|The Dilemma of Different Realities |
On the days you don’t post to Live Journal
the scenarios in my head occur on streets
I could never navigate.
I’d get lost trying to
even with your well-intentioned
directions. The shopping
plazas with names like
in outer circle D.C.
look fake repeated so
many times. Every
road ends in a cul du sac.
Your high level
security clearance doesn’t allow
access to yourself. Are your CIA
realizations just another
misinterpretation of reality?
My reality hums
hot and cold the way
air conditioners in July are huffing
the chlorophyll from the plants
and the vacuum seal from my engine.
When they stop, I take
a breath. The heavy-water
Uranium swim I enjoyed two years ago,
noticed the warning sign too late)
is still worth the bargain I
made with the ocean, closing the deal
with a sea glass handshake
Two Buddies on the Corner
Jesus and the Hanged Man
didn’t hang around
For a minute…or more
they forgot themselves,
you know what I mean,
which the mages will warn
never to do
but we do
like we do
and forget those pivotal importances
like the place we knew before
you know what I mean
you talk about it every once in a while
a hint of a smile;
dream about it more
and don’t wanna wake up;
even write about it
but then you forget the words
or what they mean
same as a name
and every once in a while
just once in a while
when you’re not hanging upside down
or carrying a sword
or thrashing in the night
you turn your head
and there it is...
a jump in your heart
so graphic you gotta reach
to see if it’s still there
but it ain’t
cuz you can’t feel your heart
until you capture that glimpse
put it under your hat and go whistling
Changing the Color of My House for Obscure Reasons
In copper bowls, seashells and sea glass from Hampton, Folly and Tybee
recline in mute acceptance, compassionate sacrifice,
substitutes for our trip to the sea
Perhaps I'll wrangle an interlude,
sleep in the car within toe distance
listen to my harsh lover lick the earth to extinction.
I'll pay the demanded tribute
in return for big waves: scraped shins and crabs in my hair.
Seaweed, cables, and lobster traps wrap around my heart,
ensuring I can't breathe unless within hearing distance.
In the meantime, I've painted my house blue,
a hilltop backdrop; a fitting box to hide my longing
so the neighbors won’t stare...