Atoms cool in the roundness of new night.
A searing hiss as suns settle into skies.
Planets sigh and sway into first sleep.
Trees bed down in those dark patches
of warm earth, shiver as waves
coax water upward over sand
and the electric swing of a storm
is left dangling overhead…
After birth tremors subside
is a lull
and we lie curled up
on raw soil,
our new hearts thumping wildly
when we are drawn up,
bone by howling bone,
left standing…
Like falling backwards down a dark,
spiral staircase and bouncing painfully off
many stairs and banisters on my way
until finally awaking to the light
upon the thick dandelion-seeded
bottom with a gasp and a childlike chuckle.
That’s what it was like waking up with you
for the very first time… no longer lost!
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pieces of driftwood
answer questions
blowing out candles
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You can start at the memories
Of putting on your dad’s shirts
Pretending to be a detective
Because they were trench coat long
Then you can fast forward
To the pushing and shoving second grade
Boys’ restroom, nestled in the valley
The tractor mailbox on the way to high school
The long pacing telephone conversations
With a girl you never wanted to date
The gradual understanding that you were different
Somehow, not sure really, but just subtle variance.
I am dying India dying
give me some poison
and let me live a little
bite the dog
kill the moon
eat the sun
wallop the wind
hound out people
I am dying India dying
let me breathe a little
kill a little
walk a little
love a little
I am dying India dying
in your bosom
let me live a little
palpitate a little
curl up in your huge
arms a little
I am dying India dying
let me glorify all your deeds, misdeeds, crimes, killings, floods just
that
little bit.
I am dying India dying
in your living, vapid breath.
In all this time I haven’t traveled very far
Stayed nearby, a stone’s throw, a short ride
To everything, the landmarks of my life,
Those milestones that measure the years —
I can still get to my childhood home in ten
Minutes, maybe less if traffic isn’t too deep.
I work across the street from where I went
To grade school, went to college a short bus
Ride away, my college was across the road
From where I was born, still go to the church,
When I go, where I was baptized. I’ve been
Shopping in the same stores so long that
They’ve come to know me and never ask me
What I’m looking for, because I buy the things
I bought last week, last year, and years before.
Why, I’ve been married to the same person for
Forty years, our wedding was in my college’s
Chapel — across the road from where I was born.
These distances satisfy me, convince me that
Fate is enough. I rarely tampered, or meddled,
Or even raised my hand with a question. I am
Simply at home in the small place that I am.
Twinkie, Twinkie, Little Cake
You’re so popular, but a fake
Crème-filled centers taste like heaven
Freshness guaranteed till May 4007!
It’s a retirement haven
for people with money but it works
like a Roach Motel. People move in
but never move out.
You and your wife move in to
a big condo and you’re delighted
by all the amenities.
Golf, tennis, squash,
swimming in an indoor pool,
massage, good meals,
snacks for the asking, new
movies every weekend.
But then you need help
counting your pills and you
move into assisted living while
your wife moves into
a smaller apartment,
hoping to save money.
A year later you have a stroke
and you’re taken by gurney
to another building, the big one
in back of the compound
no one talks about.
It’s skilled nursing there.
Your stay ends when you leave
in a long hearse with your wife
in the front seat while a new couple
moves into one of the condos.
They’re delighted by all the amenities.
Could be the condo you and your wife
moved into when you came here.
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Where did I find the song I sing
The song inside all other songs
No one else can ever hear
Or claim it as their own
It’s a song of connections
A melody of loving and playing
The tune is made of dreaming
Dreaming of ancient songs
From the beginning of time
I once had a sister as in a dream
She walked me to school
Bossed me around
Taught me to smoke
And to listen to Jazz
Her laughter rocked the room
And her love filled my heart
Old photos back up the image
Her eyes were filled with unshed tears
Her revised smile lacked conviction
Tethered to coffee pots and ashtrays
As she laughed-coughed-laughed
Concealing oceans of disappointments
Scripting her life for others’ needs
Others less faithful
In her cotton dresses staying up late
Making sandwiches, folding laundry
When she caught me staring
She’d wink across the room
Nights were sad, company hard
The radio playing Joe Loco loud
Now she’s free to do as she likes
Laughing at her own jokes as in a dream