soft fall

the grapefruit ice you stir

upon the delta breeze
while summer lost

the spark

calm down you need not

rush

the leaves to turn and

softly fall upon the crossing

walk

time to sit and talk

all the cell phones gone and what a world

would be. what a world

 

once

was and how we got along you

fingered my blouse i cried to think so

soon you would be

gone

kill it with truth

the ring you gave me years ago when

we were still in love

disappeared

i lost it. i did not know i had

in the lot adjacent to the autoparts store

touch up paint spilled so i scrubbed

my hands with pumice

oh

how we died. i cannot stand the memory the

fallout years ago

we could no more kill

it with kindness only

truth

fall soft

the grapefruit ice you drink upon the delta breeze

with summer lost its spark

calm down. you need not rush

the leaves to turn and

softly fall upon the crossing

walk

time to sit and talk

all the cell phones gone and what a world

would be. what a world once

was and how we got along you

fingered my blouse i cried to think so

soon you would be

gone

dream of a loss

i just now woke from a nightmare whereby my keys were lost or stolen. my friend sarah who i havent seen in a decade was the only bright aspect to the dream. she was helping me. taking me to some lesser known city resource where hopelessness ends.

we were waiting in line when i woke up. the stress melted out of my mind and body like a pad of butter in a pan. the birds the sun and the cats preceded me to consciousness. a couple hours before work. how terrible a feeling, to lose anything important to you.

archive k

The right is preaching morality again. Not that the left isn’t. This is not news. The right is taking sides again, damn it.  They are halving these lemons with merciless stainless steel knives they sharpen behind smirks and glassy eyes, listening to Limbaugh and talking about handicaps. They are crying now, the right, crying while their daughters work their confidantes into friends into acquaintances and phone lists to drum up a ride to the clinic and some cash for the procedure. Its outpatient. Its dire. It has been weighing on the young girls’ minds for longer than necessary. And the tears fall at around the same time. Early afternoon when the lemons are being spruced up and gutted of seeds for the marinated mountain trouts. His eyes are stinging and he’s crying and laughing as the compatriots rib him over it. Like they always do. Grown man crying. She’s sedated but still more aware than she would like. The nurses told her best to take a mild sedative not a deer in the headlights dose. Why?

Now she knew why. They were right. Because hey, she was still in her body afterwards, and though the seconds were hours, they were gone like seconds and she found herself looking back into the outpatient room almost as though it were too soon to go, unnatural so. She was saying goodbye to the nurses, now. They were trying hard to smile. They were doing it for her. Focused on minimizing the trauma. No one wants this. No one asks for it or deserves it. The right was wrong. The far right. The crazy deadstare lifers with their deadweight x-rate images no one should ever be forced to see. The deadend lifers dead to the daughters of the invisible American family experience. The parents whose lives have turned a difficult turn again, and no it’s not the best time to share. Not the best time to care.

Will it ever be? Maybe. Maybe looking back ten years gone, looking back and apologizing for being absentee to the emotional discord, the spiritual movement flexing inside a young bright star, young girl got screwed and screwed up, misjudged the guy, misjudged the timing, got drunk with her friends and got stupid. Lost alertness… lost a whole lot more. Even with the benevolence of the nurses, the nonjudgment, the suspension of judgment, the carrying out of reduction of harm. The understanding the psychology of trauma and loss and grief. The grounding the girl’s process in smiles and facts and exactness of protocol so as to provide a tight container of love or compassion for someone so young and asking for help, and still learning to love self through the madness of all the bad shit we do and see and have done to us over the years. Some to survive. Others to survive longer. And all of us to endure that steady certain suffering in whatever dose we can take, and then working to stem the tide with our pharmacies by our sides. Crutches are good for a while.

What kind of world could be more intriguing than this mystery mansion with its dead ends and distortions? We witness ourselves and one another, going through contortions.