2012
02.25
today I woke up early
drove a man with cancer to get chemo treatment
the man is so sick
used to be so full of strength
the cancer got in his brain
he can barely walk without the help of a cane
everytime we go to the chemo doctor
he goes in and sits next to the same old black man
and works on a puzzle with him
the puzzle is for those who had brain cancer
and can’t read anymore or steady their hands
the nurse called his name
the old man stood up
walked slowly to the back with the use of his cane
we saw the doctor for a minute
a quiet indian man
we went to the chemo room
the room was full
poor, middle class and rich
whites, blacks and puerto ricans
all fucking dying together
everyone with an IV hooked into their body
an old black woman read a magazine
a white guy in his 30s laid down with his eyes closed
while an overweight woman held his ankle
old men who could barely move sat staring
my mind screamed
I’m surrounded by the dying
these people are dying
dear God what is this
is this all of our ends
in rooms like this
crowded together
reading magazines
trying to get a few more years
in the waiting room
everyone looked so innocent
reading their magazines
playing on their cell phones
but in the chemo room
no one can hide
from the fact they are dying
I left the old man with cancer in the room
before I even got out of the waiting room
I started crying and couldn’t stop
eventually his daughter came
and she let me leave
I got in my car and drove
to the indian restaurant down the street
to eat 7.99 buffet
no matter how you lived
or what you did in life
you end up in the same chemo room
with your fellow citizens
in the chemo room
2012
02.21
Imperfection is beauty
Like driving through a sidewalk
madness is genius
almost like defective head
absolutely ridiculous
isn’t following too close
to absolutely boring
A wise girl kisses
Without failure to yield
Excessive acceleration
Or Improper backing
Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths
Or Lighting violations
But the moments
That take our breath away
Opening up the heart
Or ,Cutting through private property
Without the proper vehicle registration
Can lead to a
Defective Exhaust, impeding traffic
Or failure to cover load
A wise girl leaves
The expired operator license
Before she is left
**Words from Marilyn Monroe, Maya Angelou, and Traffic Violations.**
2012
02.17
On the underpinnings of clouds
We unlatch the Twin Otter bay door
And forward throw.
The Periwinkle Parachute
Instructor harnessed to my back,
We tandem freefall
Belly to earth into the void
At fifty m/s.
The Twin Otter hovers
At ten thousand feet,
Its propellers churn
Lost to the wind in our ears
And disappears to the hangar
Adjacent the red dot drop zone
Spray-painted amid the hay bales
And corn stalks:
This his six hundredth jump.
We tuck our limbs in,
Like the Peregrine Falcon
To dive down on its kill
And slip toward the fresh-tilled soil
At ninety m/s for a minute
Between the migratory geese
And albatross.
We plummet and I depict my son,
Shawn, aside the Senota
In wait, the witness
his birthday gift.
At three thousand feet
The pull cord is stuck,
The ground rushes upward.
The instructor yanks
And the drogue chute rips open
As the instructional video guaranteed,
The main canopy follows.
I watch the malfunction above us,
The main chute tangles,
twists and whips.
We corkscrew to a drop zone
Eighty yards from our mark;
The reserve chute is deployed
And follows suit,
The mangled mess flaps wild
In the wind about us.
The drop zone swirls
In circles outside our peripheral.
Our momentum full velocity.
I want to drift to earth
Instead impact the ground
Amidst the horseless carriage,
scythe and tall weeds
The instructor crushed beneath my weight
His last gasp spent in a whoosh.
I pray for rescue.
My breaths puff
in the October morn.
I watch them fade
Caught in the main canopy billows
To blanket earth and me
In Shawn’s screams.
2012
02.14
back home comatose
after all day babbling
past three nights
spit beer cans obscenities dry
dawn, end of the day the month
the year;
they trample one another
in the streets it’s all vain
all knowing all infinite and
between window panes my
face sleepless, heavy-featured
cinderblock eyes crack the light
and sound, staring back.
agoraphobic in department
stores, lines out the door;
“you look awful last night was great”
I can’t process so just sit and
think the fiction dept. is a close-knit
tangle of professional liars with
hidden agendas while the poets
brood over god awful dandelions
that don’t say a damn thing
in public parks and biographers
bury themselves vicariously,
slaves to the old bastard scribes,
but at any rate and for what,
I’m doing it again, not writing
but sitting slumped in a holiday
shop beating the exhausted topics,
rented mules, bleached sand bones,
everybody’s spit flying at everybody,
ain’t no way I’m goin’ downtown
this time ’o day no sir…
I look awful last night was great
the mass goes galloping by…
2012
02.10
One day, while my
Cat she was sleeping on that
Purple suitcase we—
Bought last fall from some man who,
Might have been crazy, selling stories and luggage
In a snow falling winter like
The kind you get in
Minnesota or maybe one
Of those other states,
Not California or New York, you know
One of the ones in between because
For all I know I am still there, asleep