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…’
If I could I would pull flesh from sinew and wrap it ‘round her as a blanket while she press-pushes hard against me to sleep in the morning coolness and I have mere inches for myself.
tuck them away
in the coolness to covet
admire them on every opening
reach for them when ready;
process the guilt
of wasting a minuscule amount
convincing yourself it’s okay,
“I can’t deal with the seeds anyway”
with the mess of juicing
I
I’m always fighting
predicative text now in two
languages as if one weren’t
enough - Birdie won’t go walk
every day all day patience
is required here
II
overwhelmed in the quiet
of a room half lit
something outside…
my heart breaks
for her shivering and ears prickled
inconsolable when I awoke earlier
to escape any madness
I can’t pinpoint but no….
I am thwarted and there She is
lost in the unheard
III
the entire country knows
I have a mouth on me now
when wild dogs let out
to roam and terrorize
come at my girl and me
on a perfectly good walk
my tongue cuts the quiet
and eyes like daggers
scatter anyone near;
once a decade or two
I am not myself
I’ve grown
to dislike tomato seeds
gelatinous to the touch to the tongue
and messy foods
to my eyes unappealing
to dislike disorder and yet
my bed stays unmade
fur on the floor even after a sweep
dishes always needing a wash
mind slightly controlled chaos
the crackling of a blackened heart
amidst deep hues burnt red
drags down the bones
the flesh the sinew that connects
hazed in a cool room mending
sweet-tea cooling beside the bed
breathless is the heart
fit to burst
as my Love grows I know
she will break me
as if the Shattering of you
was a mere nuisance
I
sleeping in summer’s scorching
months of kicking restless
flesh too hot for dreaming
light and sound at their slightest
dazed in waking moments
all night long
II
last night I woke huddled
in a blanket over cold ears
as She slept close, curled
in chaos, in fall bedding dug
into a nest in the night
I never woke but the once
I
there’s an offer on the house
a fortnight ago given
the second thought to have fell
through the ways of banks
saying yes…but wait…
a wait-weight negated now
I am asked to wait a few more days
while papers are sorted,
hope kept close lest it fade
II
it’s always come easy, the stillness
of body and a gaze attentive
learned I to live on others’ time
even acknowledging with words
understanding easy off the lips
It’s the mind, my mind, unseen
behind the wizard’s curtain
where organized clutter thrums in baskets
loosely woven, the cacophony discordant
craves lemon squares and fireball candies
I
the pressure to perform
in perpetual motion
be a shark be a lion, ROAR
along those lines allowed
I learned this was the Way;
naught for trying as a babe
in the woods I have teetered
concrete or bramble both paths trudged
but the shiny always beckoned
in the peripheral flittering
‘come sit, come sit and calm’
it cooed, ‘look to your own self’
II
the walkabout unsteady on
pavement leaning, gray-grey
are the cracks and protrusions
reaching for walls and sign posts
stopping for cars, head on a swivel
Hope keeps dangling thing 1 thing 2
as she always has as she always will
will, willingly would won’t, all the Ws
will I make it to you before you go?
and will you know me?
I
on the stone etched I chose
ivy one side flowers the other
II
it was always spring
when things occurred
births deaths shattering
shipping ash for internment
III
in winter I was born, Caprica
the youngest yet always the oldest
I
ain’t no right way ain’t no wrong
just the “common” and something other
II
along the wall where flowers cling
straddling the line of rule between
one foot in the white space each side
toes exploring water warm riverside
a heart little, cracked, still, thrumming low
headspace spatially in the ether flow
once a warrior, now she knows the calm
once, words were life blood warring
to spill forth from crevices exposing
raw bones of grieving
of blood on my lips
a scarring
from decisioning too young
my only what-if
yestermorrow, a let-me was uttered
reminiscent of a youth spent
yearning flailing
mourning of a thing palpable…
reigned in, I looked-about
at the Sweetness
of little paws dreaming;
thinks nestled to a thrumming
gratuitously, I’ve been given
and words like life
can unfold the only way they will
vines contorted
through fences rusted
the odd flower blooms
she sees what others pass
without notice, roots shallow
in soil under stones
when we walk without
notice we naught
the beauty protruding
growing in cracks
crevices and fence lines
in the between - minute
go as careful with your your thinks
as you would with your steps
haters here haters there
hating hate-hate haters everywhere
hating you hating me
what we think is what we’ll be
holding space
for others
in their heartlight
gloriously unfolding
into a gray medium
of existence
without announcement
happy in the white space
unseen
at fifty-3 I shredded
decades
of journals and files, taxes
burdens weighting-mooring
opting for impermanence
space between landscapes widening
divides
eye-off any prize save life
I tried-try to root but couldn’t settle
at fifty-6 I shred
longing
