Coil-calm, sliding through slits. Streaming cold. Hum; chill-chant. Stress and tension shaken out of muscle and mind by shivers; anxiety ameliorated.
(This is the tranquility found in my living room's air conditioning unit.)
June 24th
Entombed king, black and buzzing, laden with harem and feast of bird-flesh. Carrion-pharaoh. Sires doomed generations, white-writhing sons and daughters. Gluttons gulping down. Buried alive amidst rustling walls.
(This is a fly that found its way into the plastic bag the bird corpse from previous days is wrapped in.)
(This is a fly that found its way into the plastic bag the bird corpse from previous days is wrapped in.)
June 23rd
Grocery bag wraps crow corpse in purgatory for purposes of poetry; coffin-condom keeps flies from impregnating with maggots.
"Prices lower every day!" written as an epitaph on the side of the plastic casket. Rot-stench rising. Fermenting on an altar of cinderblocks during dawn, beneath Polaris.
(This is failing to dispose of yesterday's carcass, instead packing it up and pushing it off to the side.)
"Prices lower every day!" written as an epitaph on the side of the plastic casket. Rot-stench rising. Fermenting on an altar of cinderblocks during dawn, beneath Polaris.
(This is failing to dispose of yesterday's carcass, instead packing it up and pushing it off to the side.)
June 22nd
Rigor mortis. Corpse's tendons tighten. Before bursting and seeping, eyes stare as nearby ligaments loosen.
Distant, chain smoker coughs, connects the rigid and relaxed with his nicotine-anxiety and smoke-trailed pacing.
(This is stretching next to a dead bird on my balcony, listening to the hacks and gags of a neighbor.)
Distant, chain smoker coughs, connects the rigid and relaxed with his nicotine-anxiety and smoke-trailed pacing.
(This is stretching next to a dead bird on my balcony, listening to the hacks and gags of a neighbor.)
June 6th
Familiar foreigner-smiles, friendly. Hispanic skins, sun-smoothed and tanned by sand and the mountain aries of Argentina.
Double-strawed margaritas and endless glasses of lemonade. Discussions regarding dessert, prolonged, then translated. Shy apologies for the delay.
But it is their waiter who apologies, quietly. He cannot remember the translator's name, though she always knows his.
She does not eat-- he wonders why-- only drinks, and he wishes to share her alcohol and the awkward, unused intricacies and intimacy of wordless communication. Desires the contentedness and ease of la familia he serves.
Later, leaving, the Latino night urges him.
(This is serving an increasingly-familiar Argentinian family and, in particular, their daughter, who fails to forget me.)
Double-strawed margaritas and endless glasses of lemonade. Discussions regarding dessert, prolonged, then translated. Shy apologies for the delay.
But it is their waiter who apologies, quietly. He cannot remember the translator's name, though she always knows his.
She does not eat-- he wonders why-- only drinks, and he wishes to share her alcohol and the awkward, unused intricacies and intimacy of wordless communication. Desires the contentedness and ease of la familia he serves.
Later, leaving, the Latino night urges him.
(This is serving an increasingly-familiar Argentinian family and, in particular, their daughter, who fails to forget me.)
June 3rd
Ghost-touch staining glass; incorporeal longing left as oil and fingertips, palm-lines.
(This is a handprint on a window pane.)
(This is a handprint on a window pane.)
May 31st
Transparent satellite, spinning, struggling. Solitary. Futile and helpless blemish bound at the center of a black-hole intersection.
Blacktop void.
This is a plastic cup stranded in the middle of a four-way stop.
Twin-pair of apocalyptic, doomsday-red beacons, steady and seething, simmer. Hell-gaze unwavering, unending.
Then broken. Blinded, during highway eclipse.
Replaced by stoplight supernovas, pulsating yellow glimpses of causeway caution. Roads given up to the renegades who writhe and snarl at the timed, color-coded pauses and permissions-to-proceed of daylight travelers.
This is being present at the exact moment the traffic lights shut down for the night, along Route One.
Blacktop void.
This is a plastic cup stranded in the middle of a four-way stop.
Twin-pair of apocalyptic, doomsday-red beacons, steady and seething, simmer. Hell-gaze unwavering, unending.
Then broken. Blinded, during highway eclipse.
Replaced by stoplight supernovas, pulsating yellow glimpses of causeway caution. Roads given up to the renegades who writhe and snarl at the timed, color-coded pauses and permissions-to-proceed of daylight travelers.
This is being present at the exact moment the traffic lights shut down for the night, along Route One.
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