the trick is, he says, is that there is no trick at all. it’s real because it simply is.
Monthly Archives: January 2008
weekend snuck out
cross-eyed and stinky toed my son wraps one hand around the other like an evil mastermind and i am his henchman, i am his fool. how astute and he cajoles us all into carrying him around in front of our bellies as if he was directing us this way and that. the cold settles in and seeps around cracks and under doorways a chill that snakes ups calves and tongues the back of our knees. my daughter lunges herself from thing to thing, from watercolor crayons to dvds to the couch to chips to the bathroom before she poops in her pants. undeterred my wife goes through chores with a wariness reserved for those of us whose weekend has ended and the work week has snuck up on us. and i lounge and lounge with my music, with my wife, with my children, with my computers and do a little writing before the day ends.
he says, you need this as well, you need this to keep the madness at bay, this is yet another thing that makes you who you are.
always have been
the beauty of her, the slight dark within her, the pureness of her, desire and kindness, lust and forgiveness, a day alone, a day of skin on skin, without children, without interruption, to talk in the light, to talk of brownstones and empty rooms, to talk of then in the here and now, to begin again in the here and now, to dream again, to be living again, to be with her again, here and in the past, to begin again at the beginning, to fit the fragments to make as whole as we were, as we could be, as we always have been
stillness
as the dust settles after the penny has dropped I feel a stillness that has eluded me for far too long denied me for too long thwarted me everytime I’ve reached for it and even in my grasp it promises nothing it tells me nothing it leaves me a silence that I am to make my own it leads to make peace with myself
welcoming
and i dance with her and i dance with my daughter and i sing to my son and dance with him as well and i move through the house my home and i listen to the song and i feel moved and i move and i listen and i dance with them each in turn and i sing to them each in turn and i am trying to tell them something about what i am feeling by what i am listening to and although the words are not mine i try to sing them to make them my own and i try to fit my body into the rhythm between them and i am home it feels like i am home it feels like they finally are welcoming me home
across the divide
the burnt offerings of her heart like shark’s teeth blackened by selfish anger and the skins of snakes left abandoned on your doorstep. you try to fit the ashes together into a coherent whole but instead breathe in the soot of all that you were and could’ve been. old. older. sitting by the window along the highway watching cars skid through the onramp as hubcaps shot out and clanged against the curb. tears welled up in your eyes because you knew even then that your innocence was gone, you were already gone and it was only going to get worse. remorse without regret, regret without remorse, or something else entirely? he had married your mother just before thirty and all this violence that you now are has been rearing it’s head since you did as well. when will he stop dying? when will you learn to live peacefully and without pain? an accumulation of wounds and the wounded, of guilt and clenched teeth, the rage goes on indefinitely and your children grasp at your fists to make them into hands to hold across the divide.
ruiner. faker.
there has to be a way to rebuild a future and pick and choose pieces of the past. did i not say this already, i didn’t i say this before? didn’t i wish for this? i’ve destroyed so much. ruiner. faker. crippled. how to begin again, how to begin without a beginning? nonsense, pebbles in the mouth, dirt between teeth. mumbler. liar. stain. carved out, hollow, even in your son’s eyes, looking at you for something, looking for anything. your daughter on the other hand sees delight, your daughter calls you, your daughter hugs you impulsively. dreamer. believer. hope.
scissor slice mouth
the scissor slice of her mouth
scorched earth
scorched earth policy of blowtorches and napalm and self destruction of burning bridges and never looking back of my spine set aflame and hot whispers scathed across my mouth and I spin wildly like a top seeking purchase some smooth surface to cool my heels
the chill is black over ripened skin
the chill is black over ripened skin flayed open with maggots and caked blood. like the word on your lips as it cracks across your tongue and breaks your teeth. had i not been ruined, had i not been. i heave out morsels from the pit of my stomach and stuck between the gum and cheek with a measure of bile like no other. green and red, chunks of forgetting, longing, a sense of gained ground pitched over a porcelain bowl, flushing it all away to stand up again.