illusions
that by tossing 70s photos
I could erase my dilated eyes
valium-laced smile from mind;
that palming the shot of mom
and me on her garden retaining
wall now might allow me to feel
her hand on my hip, hugging
Once, I saw
every death in a novel
marked with post-its for future reference
and a human tear
under a microscope
I watched a young deer
hop over a tall barbed wire fence
whithout a scratch
I saw the seige of Baghdad
on a T.V. the size of a microwave
the older folks thought nothing of that
I’ve seen politicians and actors come and go
but those cartoon characters have it too easy
An article in Rolling Stone
once asked me
“What does Beatle-mania look like?”
well I don’t know from experience
however a cigarette butt just fell out of the tray
and landed right out of McCartney’s reach
on the opposite page
once, I remember,I was listening
to Johnny Cash singing his cover of “Redemption Song”
while I mopped the floor of that little shop
after closing time
with all the lights off
except for a faint glimmer
coming from the humming drink coolers
it was the best time to be alone
but never lonely
to remember i’d been saved ,once long ago
but everyone knew that was a lie
to be singing along with Johnny Cash
songs of redemption
like we both really meant it
Day 1
Slipped by like any other day-
long of work, easy evening with the dogs
on the sofa-
T.V. shows
so memorable I can’t recall what
they were or who they starred-
My wife reminded me
“Today is the day”
I brushed it off like light snow,
sure day two could be the turning storm.
Day 2
I thought about day one
in the shower and on
the drive to work.
I mulled my thoughts with
clove and cinnamon and orange
drank my own Kool-Aid wine-
Dribbled out how day one felt
more like day zero, the day
before a beginning-
the day to find the wellspring
contemplate origins
marvel at the masterpieces and
failures sure to come.
Day zero is a place to start, too.
Day 3
Work.
Penne. Pesto.
Pasta. Perform.
Smile. Smile. Smile.
Sleep and write
tomorrow.
Day 4
I told my wife,
who is diligent and loving
with her own muse,
I would write the words today.
Get them on paper,
that was the plan.
Day Four did not go according to plan.
Day 5
Finally
Five inky rings of golden Christmas words
The desolation of smoggy mind
I reminded my wife
Sometimes you write poop
to get to the gold
You sift through the silt to find the flakes
And I knew
If I really do want this chance
to harness the flimsy word flotsam
flowing through my showers and
swimming backwards through my brain
Now
is the moment to grab them
to play with them while they’re still malleable,
hammer something out,
before they completely dissolve
into the nether-verse of never verse
were someone to ask you
what you missed most
your thoughts would always
turn to her,
peering at you from over
a book of neruda,
eyes begging you
to give her
kind of love
she read about
in his poems
We sent her a card
to the hospital
where she is locked away
I know that girl
We said some kind words,
trying to ease her child mind
for a few minutes
I know that girl
She sits lonely near the window
in that big, big room
looking at the gray world
I know that girl
She thinks of the windows,
but they’re unbreakable,
they tell her it’s been tried
I know that girl
It’s night again
and she lays awake
afraid of what might happen
between those fifteen minute checks
I know that girl
They’ll watch him, they tell her
he won’t put his hands on you –
there is no way
I know that girl
We sent her a card and
I don’t know her at all,
but if I’m being honest,
I know that girl.
She knows me.
We are, we are.
September
through December
you stood in line at the
Kmart Layaway
to pay off my Christmas gifts with
$5 and $10 bills that you
carved out so
laboriously from his
factory paycheck
because that was your
love letter to your daughter
