Purgatory
I sat and waited in the
Waiting area
I waited and imagined how it would feel
To get up and walk
To where I now sit, wondering
How it would have been to have stayed
And perhaps in a little while
The door would have opened
And a doctor would say hello
And for half an hour skim
The surface of my worries.
I’m not myself I’d say, like
The edge of a knife had been
Dulled
I don’t remember how to make jokes.
She’d nod, and say
That’s hilarious.
And everything would be okay.
Fun Day At the Zoo
To speak or not to speak
About silence I ask
If I were to be sincere, everyone around me
Would erupt in revulsion, no one
Wants the truth, no one wants to live
In a real world
Yet I’m so charming
If I say a word, the word will land
On the canopy until I’ve said a word one too many
And there it has just fallen upon me
And I am dead
Is silence a good enough pillar
For how I converse with a ceiling
Where have you gone, my image
Where has memory broken you, and by
The sound of an unneeded word, or two,
I make it to the next line, and there I say for the next:
My beloved everyone, can I speak to you
By not speaking, You Sack of shit, but I never
Mentioned, because the wordless and backward
Arch of your smile compelled my tongue
To tip-toe just around the rim
Of your sheepskin drum
And sheep I do say, and yet not to you,
For then I’d have to say sorry that you’re a stupid sheep
Recall, how in the motion of the
Locked door in a field, I could not take
Another step
Without walls, a lone door that locks
Only when opened. We are doors in the field.
We are all unnecessary struggles.
Look all around, and the open field
Is silence.
The War on Time
I am a bitter old man.
I write about the tree in front of me
So that I know there is
Such a tree
And days or years pass and I
May have forgotten it had been
There waiting, and I’d forget
How long it really takes for
A whole star to go up and fall
If I hadn’t written that
I spoke to a person and about what
Then this day would have vanished
Like all the others, but now this page is
A tunnel to the past.
I see people in the grass. Wind
Cold for a sweater. Bukowski
Book to my side
And now this moment is real, a
Brazilian samba in my ear, now
I’ll remember
This line means that time passing is
Real, that it doesn’t just become
Remembered, I am here
For all time.
I am the self abandoned by the whole
That changes, that moves in time
And space, I am in a dimension
Of non-dimensional surface
Now that I’m here, I’ll make a list
Of all the evil in the world
Starting with the stupid.
The Sun in Purgatory
There is sunshine
In purgatory
Because the sun still
Shines in purgatory,
A place where the sun has
Yet to cease shining
Down on purgatory,
A land marked by
The endearing sun
Across the enduring
Purgatory, where there
Is sunshine, for
So long that the sunshine
In purgatory has engulfed
Us all in the fire of
The sun that shines
In purgatory
Help me, help me
In the afternoon
To close by the painful twist of
The hand, the dull peach curtains
In the nostalgic peach living room
My skin is like golden peach in
Purgatory
My curtains are the kind
With all the
Horizontal strips
And a pullable string
That sends up the strips
When pulled, but never pull
In the purgatory sun
The Grim Reaper
Once upon the time
There was a little caterpillar
And he was not afraid of anything
Today I am going to snort lines of poetry.
If this horrible feeling, like
Life is a bad dream
Is just only a wave
Then I’ll let it go
And carry on pushing me
Up and the other direction
Until a child of a dysfunctional
Family vacation by the beach
Finds me, and years later
He’ll half-remember how my hair was
Like seaweed, and my skin was
The color of the sand, the pale
Distant planet sand.
He’ll poke at the shell
With his yellow-toy-shovel
He’ll feel the quicksand
And get used to the water
Without recalling why or how
He’d arrived
I arrive at the water, I resign
On the shore, and for a moment
Mistake the shore for death, and
The boy for the grim reaper.
At last we’ve found each other
And so the boy stabs me
In the throat with his
Plastic shovel, and it punctures
The hull of my neck
I thank him while the blood drains and back
I wave goodbye into the water