19 July 2014

The Trappings


If he is always watching, I hope he’s laughing.  I’d laugh
if not so
so busy all the time doing very
little
of consequence,

and now
I am sitting in the eye
of truth, laughing.  All eye
painted on the face
right beside its twin eye.   And I’m
sipping
aloe vera, Russian vodka, juice
and ginger, a drink
I don’t quite trust, actually, and I’m telling Ben how
we are all living
with death just ahead, and we
ought not forget it, and he says he
knows.

Not just ahead but with us.  Like a


backseat driver.    Then he laughs, and I laugh,

for a moment, closing both
my eyes.


18 July 2014

Deep Thing


The sun is the femme
fatale of the universe, at least
that’s what Kent says.  He went
with his new wife to see 
the Mayan pyramids at Chichen Itza, and
they blew his mind, despite the haranguing
vendors and the many, many tourists in his way.  He
didn’t climb them (the pyramids not the tourists), thanks
to the ropes and the guards, but he imagined it.  He imagined
the human sacrifices at the tops of the pyramids and the ball
game that ended in brutal deaths for the players.  He thought about
living in a time of  bloodlust and how he would fare
amongst the warriors. 
He worried about that.  He took pictures, too.

On the way home, they stopped in Valladolid
where they swam in the fresh, sweet water
of a cenoté, a sacred cave, an underwater sinkhole.  The
Mayans considered these many liquid caves to be entrances to the
Underworld, and when the Spanish conquerers arrived, they were very
impressed.  That day, the water felt like a cool miracle to Kent’s sunburned,
tired body, and the sunlight filtered in like a kaleidoscope through holes
in the porous rock ceiling of the cavern.  They both agreed with a
warm, sentient silence on the drive home
that the experience had been
significant.

When they got back to the resort, they listened to Mexican techno
because that’s what the bar was playing.  They met some Canadians,
and everyone drank together.  There were many toasts, glasses
raised and clinked against each other.  The whole evening felt
like a celebration, a feeling that only increased after the sun
went down, or turned away from them for the night.
His wife hadn’t been his wife for very long
yet, and every time he looked at her, he
raised his glass again.  She didn’t
mind a bit, and neither did
the Canadians.

A Long Search


They didn't have death in their eyes, or in their ears, or in their hands. There was no discernible evidence they had it in their hearts, either. It may have been in their clothes, for the majority of these were devised through the pulping of animal parts; but these were deaths of a certain distance, that they could take on and off. On their bedroom floor these items could be found imitating their prior forms, crumpled in piles like sloughed skins.

They did not have death in their hair, though it was, they knew, composed of dead matter. Instructional: such accouterments of personal fashion, freely given for cutting, styling, and dyeing, were made possible by the regenerative functions of the genetically insuppressible scalp above their brains.

Some did go bald, but this also could not be counted as a kind of death. Merely the evolution of hidden instincts towards their final flower, ironically, in this case, denuded of petals.

No death in their mouths, that could be heard or tasted. Investigations by deep explorative kissing turn up no sour graveyards under the tongue. In fact, these would be the furthest from such places.

Some of these even sucked upon the florid Achtung of a phallus, or groveled juicily for a flick upon a clitoris, but it should be said, even then, when they reemerged, they only had smiles to show for it.

Was there death in their manners? There were so many different species: the I-Have-Some, the I-Have-Yours, I-Have-None, I-Have-All. Though surely it would stand to pass that death could be found in a few of these, it was a big sociological surprise none were. True to advertising, these were more modes of survival, some polite, others more makeshift and malleable.

Was there death in their differences between each other? Here, yes, was something less immediately identifiable to their individual person, something less evident when any one of them were isolated at the end of a single finger, pointing.

But no, not even that was the case. Variations of skin, size, language, group norms, assumptions, even genital orientation and predilection, were merely contrasts in a riotous continuum of sameness. Each at best an animal pulled from their mother. An event, it should be stated, as contra to the vacuum shuck of death as house cats are to purposeful dieting.

Was death in their expectations, though? Could it ride down into them so seamlessly and so subtly? Reports say: it wasn't, couldn't. Was in the things they made? Was it in those grids of collective convenience and purpose the finely-grained among them termed "consumer confidence" or "ideology"? A considerable shock to not find it there, either.

Was it in the past, or their feelings about the past? Was it in that artesian well of time coursing up through space, always insisting "here-now, here-now"? Or surely, in the inconceivable nowhere, nowhere, of the future?

As much as could be discerned, from cruising the fluid vagaries of passage in a body across expanses of duration, no, death was neither an agent or a direct negotiator of these.

It was pointed out that it was a faithful byproduct of them, but this couldn't be said to be true of each of them, each in their own, different pasts, different futures, but one time moving elaborately out of sync with itself, depending upon their location and distance from other forms of time, in space.

In short, death was not where they were, or who they were, or when.

But perhaps, it was asked, it could be found in the how and the why?

