I
I built the wall myself
out of bones and sinew
washi tape, bubble gum
and a few gallons of spittle:
it’s stacked, controlled chaos
easy to light then run
the wall holds back a flood
of a to z things I’m to let loose
II
dad once said, “some of us
we set with death, the dead
the dying” and he did
until he couldn’t
with his boy he broke
I let him…break
III
half a world away
I’m trying have tried
to sit with you
if you can hang in
a good while longer
five days, Dad
was in hospital
I didn’t know
you never called
too caring by far you
and I too alike too not
I wonder when he goes
how long will I keep you close?
that final link of knowing
I’ll be the last one standing
I
I struggle bombarded
with polarized hate divisive
with minute pickings
at threads not frayed
leading to gullies dark
where I cannot follow
it’s a fine line between
caring and perpetuating
II
in the other space
I retreat at entreaties nastily
jabbing, “Why do you…”
and ever wonder why “Because
I am not you” is never a retort
sufficient in the war
of butter on bread before jam
and is it jam or jelly anyway?
III
my dark is deep
I was born with it
like a shroud it warms
cold bones and sinew
in the deep recesses
sheltering from the sun
that singes, a sun cocooning
a web too tightly shatters
and the light gets in anyway
THE LIGHT GETS IN I choose
to let it, to pry that door open
I
yesterday was not a good day
not the worst, just not
optimal yet still
my stillness was mine to own
alone no one to worry
to judge to make false
assumptions of my quiet
exhaustion and bile-induced
by little beans screeching
II
methodic in my madness
why this day or that day
I cannot say, the Way
has always been suspect
amused at my guess-tures
III
and so little bites I ate:
squiggles and green things
black speckled tartness to fill
the quota required
IV
today is a better day
words I consumed confirm
yesterday may simply be
where progression leads
I
I think it was the newness
of the Other that beckoned
‘cause what was was not
working into exhaustion
living at the speed of light
II
yet here in the Other
every day I feel drugged
down, perseverance
through the sheer will
of little Caprica
and a wet nose that startles
III
someday when the river calls
the ferryman will find me
any which way I go…
a steady stream
of headlight coming-going
through window shears
I watched while laying
still in the coolness
of four-thirty a.m.
I wondered, eyes half shut
where did you come from
where are you going so early
on a Saturday in the quiet
a soft wet nose shifted
toward me while I cooed
soft and low, ‘sweet love, sleep…’