Posts for June 11, 2019 (page 4)

I like

when my nail polish chips

because it looks like a Rorschach test.

And I like

finding pictures in my beer foam,

like you do clouds.

I love

the smell of old books

and

fresh cut grass

and I love

taking pictures

of the sunset

and

sunrise.

I want

my house feel like a home.

I want

to plant a garden

and buy chickens

and bees

and plant fruit trees

but wanting

to sleep

outweighs  my motivation

to do those things.

I worry

about my kids

and that I am not home a lot

and I think

I need to make more time

but

any time make

will have to come from

somewhere

and I don’t know

where

to take it from.

I get nervous when the dogs
bite ate each other’s faces
and I’m nearby, on the couch
watching tv. They snap their little 
boney teeth and growl
and I know one day,
soon probably, they’ll bite me.
They won’t be able to stop either and they’ll devour 
my head before they 
get full or caught.
It’s not that they’re bad dogs
either! No!
In fact, they’re good because I tell them 
this all the time.
Theyyyy know.
And I doubt they’ll get any death
sentence though. Some
people on a message board will
say I had it coming.

The dogs though.
They will need time to readjust.
Get some pills, straighten out, put the visions
of their master’s headless body (all bent up
mid-writhe) behind them. Forget 
what red means. Flinch above snow crunching.
They’ll get a new life on a microfarm or a place
with a bigger yard, softer bed, maybe a pool, people food,
and there they will try and do the motions 
of living a life where dog guilt ruins
their very dog existence every day.

I prefer my combat
to be like the most famous shot
taken by the Vietnam War sniper
named Carlos Hathcock.

With over ninety confirmed kills
and probably hundreds more,
a bounty of $30,000
was placed on his head,
attracting enemy snipers.

One, known as “Cobra,”
attacked the firebase Hathcock was at.
Several men were killed
to draw out the legendary sniper,
which he knew
when he went out to face the threat.
On his belly he crawled
through the jungle brush,
keeping the sun behind him always
and never giving up his position,
eyes open and waiting
until he caught sunlight in a bush,
the kind that’s reflected off a sniper’ s scope
or a mirror set up to as a decoy.
Hathcock had no time to think about it.
He aimed. He shot.

His bullet hit the enemy’s scope, threading it perfectly through to the enemy’s eye, to his brain for an instant kill.

Such a shot
could only have happened
if the enemy
was looking directly at Hathcock.

That’s how I want to win my battles,
by understanding the situation,
gathering every advantage I can get
and waiting for the moment
to take that perfect shot,
when your attention
is solely on me
and there’s absolutely nothing
you can use to contest it.

No words or warning could’ve prepared me
(I love you. I already know. I’ve known for a while. )
I didn’t ask for this. 
I don’t know how I got here. 
It was like I steppedinshutthedoorturnedthekey 
All without noticing. 
Now I can hear the stopped engine clicking under the hood 
But how did I , you know , arrive here ?? 
I didn’t ask for any of this 
The power of this thing …
I can’t say anything, now or ever. 
(You didn’t ask for this, either.   )
(You especially did not.)
Best not to risk it, anyhow. 
It’s good to live in hope

Love felt
Laughter echoed
Through ink strokes 
On scrap paper. 

Decades later 

Found and read
Laughed and rewritten
Folded then stored

For the hands yet born. 

I sit on the train
headed uptown
and watch as the
balding man
across from me
climbs out of his
skin and disappears
into his phone from
Canal to 116th 
before reluctantly 
crawling back out
zipping up his skin
and stepping onto
the platform for the
long walk home.

the pulse of water breaks
into light

psalm tones that soften
the heart

I have faced down poisonous 
snakes. Smiled at skunks
sulking in the backyard.
Stood up to snarling dogs.
But that tiny spider
lurking in the shadows…

Fear is not proportional.

Did I tell you yet
how that M you saw
in my tea leaves
could have meant anything,
how I admire your
language awash in my
mind and mouth?
How thankful I am
that you can spot the
thin trace of a square:
a box around a letter
marking the place
where we began
to connect our words.