Twilight

nasturtiums, monkshood and one datura blossom in the outdoor bath// here opium  floats in our tea// we are eating warm bread from the jew baker, wild boar sausage and smoking cigars after midnight// driftwoodsmoke tangled in our hair, always// one night when no one was there we briefy swam naked with the phosphorescents//traced mountain lion tracks with our tongues at sunrise

In Her Hometown

Three legged dogs roaming the streets out here.  Dirt poor and lying she runs an extension cord from her trailer to there's and watches the local news, eats pot pies from the frozen isle. It's easier this way.

Invocation

Someone invoked Jesus. She heard he was a good man yet remained unmoved. There's a song and perscription of medicine on the water which we draw out on a stick. There's a howling within us for our  true beloved

Warriors

Not made but born he said,  sent her 4 campaign flags and rubies from Iraq. War horse who never came home. God is a Green Beret.  Let's honor him- A Song for the Warriors

My mother's womb was a sandbox,  sandbox as in war of the desert.  We tossed the family name into the pit on our way to buy a pickle from the corner store.


Dusk

he says things

with his mouth

cruel things

monstrous things

thinks it’ll be ok

when he forgets

she stays awake

remembering

sees whole seas

and countries between them

a chasm, gorge, huge fissure

he sleep soundly

she is horrified

he wakes up to eat breakfast

she has died from starvation

How People Die II

I know how people die, how they age, become invisible, dimmed,  without importance.  No one sees them and they fade, have no voice,  only mouth words, no sound, they are neutered or spayed.  I know how the world views them  as having no  passion or desires, paling in the late afternoon, becoming wallpaper, an old Devan or lawn chair. A voice without influence. Insignificant. An old brown bag no one notices.  Then they die, often alone and become “the body” not even human really, just matter to be carved into perhaps at an autopsy or by the undertaker. No one cares for the aged, the sickly. Too much trouble, they talk to slow,  have memories no one can remember.

Sunday 9/11/2016

I try to remember when I lost myself. I am using landmarks,  weather, Sun and Moon to track disappearance. Seasons where I was mist. Seasons when my thoughts were truncated.  I was erased like a day on the island.  The sea went out,  dragged me with her and I went under.