(google image)
I get a hollow brain sensation
when I’m overwhelmed
Like my brain is porous
and anything can fly in or out
It’s an unsettling feeling, to be sure
Feeling unmoored
unglued
Poetry
Serenity (of The Smug)
(google image)
Serenity of The Smug
the breezy manner
that accompanies
Good Fortune
The knowing smile,
shared,
that says, “We have it all.”
(and you don’t.)
Untouchable
No surprises
Dark deeds
easily erased
Oh, it’s good to be us.
Such security
of the mind
Protection
of the body
Absence
of heart
We don’t abide
The have-nots
It’s their fault, anyway.
They didn’t work hard
enough
They are lazy
They don’t come from
good stock
We deserve everything
we have
God has smiled upon us
We are blessed
And you are f**ked
Shadow Self
(google image)
It’s all the bright I cannot see
when it’s right in front of me
Shadow Self
Bursts of light make it through
in spite of themselves
like a fragile shoot birthing through
the crack of a New York City sidewalk
The will to live
Remains
only altered, and strange
beautiful in a different way
Shadow Self
The Leftovers
(google image)
Running does not help
They will still be gone
We will still remain
the lost
as much as they
My hope is that
they watch over us,
guide and protect us
let us know, gently
when we are
going further astray
Keep us from hurting
ourselves more
And rather, feel
their love
every day
I Carry His Heart
Halloween was Lorin’s favorite holiday. He loved getting dressed up and greeting the neighborhood kids.
If Halloween fell on a weekend, we would get more inventive with our costumes since we weren’t getting home late from work.
On one such Halloween, Lorin dressed up as a hillbilly zombie or was it a “redneck” zombie? He was excellent with makeup from his years studying and working in the theater. He wore a torn flannel shirt, suspenders, old pants, hiking boots and carried a mixing bowl with blood (red food dye colored water) and eyeballs (fake, of course). He stirred the bowl with a wooden spoon while sitting on the stoop. He scared some kids, but one actually asked for an eyeball, much to his mother’s chagrin.
I dressed up as the “joker’s wife” (Heath Ledger’s Joker) in a housedress, torn knee-high stockings, big slippers, matted hair in a hairnet with rubber spiders in it, and white face paint with a jagged red smile.
We were quite the pair.
A neighbor took a photo of us, but I can’t find it.
I will miss Lorin at Halloween, as I do every holiday, and every day.
This poem is dedicated to him. I almost had my best friend read it at his memorial service, but I changed my mind. I would have preferred to have read it myself, but I wasn’t fit to do so.
i carry your heart with me
(by e.e. cummings)
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Powder
(google image)
Earth, moist from an earlier rainfall
impression of a body on the ground
where he lay
powder pink blanket with blue stripes
like a baby’s blanket
too short for an adult
I wanted to keep it
but it was taken from me
like everything else
that day
ground into dust
I am powder
no longer whole
only particles of myself
remain
I don’t recognize who I am
Rage at the Machine
(google image)
No one to blame
so let’s blame the machine
the machine that drove us to his death
the black Ford Explorer with champagne trim,
like Stephen King’s Christine
or we can blame lack of sleep
we both fell asleep–
not a Viking death
as Lorin had hoped for
death be not proud*
I am not proud
I am deeply depressed
I want to get over it
but I can’t seem to
so I’m trying to get through it
every day
but the days are long
and they don’t make sense
Let’s blame the machine,
the inanimate object,
not the humans who
controlled it
and lost control of it
the lives lost
the heartbreak
blame the machine
*Death, be not proud (John Donne)
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Bad Jesus
(google)
Bad Jesus
hang out in the parking lot
Bad Jesus
no scholar, but he is smart
Bad Jesus
tell you he loves you so
Bad Jesus
want money
and you’re his mark
Bad Jesus
make you feel
so special inside
Bad Jesus
mold your body, mangle your mind
Bad Jesus
take you away from your family
Bad Jesus
say only he can set you free
Bad Jesus
bring you enlightenment
Bad Jesus
say he’s a genius
Bad Jesus
smell you in the ocean
like a great white
Bad Jesus
If you see him,
run for your life
Svengali
(google image – John Barrymore as “Svengali”)
You are the best at everything
You are God
but are too humble to admit it
most of the time
You have so much going on
we couldn’t possibly understand
You don’t want to bring us negative energy,
you say,
but you do anyway
You love us so much
We are “family”
but you don’t treat us that way
You come into our home
and take what you please
Of course you can,
you have the key
You never say “thank you”
or “please”
You hate liars
You are not who you say you are
You are Svengali
We were your slaves
We were suckers
but we know now
We will heal ourselves
and move on
Will you?
Evil is the New Black
(photo: Alexandra Panyukova)
Orange is no longer the New Black
Evil has trumped it
with gun-slaughter
domestic terrorismus
unlawful law enforcers
sniper attacks
blood splatter
media porn king pins and queens
luxuriating in the horror
like a bubble bath
after a hard day
thoughts and prayers
thoughts and prayers
thoughts and prayers
another funeral
interviews on wide screen TV
24-7 news cycle
weeping mothers and children
it’s so banal
it’s all the rage
to be enraged
constantly
Congress on vacation
needing a break
from truth
how hard it is to see
when you won’t believe
Suburban Hobo 