These bars
These bars
are so familiar
they are
it must be
the way
I took off
or the refrain
the whole note
a weeping
tumbler makes
on the table
hot or cold
& the pause
of staff
in the sweep
it takes, for
swift change
of sheets
These bars
are so familiar
they are
it must be
the sip
of fresh air
just beyond
the painted grate
or its illusion
out there...
the lullaby
wafting on,
on story time
to where we're
safe &
snuggled
between
...caked figs
smuggling the
communal
monkey
wrench in
These bars
are so familiar
they are
suddenly
on whim
circus like
flying & thin
in a ribcage we're
no longer fitting
These bars
These bars
with their heat
& their chill
their keep
& their steel
These bars
by which
we've sharpened
our feels...
& swooshed
them clean
2024 JUL 04
Jukebox Mettle
Whence this much change
shoots out
the slots,
I'm lucky
lucky...
too lucky!
so I thought
to count the cents
chips, and quarter pasts,
the tinted glass
downed
I pull my shades
and all these
winnings
shimmer...
Wurlitzer voices
like tantalizing snacks
and I can feel
the metal creeping up
a realization gravitational
that grounds the lot
...to cut and run
or face the music
and play it,
one more time
2024 JUN 23
Großvater
I was four.
Opi said it was a wake.
He said, "Marushka, we will go and look." With respect, for the dead.
Dead, I knew to be the not-moving.
The dead man was very important. So many people came to see him.
With respect.
Lying there.
"...a Politician," Opi said. I thought that must be something like a Policeman.
An Officer behind the scenes, at some desk, off duty, no uniform. I saw him armed, with telephone. Important.
He had a pin. On his chest, a little flag, over his silent heart.
People gathered. They looked, pointed. One or two at a time, we filed through. The room was small, or it was really the edge of a hall, a corner roped off.
"Did he hang himself?" asked a boy older, more worldly than I.
"Hush! whatever gave you such an idea?!" scolded his Mother.
"...but Mutter..."
"Sh."
And they stepped out of line, an attendant guiding them to the right Exit.
After much standing around and twisting our brims in our hands, it was our turn to walk along the rope.
The box behind it was lifted high.
So high a grown man could lean in and kiss the dead man's cheek.
For a moment it was just Opi, the deadman, and me.
Opi raised me. The man's face was wet.
Tears? I asked. "Spit," Opi whispered.
Now I noticed the man behind, seated, half-covered from viewing by the casket and fancy skirting.
Eating.
He was eating! And he was crying while eating. He tore into day's old bread, and with dirty hand, wiped sobs. The snot mixing with crumb.
Breaking the bread, with himself.
The back of his hand, wiping and caking his stubble, more, and more with each bite. With each wipe.
I could not turn away.
"Opi!," I said, "What is that beggar doing?!"
"That is the Sin Eater," said Grandfather in the smallest voice, as a hand noisily tossed several cents into a metal bowl at the beggarman's feet and pushed another old loaf upon him. I could no longer tell if he was hungry.
It was now the deadman, the beggar, Opi and me.
I knew Sin was wrong. And here was one man eating up a whole Church week of Communion!
"He is eating the dead man's Sins," Opi said as we turned away.
It was then I tasted Shame.
2024 JUN 15
Strengthening the Mental
In exercise the Cycle breaks,
sometimes, at the wheels
Riding, over dubious stakes
in a pace, or place called Breakneck,
or South Bend, it steals
the breath, between dream state and wake
For sport, some have opted for fake
stiff treadmills, small meals,
To exorcise the Cycle breaks
Navigate juju by handshakes
through ledger board reels
and phony spokesmen's pattycakes
As to raise the deal Life "mistakes"
over Fortune's wheels,
gilding detrimental stakes
The feeble conscience muscle rakes
in tired appeals...
for the turn in strength that it takes.
In exercise the Cycle breaks.
2024 JUN 12
Verbally
And this is me, sulking
none behind the droll
of words
Pavlov,
barking downstairs
Amusement, cold calling
three floors up in my apartment
left, an advert
as I struggled with bathrobe
as it were
two steps too late
to check...
with roll
And this is me, sulking
fogging the window again
as I struggle with the frame
paint drips locked
/in/me/
as much as I'd like
to stick neck out
and vent
shake my drop cloth
over the parapets
into the neighborhood
and redecorate...
mentally
for Amusement's sake
2024 JUN 02
Memorial Ceremonies
I meant to call the boys, collect,
Long distance, down under even,
Have us holler loud in force,
Young or dead, out for Rafah:
Stop barfing bombs at Neighbors!
Start loving others, as the Chosen,
One,
in life and death,
my brothers. Sisters.
And I lost my nerve,
at such a base sentiment
hand on its pacemaker,
beneath the old Standard.
I died, a yellow heart, at
The Battle of the Vulnerable.
2024 MAY 28
One Mind’s Garbage
Hold-on...
I also like landfills, the holler of seagulls, the order bulldozered
ask me,
why?
I also like debris, of life, thought tardy, or slow, to decompose
ask me again,
Why?
I also like oceans, crushed pebbles & seashells that've faltered
ask me, one more time,
why...
Emily-rose...?
2024 MAY 21
The Salvage
Some wordage
would need no
further split
if not seen to
timber over
pierced ears
like Venison,
dear
where we meet
in the middle
cut, the eater
and the kill
the rubber,
and the steel
on pivot, shift
of accident,
and the odd
salvation of it
swiveling, in driver seat
aproportioned
in Ziplock and Tie
ten for the risen
and one for the fallen
some for jerky, or broths
and the rest for good company
like Offertory,
ruminant
2024 MAY 08