for where my blood lay
in ether buried scattered interred
I-a
flailing in the figuring
on my own in the quiet
reaching for the buoys
I found I could float
but can’t really swim
II - segue
cutting chords
on glass tables
I consume the sings
a high slow and low
I-b
nevertheless in the stillness
of the quiet I calm
and inhale deep the bright
through eyes wide shut
where existing is a chore
the daily go-about devolves
make no sound
do not move
the fucking fuck
fuckers will notice
then you’ll get it…
something to really cry about
girl power: girl boss
the infantalization of women
just another self-societal imposition
of Wonder Woman Syndrome
some of us are done with it
walk softly, go easy on yourself
it’s okay, Ladies, to stop and take deep breaths
I
those bean shaped things
in my body, royally fucking-up
the rest just trying to get by
II
the exhaustive lull of napping
in cool rooms half lit, twice
sometime before noon
with thinks singed by fog
III
my longest love eluding
even the most creative ways
of consuming, unappealing
hunger unconsumed
when we love we see
with eyes wide open
light in cracks and crevices
through the quiet lifted
by the buoyancy of water
without judge and jury
I’m not sure why I moved here
when it was the land there
that always calmed me
and water that renewed
perhaps I needed a walkabout
when suadade hit hard
and hindsight struck
there’s a tiny red car driving
back-n-forth in the square
below my bedroom window
where chirping echoes
another on the sill lays still
from heat or failure to fly
six am, the cacophony began
the tiny red car, chirping nonstop
‘bought being woke by the car;
Sweetness sleeps on the pillow
beside me, gently kicking in her dreaming
in one hand
I hold a squirming dog
on a leash tightly
feet planted firmly
but the flora beckons
amidst stone cracking
vines in a rusty fence
remember when I meant to write
paperback novels - frayed at the edge
but the heaviness of my world
laid bare a soul crashing on rocks jagged
blackened and bruised, ink from veins spilt
the ringing in my ears
is inordinately loud
amidst the stillness
of unconditioned air
if I move to the room
cooled by an oscillating fan
it becomes a humming
and I can breathe, shallow
drowsily with a bit of vertigo
I’ve never needed
alcohol or pills to feel afloat
weather and its forecast
seems to change on a dime
or a nickel - if they still make
such a thing - and it’s not
where I live but everywhere
I have lived - it’s the Earth, the
Omniverse…
the way we speak to others
are we kindly supporting
or do little jabs surface?
the way we speak to others
the assumptions we make
says more about ourselves
you never know another’s
thinks and thoughts
they could simply be
rock n roll or lunch
if I weren’t lost then, I’m sure lost now
difference is, I stopped my lookin’
an’ embraced the ambiguity
of my existence
I see bits and bobs
laid out neatly-etched
a-long a winding road
in fact they-lay
in the peripheral
where I cannot grasp
tight to the chest
utterance ephemeral
will they solidify soon?
everything is contingent
on something else
growing over decades, two-ish
we then begin
decaying over a lifetime, unknown
of maintenances of denial of regret
I sat a moment with a book just now
the stillness, calm, quiet
of a Sunday morning with a sleeping dog
in a space I cannot reach
where a storm shade sits
derelict, no rail-guides
chirping birds have nestled
one trying to fly now
on the windowsill has died
some say some pets
and their people resemble
appearance-wise, but no!
my Birdie gurl
is too beautiful, too sweet
Wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Sitting on a (wood) step, bare feet on hot concrete, sun on my face, wind a bit chilly, drinking a mildly cool coke from a green glass bottle. It was maybe ‘77 or ‘78. I was 7 or 8 at my grandparents house. The world was simple. I still do this. My drink may be different, the scenery different. But the sun…always there for me.
I
If a thing didn’t bother me before I knew it,
why should it bother me now I know it?
II
in limbo sweetly
she presses painfully
into me as she sleeps
III
yerp
the things I have thought
brought of importance are not
what I’m taking home
on the verge of tearing
constantly while sitting with pain
I begin to understand
craving for a thing I will not touch
I
were you ever there
or had I dreamt it
those sixteen years
spent with you never present
II
we didn’t actually share space
I was in it while you were out
spending laughing chatting up
young girls on yahoo
out living while I worked
III
recollecting places
and spaces instead of people
connecting came much later
after the Shattering
and the shedding of you
I
when walking was the warmup not the workout
when salad was the appetizer not the entree
when the alarm woke me not the sun
II
when I was young my worries were
insecurities weeping and self-second-guessing
confidence in the logic of working to the bone
III
what is age but the awareness of living askew
being told your existence is wrong
yet in your Twilight not caring
Mother was a
leave it half done
thrive on drama
do that this the other
my way or the highway
se ya later - wait! come here
I could get money for you?
