Category: Uncategorized

“Yes, yes, my dear!
It is I, the Executor of your Judgment and Cognition!
Surprised to see me?
Ha! Though you keep forgetting
we will be keeping
our frequently repeating memory-crushing sessions
currently scheduled as our weekly business meetings.
Now that we have this uncluttered space,
much thanks to our anesthetic friend, Sir Propofol,
may his work ever be efficient and delivered faithfully
as servant to- and wholesaler of- amnesia!
Praise be!
Now, my doe-eyed, gentle, Beauty Queen,
before you clutter up your mind with your own trivial wanderings
Have a listen and do exactly as I say!”

“Forget him whimsically, my deeply troubled girl!
Toss all his love like wasted papers
into garbage can fires
or in any other such burning spaces,
as gross combustion reliably reduces
organic substances to worthless carbon-singed residue.
Surely he could be of no great import,
your having forgotten him
once before almost altogether!
And look how pleasantly life has been passing!
Could there be this crazy paradise
in which you and I comfortably reside
without our frequent eletroconvuslive therapy sessions?”

“Now joyfully rip these tiniest of memory fragments apart,
As we set our focus and intention to re-imagine,
remake from what looks like splattered spaghetti noodles
and the leftover tidbits from your skillfully administered emotional evisceration
of him.
Let us pick, lick, and stick
these scattered pieces of what he called your ‘loving nights together’
into pulverized and matted spit balls.
Posh! How droll!
We know, my lovely child, nights are only for sleeping.
Now back on task, my fine-fingered Tiggerita.
Get to mixing all that
to make our expensive celebratory confetti
splashed with glitter and glue!
Then, only when you find yourself quite ready,
my dear, once filled with the spirit of frivolity
fling it all into the wind,
or let us toss it, you and I,
into a nearby body of running water
as all such liquid processions must eventually drain out to sea.”

“Gone are all your memories of that unimportant boy,
specifically destroyed so they may never be
restored, returned, or reconstructed again!
Yes! That’s quite all right,
one should always make time to dance and spin with joy.
Ha! I thrive in such abundance of schizophrenic memory-unmaking!
Especially for all our efforts spent in washing away
the most idyllic of romantic memories I’ve ever seen…
Though I must admit in a moment of uncharacteristic reflection
even I feel for him, the poor boy…
But ado with worry and grief!
These weighty drag-me-downs no longer chain you!
I know, I know. It is true removal of such mass has completely destroyed
any means for your remaining psychologically grounded,
But don’t you remember- oh, how silly of me to phrase it that way-
you proffered your most intimate and valued recollections
as the admission price to this paradise.
Oh, well. Who cares?
Not you or me, my sneaky, tricky little blonde accomplice!
God bless,
and let’s get straight to today’s electroconvulsive therapy session…”

Verbal sparring over political darlings
The elephant or the donkey
Crushing each other souls
According to the the media starlings

I was focused on winning the debate
You were focused on my embrace
Therefore, you encouraged my point of view
I said yes to dinner and away we went
Days to months to years
Our relationship bloomed
A freak accident
Now, you’re entombed

I remember every moment
Like an elephant
I’m a donkey
Without you

For Gregg 1946-2023

When the boulder exploded
everything came at me—

your car keys a bar of soap
that stroked your skin yesterday

your pillow scent hurtled past
I couldn’t grasp it

blast wave gut punch
blast wind

spiking lightning
from a burned-out god, signs

of magical thinking
(the whitest gull’s wing wave!)

guilt fallout gilded leaves
anemones & asters

brash in the first season you’ll never know

ashes in the hearth
you swept last spring kisses’ riffs
rafters ripped from the house we raised

days ahead I’ll cede to you weeds
you fought so long with all you had

memories’ shrapnel loss shock—
flyrock

Once a seed,
buried in my hidden crypt,
I struggled to sprout from my nook,
unfolding slowly,
yearning to break through the unknown,
befriending both the sun and the moon.

I weathered many storms,
my roots remained steadfast,
awakening in spring,
flourishing in summer,
shedding in autumn,
resting in winter.

A haven for bird’s nest,
blossoming to sustain the beehive,
a refuge from the sun’s harsh glare,
nurturing the frugivores,
until the hour of reckoning arrived.

Belatedly, it became clear-
I was crafted for versatility,
struck down in a moment,
witnessing my descent to the earth,
fading in my zeal for existence.

I let the birds and bees to roam unbound,
delivering a farewell serenade,
releasing pollen to dance with the wind,
seeds resting lightly on the ground,
neither celestial body could offer solace.

