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:
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-
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.
