Posts for 2020 (page 158)

The Rattlesnake coffee
slithered down my chin.

You made a chiding noise–
I stopped
my impulse
to clean myself.

You kissed the drink
clean from my mouth and face.

Two more times, I repeated the mistake
but not too much by mistake.

Rests
Over my head

A black crow walking
Stops
On the sidewalk

The baby next door-ing
Looks
She wears a hat.

Everything is absurd.

The king watched over his kingdom on top the highest tower,
Ruling his subjects with grace and contentment,
He believed his rule will be long and prosperous,
The king was wrong,
Within the week a single person ruined him and his kingdom,
Now he walks ruins at night,
Remembering what was,
Thinking how he’ll never be the same

I avoid the formal poem.
I realize this is about control.

Like an aperture, I only let in so much–
I was once a very different person,
I realize. 

This is.  

About control, I try and keep a clear mind.

I was once a very different person
easily hurt by the actions of others
I held close.

A clear mind
isn’t the most fun, but
easily, hurt? Nah. 

The actions of others?

I held. 

Close.

Everyone says I look like my mom
I am my fathers child, worlds apart, mannerisms carbon copied
 Put me on the transplant list age 15
Soon I will need new lungs anyways 

i want to celebrate someone.
i came to say so.
you weren’t home.

you were counting all the flowers—
these—adorning the thoughts
on each of your dark little fingers.

so many thoughts to this finger,
others resting in your palms.
your thumb standing opposed,
it grasps for understanding.

i want to celebrate with you,
i came to say so.
you weren’t home.

when we met
you never were anything
but a sensibly private,
and shy person 
masquerading as a barfly,
until you disappeared
from my life,
only to dart in, out,
like a butterfly moth
drawn to me,
always welcomed
back with joy.
you bring my colors
out in fashions
i never dreamt—
because i’ve hidden
behind antics, posturing,
and words.
you’ve never drawn
a false note from me.
one will never be.
my friend.
i know your heart.
the dearest of all i know.
it is uncomplicated, without pride.

i know you as i know myself.
i reach out.
you dive in.
the mirror is 
the same surface as ever before.

for i took you
my friend,
                  swimming in your forged and
                  piercing obsidian eyes,
only
        a gentle-woman, and
                                               one i love.

i want to celebrate with you,
i came to say so,
should you read this, know.

You are the second dead body I have seen today
I don’t know you
But I care about someone who loved you – and always will
You have had the loving touch of a funeral director
to make you look –
Look like you are sleeping
I’m sure it comforts the family to see you this way
You are dressed in a suit
All dressed up to go to your final resting place
No longer in a hospital bed
There is no more waiting for you to take your last breath

This morning I was called to be with a family whose loved one was
actively dying
When I arrived he was no longer breathing
No longer alive
No breath
He too, was a dead body
He too was surrounded by those who love him – and always will
He was newly dead
No makeup
No loving touches to make him look more presentable
To make him look
less dead

With love and respect we paused at his bedside
for a moment of silence
And remembrance
And a prayer of thanksgiving for the love that was shared during his lifetime
Thanksgiving for the promise of eternal life 
and never-ending love was proclaimed

And life goes on
Life, death, life beyond death
And the promise that love never dies

Death changes things
It is the reality of finality 
No do overs
It is not a joyful time for singing allelujah by and by
Or flying away
Death is a holy thing
Numbing
Reflective
Afterall, we are dead for a long time
Longer than our short lifetime in human form
We will all become dead bodies 
Bodies that held hands and laughed and hugged
And loved and were loved
Dead bodies
But not dead souls or spirits
Bodies die
But love does not
Love lives on

Today she taught me how to sew
In a rudimentary way,
Doubling the thread,
Tying a knot,
Running a basic stitch
In a gently curving line
Across a crooked hem
In a makeshift facemask
I hope will grant me something
Like safety.

Morning
Its a brave new chapter to life where the powers of imagination are unignorable and nearly irrepressible. The mind is no longer a stagnant filter but a burning, radiating, lobe cleaving superfluid of all time and manifestations. It’s the age of the robot velociraptor, the map of the hidden colors, the bread of perception.
Afternoon
Theres an itchy feeling in the pines, and it’s the same thing in every dark and wooded corridor clad with snapshots of a time the world has always just forgotten. Here are the fairies and the muses and the witches and the angels and every gifted sparkling soul you have turned away. Here she comes with her little whimper and there your eyes follow her, bore into her back until the bleeding joyous reality has melted away into a compasionless nothing you have formed for yourself. Spring up little parks and woolen trees and praying little roads with innocent creeks, brooks really. Stand in the middle of them and beg the rest of the world for its attention. There are no sweet ways to put it. There are no melodies to describe the vain animal you have become. Dance in front of the mirror and be alone with your empty thoughts.
Evening
The fleetest of childhood pauses that still ravage your peace of mind. A never ending death, mistakes that have been branded into the skin of reality, flaming scars of the past still twisting and beating and manipulating. Are there no cool rivers of transcendence that’s can be crossed to put out the stinging thoughts? Does the unknown forge prime terrors of eternity? Is the child unforgivable? There is simply no comprehension of absolution. The hip fired remarks of an instant awkward moment, the wilting remembrance of split decisions of pleasure, piling consequences, the mind twitching maim of a solitary note, the little red scrawlings, raining down on the failed aspirations, the broken redemptions, like Gabriel flying down to meet the demons, the marks the searing slices of the sword is his righteous hand. Even in the pang of retreat, between gasping breaths of refuse hear the clang clang clanging of that mighty sword as it comes down the hall. No lock can keep it out, no corner can escape its reach. Oh what a beautiful and enviable angel, a supremely just power that fails to find any excuse for mercy now. What could you give the hero of the good as he dispenses the horrid? You reach into your pockets but of course you feel nothing.

I left some pineapple for you
and a few of your favorite
comic strips at that place
where you most certainly
are not but where I last
saw you. I return there now
and then, like someone haunts
the pier after an ocean liner
departs in hopes the frame
might help the mind hold
that final image. But unlike
someone on a dock, I cannot
imagine meeting you again
in that place, for nothing remains
there but the broken vessel
you abandoned beyond
all uncertainty.