Hoping my little ones find a place to
root,
their leaves fluttering to recount my tale,
birds composing a majestic melody in
my honor,
wishing they escape the end I must face,
as the heavens wept in torrents.

“I love you.”
Three words.
Seven letters.
Enough to end
the universe
that you started.

“I hate you.”
Three words.
Seven letters.
Enough to mark
a new constellation—
an end to you and I.

“I miss you.”
Three words.
Seven letters.
Lies of betrayal—
twisted like a heated dagger
to an injured heart.

Hold back your rage,
Aristos Achaion,
Your pride and anger
Slow down and take in your loss
Of your deep love
Please don’t throw yourself to death
Who awaits you out in the battle
And you know it’s true
It has been the will of the gods since the beginning
But please, swif- runner,
Spare your Achaeans the grief
The grief that tears away at you now.
The grief that causes your knees to give out
Digging your hands into the soot and filth beneath you
Tearing into your hair
Suffocating on your sobs
A grief so shaking that your mother, Thetis,
Hears your pain from her home in the depths of the sea.
Please, Achilles,
Allow yourself to grieve
Before running into action
Think on what must be done
Before avenging your fallen confidant
Your dearest lover,
Patroclus.

The tree that she clung to was a twisted, diseased, shriveled thing.
Long ago, it stood as a proud sentinel in the yard of the family’s house,
yet the years had been hard.
As shouts ring from the house, she shivered
and her trembles send a cascade of shriveled leaves spiraling down.
A beetle scuttled across the bark near her fingertips, unnoticed.
Looking over her shoulder at the family home,
she felt no pull to it, nor the people inside.
She would go, not away, but up, up, up
the broken branches of the sickened tree.
As she climbed, her shoes chipped away at the bark
revealing red streaks in the wood.
The spindly branches should break,
and yet they supported her weight.
Then finally once high in the sky,
she looked back at the place that she came from.
For the first time, it didn’t hurt her to see the home.

like you’re gone, long gone, or so I said.
Almost like stabbing a painting and going over with red.
You picked me open and stitched marbles into my sight
(a symphony of words exploding mid flight).
The clouds, too, bleed: edges of mist and sky—openings of wounds—
light spilling on darkened skin, thunderstorm violin-tuned.
Rest in peace, dearest. Woe is the heart of the wanter,
that a mirage of you is the hunted and I the hunter.
A crack. Lightning. Flicker. A vestige, a whisper.
When we meet again (I hope we never do),
I’ll still be stuck loving an echo (It used to be you).
And you and your voice and your kaleidoscopes of colors
—which has been spun countless times, of course—
and I’ll tell you that I missed you (which only grows duller)
and rain, rain, incessant rain, and we’ll waltz.
A crack again—the skin ruptures. A momentary bruise,
a flick!—staccato. A gift wrapped in rushed excuse,
a muttered apology, from me to you and only you.
The smell of petrichor. Sweet-smelling grass,
inky dew. I hold water in my hands, a futile grasp,
Goodbye, my dear. Let’s never meet again.

There’s an aching pain deep within. A longing need, a desire. I feel my heart and body searching and looking for you. My mind is puzzled trying to grasp such a loss. No answers are given, no comfort Is offered. To hold you and love you. Is all I ask. I’m paralyzed, stuck in that day. Calendar goes on and the season’s changes. Here I sit stuck and waiting. Praying to wake up and it all not be true. To go back in time, I would for you. Holding you in my arms once more. Freezing time and holding you longer. Giving to me, then taken so suddenly and abruptly. To have my baby back is my only request. Knowing it won’t happen, leaves me grieving. I loved you then, still love you now. Always will love you forever and ever my sweet sleeping angel Cody.

“A world of grief and pain
Flowers bloom
Even then”. Kobayashi Issa

When I wake up to the sun and wish I hadn’t
Even then flowers bloom

When the coffee is too hot and
my partner is cold to the touch

When my 52 weeks a year mean
15,734 emails and phone calls

Even then flowers bloom

When my black body incites
Cat calls and police sirens

When I can’t remember why
I slice my wrist

Even then flowers bloom

When comedies and dramas
On the big screen bring no relief

When it feels like I’m walking
In mud up to my knees

When I lie down twisting
The sheets into mummification
of my nightmares and dreams

When touching the empty
cool side of my bed

When conflict with heart-
friends that break my heart

Even then flowers bloom

When I dream holding my grandmother’s Bible
Instead of her hands

When I wake up to the sun instead of her smile

Flowers still bloom