Daddy.

Daddy must go to a nursing home.

Daddy falls at the nursing home.

Daddy goes to the hospital.

Daddy won’t die.

Daddy goes home.

Hospice helps Daddy’s pain.

Hospice helps Daddy’s wife.

Hospice Helps Daddy die!

                – After Bernard DeVille’s “My Side of the Mountain”

O brother, my brother.  Sometimes
we must let sleeping dogs lie.  If you must
unearth that which has gone before,
let me offer you that which you cannot

uncover—a voice for the other
side; allow me, if you will, to speak

for the dead and gone—without ruffling
any but my own, dark feathers—

and so doing, allow what sleeps
to sleep, forevermore, without

the annoyance of dogs
returning to their folly.