These couldn't be correctly searched for, isolated, identified for purposes of careful scrutiny. Nor could they be touched, poked, conceived of, abstracted from, nor subjected to a repeatable process of analysis. They could not be kissed, nor put through trials of sex or punishment or extreme abject acquisitions of knowledge to the detriment of personal relations to others and oneself. They could not be sold, nor fashioned into weapons. They could not be minted into a form of currency. They could not bring stillborns or ancient children in their sickbeds back to health. They could not get famous, nor render one famous by association. They could not confer notoriety, nor transform losers into winners, nor magnify the merriness of each creaturely self. They could not be loved into explicit existence, nor, in turn, hated out of it. They weren't, in the end, really even aspects of a question, though for several millennia this has not stopped people briefly in terror or wonder to ask them.

There was no death, it would seem, about them. Only questions.

Whereas answers, they heard, were things in themselves. 



17 July 2014

Them Kind




Poets, a 
secret race
unacknowledged
by skin color. 
In my time
I've felt a few of them (eyes aren't much
of a help in the
matter). They

pass, in person
or, in the 
traditional way,
out of person, 
and some part of myself catches the rest
in recognition. 
"That was
a man or

woman, wasn't
it?" Or is 

gender just
the alibi? The

real ones don't
prove or fake. 
They
don't even put it to words. Except

to open up
old smart

calm places
between them. 
Anyone would be pulled apart by the vacation of 

having stood
even briefly

in one--a sharp
composed

resonant ride
beneath skin. 
That calm there has already been your mother,

with plans
    to be you 
    as well. 
They don't need you to read them. 
Eyes beside 
 
no point worth making. 
They need you to live them. 

10 July 2014

Hope For Ghosts


Ate poisonous mushrooms for eight years
hoping to see her dead daughter in the visions.
Wound up in the ER at age 64 where the Old 97’s played
in the waiting area where she waited for several
long, toxic hours before seeing a doctor who didn’t
do much but tell her to stop with the mushrooms.

She thought, since when do they play music in the ER,
alt-country at that.  She thought, not gonna stop with
the mushrooms.  She thought, I do see things differently
now, so they must be working.  She saw strings in things.
All the time, now, ever since the last time.
The stringy substrate that holds it all together.
That’s all she saw, though.  No daughter.

The first time she ate them, at a friend’s house back in 2006,
it was Christmastime, or just after.  Her friend had a tree up
with all blue lights.  After the poison was coursing through her
body she sat and stared at the blue and it filled her eyes. 
She closed her eyes and the blue turned into a drawing her
daughter had done at age ten.   She felt sick from the poison,
but for the first time since the accident,
she felt peace. 

Since that night, she kept trying.  She was sure
that it was her daughter who showed her
the drawing, that she was there, attempting to communicate. 
Nothing else ever happened.
Just the strings.  Sometimes there were colors.  Sometimes
only darkness.  Always nausea and diarrhea and blood pain.
But no more messages
from the dead.  No daughter.

We can say that it’s crazy
or desperate or sad
to consume something toxic
again and again
hoping for a far-fetched illusion
to bring           some small crumb
of comfort.                 But who
down here                in this world
made of strings             can really
                   blame her

all that much      for trying ?

08 July 2014

Wildwood, New Jersey



Fringe happened
and hair bigger
than any night sky.

Ocean stars beckon something
else, something sinister
and beautiful.

There was this place
on the boardwalk (where
it was windy all

the time) where
they promised to make you a Star
in an instant.  Framed photos

of young Madonna and men
that looked like women, tough
and lovely and alien.

They made you a Star
by taking you into a recording
booth, a small, sweaty room

that smelled of cigarettes
and onions and allowing you to sing
your song of choice over the original music,

like Karaoke that lasted forever.
It was tempting, but I never did it.
My uncle Ed did once.

He came home all proud with
a cassette tape and played us this
awkward version of “Fight For Your Right to Party.”

The truth, though,
about Karaoke is
that it should never last any longer

than around three and a half minutes,
four minutes tops.  Any longer
than that is a little obscene.

I don’t know.  It might have been worth it. 
Ed was pretty damn satisfied with that song,
and you know what, his mom

seemed proud of him, too,
and all of us kids loved it
when he played it for

us that night he got
home, smiling so big

it hurt his face.

That Mineral Point Summer Was Terrible But Drenched in Song


All these Bollywood
Indian sisters sound
the same, he said

then walked upstairs.
We were blinded
in a town

80 people small
the year our luck turned
to jelly.

We never minded
going nowhere
without any more than

whatever we could grab
between our teeth,
though some days

seemed inarguably nasty. 
I liked to think I could tell the difference
between their voices, Lata, Asha, and

Usha, their gorgeous, orchestrated
wailing, but any variation
was meaningless to my crude ears.

I listened to them anyway, nearly
nonstop, all Wisconsin summer long, and as
our lives fell apart, deep in the sticks,

in my head

I saw people dancing.