The Empty
From the overhang of a blue metal door
in the corner of concrete,
I huddle, staring at the swell of rain—
drops blip from the building
and dull tree branches
into mud-grass puddles.
The school has always been dark inside
since it shut in 2008,
no more tracing my fingers along
the bumpy concrete walls and
pretending to fly down a ramp
in the main hallway.
Now the dark is outside, too,
the barren field riddled with shadows:
running barefoot from duties,
pushing up nose-less snowmen,
racing back to the blue metal door
when the bell rang.
I can’t remember what it sounded like.
An old man walks on to the soaking field. He stops.
He tests his knees as though about to jump or dash.
He stares at the field’s emptiness,
watches as though he sees something more
than rain and wet and dull earth.
He stands forever, motionless, red cap bright
and dripping,
perhaps watching shadows of his own,
perhaps entranced by the world
of rain and solemn sky.
He smiles.
Where art thou unknown spellcaster?
If in fact such a female and/or male exists
an insufferable existence clamors for surcease
against riptide of ineradicable anguish.
Living hand to mouth
for majority of mein kampf
(elle ex vee orbitz
roam'n around the nearest star)
punctuated with disequilibrium,
a comma date ting me
with penury and perdition.
Mental health issues aplenty
wrought courtesy congenital characteristics
manifestation of nasality
(thank submucous cleft palate)
linkedin with body dysmorphic disorder,
(whereat skinny legs
veritable spindleshanks of mine -
easily mistakenly
belong to generic flamingo)
laughably mismatched
and abhorred by yours truly,
a rather diminutive sexagenarian,
(okay, I stand tall)
at approximately seventy inches,
and weigh about
one hundred and forty five pounds
converted into British weight
equals10.3571428571 stone
whose reedy voice
easily increases in pitch,
when he (regularly)
experienced social anxiety
attendant with concomitant
physiological symptoms
such as: vertiginous undulations,
sweaty palms (palmar hyperhidrosis),
surge of adrenaline,
racing heart, and queasiness to boot
eased compliments nine medications
lastly pinhead (in my mind) caps off
anorexia nervosa scarred physique.
Academic and employment travails galore
dogged, hounded, lobbed at frangible psyche
I marginally experienced
high marks in school
but suffered cognitive difficulties
witnessed courtesy poor grades,
and getting promoted by skin of teeth;
A similarly unflattering track record
exhibited upon commencement
acquiring and retaining
sporadic gainful employment,
which stints getting hired
frequently quickly found me terminated
much to the chagrin
and anger from parents,
whereby strong emotions
(laced with colorful expletives)
found yours truly standing silent
allowing, enabling, and providing
rage against singular son
to internalize verbal assaults
upon my consciousness
further exacerbating
predisposition to psychological maladies
ill suited to marriage or fatherhood
both endeavors embarked upon
at the expense of now grown daughters,
whose childhood years
festered with indigence,
and pathetic excuse for father
plus emotionally immature
absolute zero worthiness as helpmate.
Thus...no surprise
Wrath Of Khan chosen as theme song
replays itself reminding me,
I never did nor ever will belong
to human race, a punishment
accompanied by other outliers among
the forbidding and desolate tract.
Subway tears
I only cry on the subway.
On the subway, I am neither here nor there, temporarily untethered from the happenings of life. I am the journey, not the destination. I am both moving and stagnant.
In this limbo, my silent tears go unnoticed. They exist solely in the unwritten parts of my story—the inconsequential moments between plot points. During these finite periods of detachment, being vulnerable is a little easier, a little safer. And once I disembark, I leave the moment behind, pretending it never existed at all. I stretch my cheeks with a counterfeit smile and laugh as the departing train takes my tears away.
Early Morning Frost
Drifting quietly over the slumbering land
comes the unfolding blanket of snowflakes.
They look like a flock of whirling stars.
Joyful and laughing, they gather in groups.
Chasing each other and playing seasonal games.
Or they drift aimlessly
like confused runaway children.
Frightened and alone.
The leaves bid them a dry welcome
as they lay there whimpering softly
about their Springtime loves.
When in youthful green colors
they bedecked the trees.
And waved adoringly
To the sweet, young blossoms below.
Occasionally one would sacrifice itself
and float to the ground.
Landing near a cherished flower.
There, for just a short time
they would bask
in its special and unique fragrance.
Now, those days gone
they lay dried and decaying
upon the broken-hearted Earth.
Restless, they move about in deserted places.
As the hopeless snowflakes approach.
Graveyard
I’ve fought and lost again.
Only this time
there are no more battles to be fought.
I’m afraid the war is lost.
And I’m just sitting here
letting the aftermath
take its toll.
There’s no more horizon,
no praying to a God
who doesn’t see me.
No more dreams to pursue.
Just hope for a dream,
some miracle
whose shadow isn’t apparent
in this wasteland of wasted life,
this graveyard of broken loves
and dust and bones
where my heart has bled out
into the blood drenched mud.
4 AM: The Night Before An Exam,
I draw everyone i’ve ever loved
charcoal, pencil
composition paper
I draw my father in goodwill wearing a sombrero
and his mother’s smile
I can’t seem to get his eyes right
(were they always this bright)?
I draw close friends
1 through 7
I need to be thinking about catarrhines, and locomotions of spines,
and stereoscopic eyes
I draw Darcy,
in our old bingo club classroom
wearing a happy birthday! headband
from the box of dollar store prizes
I still have the pink plastic duck on the dash of my car and Sophia has the other—what are the strategies of a mother
against infanticide?
what are the stages of a primate’s life?
I draw Uri,
who i swear, acts like they’ve known me since i was three
sitting in a school chair
pom pom hat pulled over their face
and i laugh so hard i nearly make myself dead by way of falling out of my seat and hitting my head
(just like i did when i took the photo)
I draw Sarah,
at the county fair
green t-shirt and gold glasses and red hair
I draw my brother and my sister and her children,
in the San Juans
only two and twelve years apart but i swear my niece and nephew
look so young compared to us siblings
Gene flow -
also known
as admixture is the process of allele frequencies changing as a result of
of interbreeding or the movement of a population to the other
I draw a strange picture of my mother,
bike helmet and fleece vest and a face without rest
(no wonder i left the nest)
there’s a vain page
full of self-portraits
borderline ego-whorish
why do i have so much tit in this pic? damn look at that waist and that pretty incongruent face—allopatric speciation is the division of a species as the result of geographic barriers resulting in different phenotypes for the
new population
I draw a series of crushes
from the mind
(and i can still remember the way Zac pushed his thigh against mine)—platyrrhines’ root is derived from platyrrhini meaning ‘broad nosed’
I draw the people i don’t talk to anymore
drifted or mutilated
something in it’s faded.
Do you remember when we were going down Race St in your car and then—
The Siamang is an endangered arboreal gibbon native to Asia. NWM (New World Monkey) or OWM (Old World Monkey)?
I scribble down beloved faces
looking for traces
See the beauty
—what we define as beauty is screwed, because i swear it's the catch in the light or the way Sophia's eyes looked so bright cradling an opossum or my sister in 2002 looking like a fool—
in all of them
And i think to myself it’s a real shame
that half of them
deride, deny, despise
themselves
When i draw you,
I am saying i love you the only way
i know how to do
I am begging you
to see yourselves the way I do