Never Seventy-FourNever seventy-four.Never this day.My heart fell out of my chestbecame a cowso I could lead her into the city.We aim across a field of thirsty wheat,I put my hat upon her head.I am an older man a simple manfrom simpler times in simpler clothes.I hope I'm blind by the time I reachthe city with its great reflexions.Never seventy-four.Never a day like this.She balks at the river, no matter my coaxingby now she is so long away my chest she's forgottenour common tongue. She used to give sweetcream but now she just bellows.I know what it is to be married, see?I was right to have kept her so longelse I'd have eaten her for a porterhouse whileI still had my teeth.Maybe that's why she doesn't come.Never seventy-four.Never this day.I heave, bring her through the riceshe turns saffron, her eyelashes orange threadI think to sell at market street. I'm going backwardnow, feet aimed at my mother's bedhair gone the way of teeth the way of sense.I leave
A ByePlucked by Dallas for an entire weeklike a string refusing to tuneI spent more time driving than I had ever wanted--until finally, trading companionshipand well-seasoned exhaustion for solace,I watched as he pulled the clouds over my head,heat lightning snapping like a static-cling bedspread.I curled up, and the tiredest parts slept,giving up burdens and ghosts and taking rest,and I forgave him for Texas.
In Progress: Help WantedMy scientist friend tells me that if there was a giant room filled with monkeys banging away on typewriters for all time, one of them would eventually write a novel. I don't bother asking her if typos are allowed or not, because this conversation has nothing to do with novels—she is explaining LIFE to me. A typewriter has twenty-six letters, ten numbers and all that punctuation, but this really isn't much to choose from. She tells me, the building blocks of LIFE are pretty simple, too. I remember 8th grade science. I don't think there's anything simple about endoplasmic reticulum, and I bet the spelling is the least complicated bit about it.We're chatting while we watch something on Discovery Channel about how they found "what appear to be fossilized bacteria" on some Martian rock or some-such, and I'm trying to figure out what's so cool about bacteria. She thinks this is proof of her typing monkeys, and I think it sounds like time to change the subject."Scrabble?" I suggest."
it would change him"he's a man of great potential,"they always said, their faces slowly failing."yes, and he could do anything he set his mind to."he'd done just that very thinglate last weekendwhen he walked out of the room declaring,"i can sleep when i'm dead."He found herand kissed her and their childrenand caught the train into the city.he worked straight through for thirteen and one half years missing his daughter's wedding his son's graduation speech his wife's fearful menopause.all the while they lived comfortably aching--fat like little calves----and lowing for the milk--As if love could be boiled downto rendered fatand calcium deposits.
faith of a childThe whole month of November was spent in preparation for the baby's arrival. With all the care he could muster, and frugal use of an already too-thin paycheck, he spent every free moment assembling a tiny world perfect for a baby. There were bright colors and smooth surfaces to stimulate the neonatal cerebellum. He must have spent an entire week on a place for the little one to sleep, assembling its minutae the way he'd seen done so many times. How fortunate he had some experience working with this type of wood--and providential, indeed, that he'd been born with the proper name.Imagine his delight then, on Christmas Eve, when in the rush of last-minute shoppers he reached out tenderly and clasped the display's tiny plastic infant in his fingertips. Pretending to sneeze, he tucked the child into a green paisley handkerchief and swaddled him into a pocket.Joe was never the brightest of men, but everyone was so tickled when he got r
A Letter to 20062006, I hate you.With all due respect, I just wish you'd curl up and die.So far, considering you're not even halfway through your incumbency, you've held in store for me:three car accidentsone relocation and at least one more to goan innumerable number of poopy diapersa lot of dog piddlessadnessserious health issues in my familythe loss of the best job I ever hadthe loss of my creativitythe loss of my friendsmany family fightstoo much laundry.What cannot be forgiven, however, is that you just broke my glasses. What do you have against 2005, huh?Shit, these are just about the sweetest frames ever.Look, 2006, we might be able to work things out if you can make some personal changes. First, you need to resolve what appear to be serious anger issues. Honestly, dude, stop checking me so hard. I'm doing my best.How about, as a show of good faith, you start by throwing some serious cash my way--like thirty grand or so; enough to buy me a new car and take a vacation. At the ve
five yearsstainglass and hardwood pews, a white dress rarely deserved-- your shiny shoes.it really is a sweet memory, isn't it? the day i hand-picked you to be my nightmare.
EphemeraI found an old map of my life in the closet today,worn almost to the point of tearing.It was burnt at one end, my birth I suppose.Pieces of it still crumble when I'm not careful.The first roads are drawn in crayon and lead only in circles.There is a picture of a man sitting at a table shaped like the moonsomewhere around my sixth birthday.My father perhaps. I don't remember. By the age of eleven the first small houses appear,my friend Tommy with his German Shepard shooting cap guns, further down, real guns, another hole. Of coursenone of this is to scale. The first graves appears at agetwelve, my grandmother is drawn wearing a black dressmade of constellations. I stand next to her holding a toy spaceship. By this time the trees behind my house are quite detailed,their leaves cut from old green food stamps. The compassis backward. West is East. South is missing.There is a
The Celestial GirlI search for the lonely sparklesSo uniquely recumbent and undercover.Ambivalent towards popularity's pupilsbut perilously potent to mine.Merging towards a mergershe migrates from malignance.I now spy the girl with stars in her eyes.Engulfed with eternal enchantmentI sit still as shemeekly models magnetismon the lunar lit catwalkShall we bequeath this blanketed beauty?Unwrapped for all our pleasuresThe masses refuse to respecther austere allurement.Look howGibbous gasps with great gustoas she peels away the hidden agendasSo picturesque unlimited…...With gravity breeding synchronicityUnification is no more a dream.and seduction subscribes to its sensesThe 'Northern Lights' still seem so far away.