Re-Entry from Weightlessness
After a tour in orbit
near the edge of Earth’s magnet,
to bear weight again seems hard,
your home aglow in window.
Astronauts fought for long views.
Engineers would have shuttered
all tumbles through lesser light.
There must be something wrong with you.
No one else does the things you do.
There isn’t anything wrong with me,
and I never see the things you see.
But I understand you now.
You were just tryna get by.
While we kept our feet on the ground,
you never stopped touching the sky.
Why were you buried so close to home
Was there something I could have done?
There must be something wrong with us all,
We’ll never find the the beauty you saw.
*Although not truly an Epic poem as there are no heroes or wondrous deeds, I had a blast toying with why this is a thing. It is a story so it is quite lengthy. Just a silly ponderance I had yesterday. Happy Friday!
I drift to fly above the scene
floating freely as if in dream
watching detached but still serene
curious but I do not scream
My physical bo-dy lies prone
none to find me broken alone
neck twisted exposing the bone
dead in the bathroom of my home
My legs are spread all akimbo
beneath the small plate glass window
vagina bared like a bimbo
as I hover high in limbo
Nothing left for me to do here
I wander away without fear
complete content to disappear
hightailing my ass out of here
As I hazily drift away
I say to myself with dismay
where is this damn white light they say
am I going in the wrong way?
Drifting traveling through the air
I’m pleased to find I still have hair
then I become oddly aware
I’m naked without underwear
Embarrassed by my unclothed state
In pudica I drift and wait
for the floodtide of creepy mates
whose indecent stares I do hate
Are there more of my quandary
that find themselves without laundry
an afterlife that’s quite tawdry
I believe death may have wronged me
I met a lady who’s older
that reached out and touched my shoulder
you’re nude she stated but bolder
those titties they need a holder!
How do I fix this I ask her
my voice barely a soft whisper
au naturel causes a stir
even though I am a just blur
To the bootique with you my friend
to buy something to wear and then
you will be more comfortable when
you are covering your rear end
She pointed her ghostly finger
to the store where I could ringer
I hastened as to not linger
Hesitating should I bring her?
I entered a store most dreary
though the sales lady was cheery
may I help you my sweet deary
I nod in reply but leery
What you see is what you can get
to purchase you have time to bet
against the clothes to pay your debt
Choose wisely to avoid regret
I don’t understand I retort
are you joking is this a sport
you extend your time in this port
when you buy something here she snorts
Understanding the dark exchange
I pick an item and go change
unsure the size is in my range
as my form has rearranged
That piece is quite current she quips
a smirk fluttering on her lips
you’re sure you wish to pay for it
thirty five years is quite a bit
That long for such a simple dress
I stutter in total distress
do you have something that is less
to shorten my stay in this mess?
Of course sweet girl on that far rack
to the left at the very back
a selection of white or black
though modernity they do lack
My heart was filled with mounting dread
believing I had been misled
all the dresses of musty threads
from around the eight-teen hundreds
Every skirt with a bustle
corsets that pinched at the muscle
fabric skirts that loudly rustle
I scoffed at the lousy hustle
Those are quite cheap I assure you
only two years to get you through
and they’re very fun if you do
use them to haunt and to say boo
Bewildered by her odd statement
I asked the lady what she meant
she laughed in joyous merriment
explaining that’s how hauntings went
Humans on earth claim that they see
White or black dresses of ladies
they don’t realize our sheer glee
pretending it’s eight-teen eighty
Why would we dare do that I ask
wearing such clothes is quite a task
too heavy and hot just to bask
for causing a fright or a gasp
Because it’s an absolute hoot
to appear in an ancient suit
and watch them scurry and to scoot
and give an old house ill repute
Did you not ever wonder why
most of the ghosts that they do spy
tend to be from a time gone by
misty vapors that sometimes cry?
Many poor souls die in the nude
a shocking moment that is rude
what can they do besides be lewd
or shop here where they can be prude?
Time is precious but we don’t learn
until too late and in an urn
if we do not ascend or burn
we learn to laugh instead of yearn
Noone wishes to be here long
averse to spend more than a song
for frocks them carry them along
until the day they say so long
So they buy from the very rack
that is located in the back
and don the ancient white and black
on their breasts and upon their back
We inspire the t.v. shows
the seances and all the prose
the evp sounds that suppose
that we are dressed in our real clothes
I pondered what the lady said
what’s it matter I am still dead
it might be fun to spook and tread
maybe even shake someone’s bed
It is quite cheap this silly shroud
and it reduces time allowed
though I know not the length or how
I must remain here for the now
Let this be a lesson to you
what you see is not all that new
I bought this cheap dress that is used
just so that I may be amused
By your proclamations of ghosts
of the spectors that you will boast
but what I really love the most
is the two short years I have to host
Perhaps you are too young
I don’t even know
where I saw this image
lodged in my memory.
I even forgot about it
until today. The story
of a blue velvet ribbon
wrapped around the neck
of a baby or perhaps
it was just a doll. Unravel
the ribbon to reveal stitches
not strong enough to hold
because the head promptly
plops off. Not rolls nor tumbles.
No blood. Just a beheaded baby
without its blue ribbon.
And I know I was the one
to pull. I still feel the velvet
between thumb and forefinger.
I wouldn’t need an alibi
Everybody knows
Just how it goes
When I’m dressed in suit and tie
there ain’t enough dying stars in my sky
so I weep at your feet and curl up under the clover
stars shoot up and down my spine, pinball machine
it starts to all feel like a game
it starts to make me laugh with tears in my eyes
wherever did the salt come from?
I sleep through the meteor showers
my shield is peppered with holes
maybe a million things are wrong but
I’ve got this.
the stars aren’t shining for me
they’re always there for you, it seems
maybe a year will pass
and we’ll still be alive; maybe a year will pass us by
and the sky will finally be empty of our midnight words
I kind of want to scream at you. Why don’t I know you anymore?
When the urgent message came through our walkies
That a strange man had exposed himself in the Juniors department
I knew that it couldn’t have been Larry
I like to imagine that he would’ve turned his nose up
At such mundane depravity
We did always alert our jewelry associate of his presence
Even though she was the only one who harbored a fondness for him
If she wasn’t whisked away in time
Larry could be found engaged in polite conversation with her
Biceps the size of bowling balls
Dangling in front of the Rolex case
My first encounter with Larry was heard, not seen
He squeaked behind me as I folded denim
His left arm had rubbed up against a mannequin
He stopped to pose for himself in front of a pillar mirror
Hasselhoff, Ahnuld, Larry
I wish he had been there that day, in the Juniors department
Then we all could have seen that muscle put in some work
Of all the questions to ask, and there were many
The one that burned me up the most…
Did he use a hammer pump or his own lungs?
I feel like I already know the answer
(A Love Poem)
Exhilaration
wrings out
hilarity in every mop
of joy
A shoe
a baby’s shirt left
no black and white stills
no cheap recordings
no stolen goods
I give the bad back to you
In the sand
you draw a house
with open doors
My mother had four husbands
and died in the middle
of her last divorce.
Hon, these are the only
blueprints I have:
you leave, one way or the other.
I’ve hardly seen
a successful marriage up close.
When Mom remarried
the second time, she had
three years. He was
only 30 when his Jeep
flipped in a country ditch.
Hon, all I know is
I could lose you,
one way or the other.
A headache, kidney stones,
chest pains, these
unforgivable mortalities.
Every day I love you,
I wed my fear.
I bless every year of you,
every scared, sacred
year of you.
