He puts out a double album, vinyl.
Each side’s a variation of his name
that I can’t read – I didn’t bring dream glasses.
Side One is simple and shortest –
“I know everything about Transportation”.
It’s a demo.
#
I’m at a small dinner party he hosts,
a serve-yourself buffet.
The clear plastic plates are small.
And the food is weird.
Then, I realize it’s vegan turkey roll
showing us there are options.
#
I’m in bed, looking at four bookmarks –
vacation flyers with his name and picture.
My wife pleads Can’t we relax this weekend?
I wake thinking It can’t still be the weekend.
I just trekked a loop in a time traveler’s knapsack.
Now I’m back, buoyed in future’s helium.
The orchid in the window
bloomed for months,
white with purple
spider veins
like my very
own skin.
Just when
I thought
they’d last
forever,
the blooms
began to
fall,
one
by
one
by
one.
sadness on a beautiful day
I ponder if I should allow myself to feel it
or bury it away
I knew I’d meet it head on
yet I bravely proceeded
perhaps I should have saved myself the trouble
obligation though, pulls hard
I admit there is joy as well
sunshine and room to celebrate
markers of time
in the morning quiet, I cry a bit
I won’t go further than that
the few tears will suffice
letting me know the pain is still present
might always be
but I trust time and the Universe
and am thankful for sunshine on difficult days
I am alright, even though sometimes I’m not
take some control
as knowing
what you understand
to improve-
try more instead of
more often
When will I be free of this wad?
A daring creep;
an aimless shrink;
cutting circulation;
imbalance of hug and weep.
Take a stick and shove it. I say!
Groove throbbing, it doesn’t budge.
Internal groaning of my own
moves in for a neurological punch.
PopSwoosh! Miss.
Almost home now.
Trash these and then,
no more pants.
Again.
Wiggling out bedroom window – a little further,
reaching towards railcar siding,
commuter–train roars, shaking security bushes
between rowhouse and track.
Updraft blowing whiffs of dirty-dish-water-blond hair.
Precariously, butt square on weather worn windowsill.
Big toe leading the flex of right foot
Pinching around posts of rare Goodwill find.
It seemed you could have reached
if stretched a little more.
Uncoiling even further
not giving one thought to what could happen
if aluminum cladding catches
with soft fingertip.
Staring down dirt alley
under elevated rails
long after the train clears
listening to the engine
the roar of the train subsides.
Studying the route until
Brown-line train passed west Warner Avenue
no longer able to tell the difference
between rumbling train and
people busy along the lane.
I once had occasion
to stand inside a tree
that had been hollowed
by lightning or disease,
a tight fit, cramped,
a feeling both at once
of being in a womb and a coffin
so far removed from myself
in that framed space
that the only sound
was the pulse of the ocean.
I held there waiting
for something to happen —
some finger of light
to guide me back
into my life.
When finally it appeared,
I squeezed back out
to my waiting self:
the day dragged on,
night came and fell.
