Thirteen ways of holding one's breath

I

Thru metamorphosis, emergence of

butterflies and frogs, spread and span

red cheeks, the gymnastic belly below

sticks it with

loins lurching

in love

untold dreams discontent 

unwonted wishes, woos and woes,

it comes and grows

infectious.

II

Heavy is the moment-

He is gone,

gone, gone, gone

Gone.

Generations gone by 

that beget her, 

forget her, the family moves on.

A casket, a Triscuit, 

another he dropped it,

and I put it in my pocket.

It is still there, in my jacket,

old as it is, new every time.

He was…

III

The spider, the car trouble, the anger,

the appliances, the curses,

the denial of utterance

which makes it so

makes it so,

laughable

as a bad day, a bad life, a stroke

of bad luck, 

against the odds

I would survive,

still born

dead. 

IV

All in. Cleared the accounts.

It has to happen now. 

It will be, what will be, it will,

still there remains 

doubt in the dregs.

V
Remind me:

You were never about you

were about them never being 

about you being you, or just you

and not them. They needed you

to be. You knew them before you

knew you were just being 

about them needing you needing 

them to be about being themselves and

not you being yourself to be by 

themselves, not you, being by yourself,

which would mean the end of you,
remember-

VI

Sow seeds are the things with feathers.

No, germination was more gentle.

Like television, what harm? What’s on? 

That’s always on.

And on lines, tapped for groundwater, mineral

rights and tracking cookie crumb trails,

I was being watched. 

I was being stalked, like prey, today.

A seed has been sown.

Murder,

she wrote, consumed him 

of her. 

VII

The same thing is

The same thing is

not 

the same thing is 

the same thing in

sanity.

VIII

Poison is in the food

poison is in the fear,

the body shrivels

the body resists

itself

healing.

IX

What has been done? What did you do?

About that-

Excuse us, excuses us,

in liberty, for just us,

to wait and seek happiness

coining it as pursuit

of private pleasures and 

philanthropic altruism,

we donate dirigible good

deeds, after our needs

have been met 

and mingled with resistance.

X

Go. I will 

meet you 

over

there.

XI

The next phase of the moon that wanes

knows how the shadows will fall 

before the darkness sets us in place.

XII

From inside the cave, gasping for air,

before light, 

unafraid of the burn, the yearning to yell

grips the mouthless beast 

hidden herself and longs to fill her lungs

with sound of feeling and exhale 

the pungent stench of death that goes

unheard,

the beast falls and the volcano erupts

with more of itself. 

XIII

If the sky holds you,

you will be carried

the rest 

of the Way.  

Inspired by Wallace Stevens poem "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

Painting By Alexander Mann (1853–1908) (oil on canvas) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.