Dirty Water
crusted ceramic tiles
breaking
ritual
with their golden cracks and moldy footholds
I rappelled down the dirty
floor
sanctuary found
old bathroom in my aunt’s
house
fan loud
lock doesn’t work
toilet paper under the sink
uncovered window too high
geometric spirals onto
ceiling tops breaking sound waves
triangles in circles
I always marveled roofs
why?
they seem to hold houses up from the top
down
like a star holds a xmas tree
four walls in solidarity
us trying to make
difference between ourselves and the
world
which had become too enticing to
find distance from
crème brûlée blazed sugar crust
of humanity
truth is squishy and gives way
below your spoon
medical failures radioactive fallout
damn them
we don’t even know what or why
we are
apocalypse
we are the
earth
brown banana muddy taxi memories
opera Seattle
three people back seat warmth laughter
jokes a magazine
now just silence and the stench of
flesh
Lost Generation war poetry
nihilism bitterness
what?
I didn’t know our history but
uncertainty
speaks
lurch to a halt no seat belts
new sanctuary
no bathrooms
Little House on the Prairie
city is prairie made of logs
cold medicine of
survival
breaking code whip out
fortify the chinks in the walls
wood chips in the backyard
an axe left behind
good weapon – Crime and Punishment
who was here?
commune with soil smell wood chips – pine?
sweating syrup
bitter
sticky
sweeter than sweat telling of pain of lumber hewn from broken trees bare ground to make clear-cut city
this is the bottom of everything
where children are born
red book gold edging
holy scripture of dragons
childhood
mysticism
innocence
crack it open rich new book scent
mingles with wood chips unflawed
creamy paper
strange words can’t read
why words anyway
damn Plato nothing real
“ideal chair”
just say chair
but I think I found the ideal book form
shimmering gold blinding like
seeing the
sun
for the first time
juxtaposition – what a good word
showing off in middle school
what is real and invented
book or world
real moment
captured in the photographic mind of time
holy religion to a sun
that had never given me clarity to
see
we see nothing but danger
water rising
Zeitoun
the ground rises to meet us
take a color out of the rainbow canoe rack
red? or orange?
Coming toward the sky
Babel but no one speaks in
tongues
between sleep and wake
two worlds
sounds
thousand French aristocrats
meeting their end faster and faster
in the silence of the rising waters
faster and faster
high
frequency
starting at the ears and wrapping
‘round blanketed cocoon
is this how a butterfly birth feels?
what horrible sounds
the colors sprouting over wings
blue and purple
cool and warm
hopping
about
like atoms or electron circles popping
in
and
out
connectthedotswithlines childhood game see
whatever you want
you are the sun but your brain is on
fire
