(incense and cologne)
incense and cologne
drift through open window-
far worse than pollen
like a tigress lingers
over a new-kill zebra carcass tearing a bite
as fresh and oozing with red-blood flavor
as the tigress’s lunch
to write–wallow the words
around as the tigress does her food
chewing each morsel
until perfect for swallowing
if pen could permorm with the easiness
of writing poetry
as the the tigress does absorbing her kill;
then, pen like the tigress
could lie down in the shade.
was made of concrete
built into the hillside by the WPA in a park
which boasted a trailside museum of nature
but the slide
attracted the nature of children
to abandon safety
and hurtle to the sandy conclusion.
Cardboard or waxed paper
and the surface already smoothed
by thousands of sliders
made the trip
as quick
as
childhood.
If we were living in a horror movie
the good girl would win in the end.
I wouldn’t want to survive a horror movie
because nothing would be the same again
and surviving isn’t the same as living.
(After seeing Matisse’s Stations of the Cross,
La Chappelle du Rosaire de Vence)
The Stations are mounted on the back wall of a side chapel,
a matrix of white tiles on which harsh charcoal lines
slash their way upward in continuous motion,
bottom left to upper right,
winding, turning, telling as they go a stark
seamless story as featureless shapes
wend their thorny way from the tribunal
to the tomb,
except
at Station 6–
Just off center, not quite midway along the journey,
a small cloth interrupts the story’s inevitable procession;
it bears a face—the only face with features—
nose, mouth, saddened eyes—
an image
pressed onto the fabric
that had been Veronica’s veil.
I wonder sometimes what genius,
what spirit, perhaps,
guided the artist’s aging hands. After all,
he could have put the Face of the Divine anywhere,
could have portrayed Veronica’s quiet act of compassion
as some unremarkable element in the plot.
Instead, the image compels us to stop,
compels us to think of such simple
moments of presence,
to consider that piece of cloth,
to feel it burning itself
into heart and mind and memory,
compels us
to consider its questions.
Yesterday’s storm turned into today’s light rain;
it’s as if you are right here with me
shouldering the waves of ache.
Emptiness fills the places you once occupied;
the bare reminders spark memories that become
my source of knowing laughter and sudden cries.
I miss you as much as I did yesterday,
so I’ll turn to the rain,
let each drop fall
sweep my hand to brush the ones that land upon me
with love and care,
fulfilling a wish that they are parts of you that I see everywhere.
tw: violent imagery
I have a very odd relationship with you
Odd because it does not exist outside my mind
Not anymore
We haven’t spoken or seen each other in years
And yet you linger
Like the feeling of hopelessness
Like the taste of blood in your mouth
Like the smell of burning flesh
Like smoke in the air after a bomb
I have flashing moments when I feel like I need to know what’s happening in your life even though I don’t care about you anymore
It’s like torture
I’m blindfolded, never knowing when the next punch is coming
Gagged to stifle my screams of agony
Hands bound tightly to ensure that I can’t defend myself from the impulse to see you again
It’s funny, I still can’t pinpoint why it all happens
I know it’s not that I miss you
I know it’s not because I want to see how you are
It’s almost like how people watch a car crash
I just can’t look away from my own demise
A twisted urge that rises within me
Every time it emerges I go dizzy from the feeling
Knowing you’re still out there makes me sick
You shouldn’t be happy
You shouldn’t be allowed to carry on like nothing happened
You shouldn’t get to act like you don’t care after what you did to me
Slamming the cell door in my face
Smiling while twisting a knife into my stomach
Dunking my head in water and then pulling me up for air over and over
Breaking me in the most masochistic, haunting way and leaving me to bleed
Acting like you loved me and then leaving
-you cut me wide open without even thinking about the scar you would leave and now I have to deal with the clean up
you pretended to love me
for one night
i pretended not to notice
i knew you didn’t
we were silent on the subject
but we knew what this was
and it was easier to accept it
if we kept our mouths shut
and just let other body parts do their thing
as we ignored the minor annoyances we discovered
in each other
magnified by the lack
of satisfaction or release
or meaning
what did we think we would find
how would the black hole at the
center of my Milky Way
provide anything other
than crushing weight
to all that crosses her
event horizon
