Posts for June 26, 2017 (page 5)

The weather’s been good but
some of the trees are dropping
them early and small anyway
two of them fit just right in my hand
I roll them around each other
like a binary star or some kind
of Appalachian worry beads
as I walk through the green shade
of early morning every few minutes
raising my fist to my nose eyes closed
huffing my way back through time
to my Aunt Jane’s impossibly
long and slow rope swing that
hung from their giant walnut tree
the smell of Summer’s fever broken
to nights finally cool enough to 
rapidly walk and excitedly talk
with my two best friends about
the cute new girl in geometry class
the smoke from our unfiltered Camels
competing with the dark fragrance
of the trees we passed beneath
and to years after that when
I used  the nice round ones for
showing my kid how to juggle.

zhe will seek out seeking not as a seeker
that flits from flower to flower
or like a jesus bug that skims across the water
but as a whale that dives deep deep beyond
the realms of sunlight that knows it will not
find the ancient kraken’s lair
until it vanquishes the horde of ghost squid
sent to drag it down to feed the sleeper sharks
& squat lobsters, the hagfish & the osedax
zhe is a seeker that knows to roam
the depths in search of these silent raptors
that hide in the pressure folds & glide
through the fissures to strike the heart & the head
once breath is just a memory is folly & failure
& but a shameless tempting of god
zhe is a seeker whose search is a dive
that looks just like folly, like failure like a taunt

Before you in my previous life I was radioactive I was infectious I was a biohazard a leper a pile of humming bloody meat my liver was a vibrating lump of viscous rot a scarred and scarring hunk of virus I was a hep cat a death-filled hipster a rickety stack of hollow bones and none of this was from needles or burning dust from opioids or jailhouse ink from fucked mouth or ass but simply from being fucked over from being born mostly baked but not quite done from being born with the heart of an elephant that’s been shot with a rifle leaving a bleeding gaping hole where my beating life should be from being born partial and the surgery was a success the surgery patched the perforation the surgery stapled my sternum and attached my artery to itself and also by the way transfused poison into my veins the virus young and virile and ecstatic for such fresh meat the hepatitis seeing a buffet and feasting for two-and-a-half decades while I fattened myself and bathed in bourbon and gave exercise a hearty laugh the hepatitis festered and thrived the hepatitis scratched the days into the walls of my liver like a prisoner waiting for parole the hepatitis seeped into my muscles and tendons into my eyes and teeth into my brain and soul the hepatitis became me

During you I dragged ass I slept at five pm I lived half-days and full nights in bed I ate less I talked less and all the while I cared for my son and pregnant wife I taught high school students I walked the dog and scooped her shit I cleaned the house and washed the dishes I wrote poetry and essays about you I held you in my hand careful not to lose a single you not to damage an atom of you I held you in my hand and absorbed everything you meant the diamond shape of you the tan shade of you the weightless weight of you I wondered if the exhaustion was worth it if the nausea and aches were worth it and then I watched my son watching television I held my palm against my wife’s stomach I looked at the pale raccoon- eyed man in the mirror I saw a man with a healthy reason to break free from the chains of this charred organ I saw a father and husband ready to truly be a father and husband and not just half a man with half a life to live

After you I touched my scarred liver and knew that the bleeding had stopped I held my newborn and danced to jazz I felt complete I felt whole for the first time I danced a free man I danced and lived I lived I live

after the storm

we sip strong coffee

watching

rainbows pop across the sky

sunrise on morning glories

my sister called again last night
I’ve seen her once in eight years
she left eight years ago
at this point she has been
away from her kids
 longer than she was with them
my sister called again last night 
 I don’t know why it doesn’t hurt, 
why nothing has hurt in years ?
she’s always loved too much
the tattoo she put on herself 
in the bathroom from shampoo, 
ciggarette ash and a needle heated w a Bic
I can’t imagine loving any man that much, 
not half that much. 
He was going to show her the world, 
but not with her kids
 so far he has showed her a hick town in Texas
and the butt of his gun 
Sis was like a rose bush 
you tie to a post, 
really she was like two rose bushes
you tie to one post to make it seem bigger
but her two sides, they never came together 
She called again, and I can’t remember 
the reason. I keep forgetting.
all the while I can’t let it go , either 

THE RIVER’S ROAR

There is a peacefulness about a river flowing,
so long as it is content to stay within
its banks and follow its channel downstream.
But when the river swells with water from
heavy rains in the distant hills
from which it winds,
and it escapes the banks that held it,
it grows horns and emits an awful roar,
then exerts its might, pulls all rootless
things within its reach into its frothy,
braiding currents and
pushes untold tons of earth downstream.
And in its roar you can hear a warning:
“Dip your feet in my deep water and
you’ll take your last ride on this big river.”

Finally,
I’ve learned the lesson:
“Fall quickly in love
then
painlessly fall out“.

Anyone to test me?

                             Zlatna Kostova

Feet feel like bags of broken glass
Toenails like they are coming off
Peeling
A little at a time
Then all-at-once
Legs and ankles jerk
Stabbing pain
Then gone
Fingertips numb
Yet intermittently
Pulsating
Tiny electric jolts
Zittt!  Zittt!  Zittt!
(Usually in threes)
Learning to live with it.

I said love is slow
and dumb.
David Bowie’s Starman
played on the radio.
The mathematician didn’t have an accent
but a smartly hidden lisp.

I called you and sat in the parking lot
of a funeral home
off Preston and told you
everything I couldn’t
for half a decade. The
mathematician had told me
about twin primes. The thing is,
math couldn’t guarantee
better than 246, but
large twin primes exist. Somehow,
I needed to call you and announce
that it’s a short time
on the rock
and I’m a good woman
who loves you.

The world is falling apart but
I will wake up, have a smoothie,
take a vitamin supplement,
do some yoga. I will still be
in the same spot
no matter what I said
driving down 64.
We will either make love
or never
make love again 

&
k will still equal one.

Most see distance and silence.
I see caution and brilliance.  

There’s a security check, background check,
reference check, and probationary time before
being granted a ticket into her world.  

Introverted, introspective
seemingly serious, reluctant.
She keeps treasure hidden—
the map too—unless
she chooses to share with you.
She cares not for explanation.  

When she laughs with the fortunate,
a sliver of shimmer splits the world
wide open and her personality, humor,
sincerity, and generosity are exposed
and burst forth from her golden chest.
 
I’ve known her sparkle since the beginning,
have passed all the checks
here in the middle,
have been handed down invaluable riches–
a lifetime pass for time, closeness and conversation
in her charming world.
I love to hear her laugh
and delight in her character.

She’s takes after her mother.