Daddy was a
don’t leave it, finish it
drama-avoiding
get ‘er done: up an at em
you know where you can find sympathy?
always doing showing
independent go your own way
over vanilla beans halved and scraped
whiskey poured slow to the brim
side-eyeing salivating patient lip-smacking
as I walk past again and again
months and now I can’t open the jar
overwhelming is not the more powerful
embellishing, emphatic of whelming
whelming is the worser thing to be
I was today old when I learned all along
I have been wrong about my entire existence
slightly more than half my life away
from the Shattering of losing you
of making decisions I second guess
and I’m still lost, that elusive self
dodging around every corner I look
for if you catch her in the quiet
lists and lyrics treading, trudging
through the muck and mire
of a mind ever-tinged by the Breaking
and a youth spent whence
she learnt stillness and hands to herself
you will find her setting with the words
she drew-draws as lines in the sand while
she watches as the waters wash away
every chance took or not
not loud, rarely voicing
thinks and whats uncomfortably
taking time to muddy through
crafted trippings off the tongue
never a quick fire but still
voicing when required and
in the hearing, rare
assuming, seeking, requiring
clarification and confirmation
say what you say; mean what you mean
for I can’t know what in the white space lingers
can’t just come and go
can’t just cancel things
ain’t no up an’ at ‘em here:
why say it once when you can say it again
and so on and so on and so on…
spring melts the ice of winter
(I am a winter baby)
March, April showers bring May flowers
and the remembrance of births and burials
I have a list
longer than a string of days
a very complete list of to-dos
down to the tiniest screw
this list is so filling of hours
I will not complete it - ever
even with the assist
of Angels heavy lifting
Making decisions for someone else’s living -
second guessing for decades to come.
In hindsight, it didn’t break me.
It’s broken me every day since.
It will break me every day to come.
It took moving half the world away
to understand where I want to die…
someday when I answer the door
to a familiar face in blue jeans
while old songs I’m a hummin’
most days in the peripheral I glimpse
some…thing hovering, silting below the surface
inertia and gravity dragging at my heels
tugging at all and sundry downwards
still, I pulled …pull..myself onwards through shear will
and gumption, spit and duct tape on the ready to mend
skinned knees and broken bones
a life lived tinged
with a melancholy borne
into a third child fending
figuring, flailing observant
quietly backing
into the white-space warmly
I was fit to burst
with stories I dreamt;
calm eves of puzzling
night sweats into coherent
lÃngua from the tip of my tongue
spilling from wrists bleeding ink
nourished by black tea and biscuits
licking melted butter from the plate
you, in the other room gaming
just past thirty, I had dreams
I admire those with Identity
those who know themselves enough
it’s a thing I never thought, found
though I searched low
never finding the high of life
in books and inwardness
acquiring knowledge;
am I what I am or do?
and what/who am I anyway?
am I my likes or tendencies?
when they are middling to fair
neither here nor there
easy going…until I’m not
am I simply the science?
I cannot say, I never could
the only sure thing I hate
- besides raspberries and bigotry -
is being told who I am or what I’m thinking
this life is not a real life
if it where a real life
I would be told
where to do and what to go
there are no regrets
decisions are not un-decided
there is only The -
perpetual motion of moving forward
A - zigzag line that loops and twirls
are the starlings angry
or joyful
… in the crisp air of spring
their chirp protrudes
amidst the awareness of aching bones
my heart beats slow
shallow breathing laborious
another precipice looming
it’s in my bones; toes first -
months of little blue piggies
no sock nor wiggle working;
now that my toes are warm-ish
it’s migrated to my knees,
nose, elbows; daily hot bathing
huddling near the heater space
a momentary reprieve;
I didn’t sign up for this…
this being cold since November
twenty-4 years later an’ I’m still sittin’ in a drawer with the odd things that I had planned to use or fix some day, gettin’ tangled in my own cord
suddenly missing
the sultry smooth
of a Texas boy’s
intent and the ease
in which I was me
I thought I had settled in
was settling - in the process of
rooting - envisioning
implementing the vision
of the life I would lead
after a life too determined
a segue in the midst of the trying
of the boggling
down in the mire of figuring
and establishing - hit in a frenzy