Incantation

It burns me, the memory of that day –

            Like a forgotten image

            Jerked from behind my eyes.

From the window, we watched the night die.

The stars were iridescent raindrops on black glass.

And you looked at me with the mouth of solitude.

And I licked our sour blood from your lips –

            Lips devoured before they were kissed,

            Lips devoured with devotion.

And you built me a nest inside your heart –

            A nest in which to guard my tears.

And I looked at you with the mouth of solitude.

And you avoided the eyes of dying me –

            Like they were chips of glass from an accident

            You wanted to pretend you did not see.

There was no room for worship

            With the coming of morning.

And I had no gloves with which

            To grip the treadless night.

With sanitary eyes,

            We watched the sun rise

            And wash the heavens in

                        Blood and mercury and iodine.

And at noon, alone,

            A paradox without illusions,

            I gulped the white sky of July

                        From my open window.

and on the air fine dust trembled

and on the window ledge the sparrows fought for crumbs

and in my stomach your fire burned blue

And at dusk, the light faltered,

            Allowing one thousand darknesses.

But your light is unfaltering,

            World without end.

stigma

 "Dreams of Flying" by George Grie

after they have gone

i am alone with the words

the words they said

the words i heard

the words i imagined

the words i said

the words they heard

or perhaps did not hear

because they were not listening

though they pretended to listen

and in sinks this feeling

i know it so well

like the brown spot

on the inside of my left step

a beauty spot they call it

a mark i say

this feeling of something

this feeling of nothing

this feeling of a wet whip to the brain

this feeling of a white shock to the eye

and then i dream they will go away

not the whips or the shocks

not the words

but them

i dream they will go away forever

that i may rest with the words alone

and so i sit by myself in this darkness

that is broken by an artificial light

that i have allowed

i sit in this room

and the walls grow taller

and wider

and tighter

i sit in this chair

and the colors deepen

and glow

and pool

i sit

and my shallow inkpot becomes a well

i am a diary filled with words

filled to the brim but not overflowed

and yet locked

and the key discarded

and i dream they will return

not the walls or the colors

but them

i dream they will return

that i may think of something unsaid to say

some words with which to pretend a conversation

but why do i wish my words their own imprisonment

and with this distracting thought

the words are scattered

and my face smarts and my eyes sting

and the moment of my collapsing heart threatens

and i am mortified

with shame and humiliation

though i am with my Self

and She is with me

i am stumped

at catching my Self in this weakness

and my eyes want their explosion

but i do not allow it

i do not allow

this involuntary expression

that deforms a face beyond recognition

because i am afraid to cry

even with my Self

because somehow

if

if i should cry

i might lose a measure of pride

as if this measure

whatever its weight or size

can somehow save me

from the stigma

i do not allow

this involuntary expression

and though a measure of pride is retained

something in my heart is heavy

something in my mind is dark

with the

weight size

of this mark

of this stigma

of these tears unshed

but then comes Love

my love for me

because who will love me like i love my Self

and narcissus loved himself

so what of it

only an imbecile does not know

                        he loved the water too

and i wish i could live

and i wish i could die

and i sit by myself in this darkness

that is broken by an artificial light

that i have allowed

i sit in this room this chair

my tears like rocks in my eyes

and outside the moon sits in the sky

and glows like a polished crystal

but only an imbecile does not know

                        the moon does not glow

and my tears will not flow

no imbecile will see me cry

no imbecile will extend

a mocking finger and pretend

to dry my tears

only to lick my agony

and learn how salty my soul is

no imbecile will touch

no imbecile will know

my stigma is mine alone

hidden

like the brown spot

on the inside of my left step

and i sit with it

and it sits with me

and the walls grow taller

and the colors deepen

and my shallow inkpot becomes a well

and both diary and inkpot overflow

this is my infernal pleasure

this is my delicious license

this is my stigma

and mine alone

metz, interrupted

  "La Surprise" by Leonor Fini

trying to meet you

is at times

like being late for a train to

shall we say

    metz

i have lost my ticket

and lost some minutes

trying to find it

and i have lost my way

and on this rainy evening

the air is thick

with the vapors that come with rain

and now

i hopscotch over pools of muddy water

to reach the proper platform

# 3 as you’d said

and i run

my heels clacking on the wet pavement

and the rain drips

over the roofs of rusty enclosures

and the train whistles wail

one by one

and the brakes screech and whimper

as they clutch the steel tracks

and the trains hiss

as they release their pressure

and in crawl the smells

of electric sparks

and stale brioches

and day-old cologne

and i don’t think i’m quite there yet

at platform # 3

but this fog seems to lift

and the rain to become a drizzle

and i see you

looking

out of the window of your compartment

your lips posed like an actor’s

in a movie called

shall we say

un giorno di primavera

and you are tranquil

and undisturbed and cool

and over the sound system

brigitte bardot is singing

c'est un jour comme un autre

et pourtant tu t'en vas

tu t'en vas vers une autre

sans me dire un seul mot

et je ne comprends pas… comprends pas

but she is interrupted

by the voice saying

last call for 20:02 to metz

and before i know it

the moment of departure is happening

the train is sliding over the tracks

and i see your fingers spread

and your hand wave

and i gasp for air

and my arm is a comma

wanting to circle you in

wanting to make that train pause

and i see you half-smiling

and my arm becomes a question mark

wanting to close around you

wanting to ask you why?

but i feel it in my stomach

and i hear it with my skin

the fates are laughing at me

and you are laughing with them

and your distance surrounds me

and i am unarmed inside this space

and my eyes are bandaged with drizzle

and i memorize this evening

tainted with train station air

and with speechless dejection

by heart

Newton's Third Law

“Étude pour Poe” by Leonor Fini

Grab your book and sit down, kid. You’re not going anywhere any time soon. They’ve got you practically locked up with Grandma at home. And you didn’t understand what was happening at first, but the truth is slowly showing its hideous face.

Grandma’s dying.

And they’re not doing anything to stop it. Not only that – they’re “helping her” to die faster. They’ve got her stashed away in the coldest, darkest room in the house – the one with no windows. And they’re not feeding her, anymore. They do it to you all the time – send you to your room with no dinner. Just so they can “teach you a lesson.” If they can do it to you, they can do it to her. Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. Starve. Dry out and shrivel like a snail pulled out of its shell and slammed on the pavement.

Your. Mom. Is. Killing. Her. Mom. And you wonder if you’ll have to do the same to her, one day. Kill her by starving her. I’d never do that, I hear you thinking. But never say never. Life has a way of making us do the unspeakable, kid. If push comes to shove you’ll do it. And push will come to shove when your future wife tells you she’s had it with wheeling your mom around everywhere and taking her out to the park and taking her out to the clinic and taking her out so she can fill her prescriptions and cleaning up her shit and yadda yadda yadda. You’ll be up against the wall. And you’ll know your mom will be gone soon anyway, and that she’s nothing but a bag of bones with a persistent heart, so you’ll figure you might as well take everyone out of their misery and pull the plug. Not that you’ll literally pull the plug. Or maybe you will. If there’s a plug to pull, you’ll pull it. Like I said, life has a way…

But that’s not the problem, right now. The problem is that Grandma is confined to her bed and you know she doesn’t like it one bit. You know she can hear them whispering about her in the hall. She breathes through a tube and pees into a bag but she can still hear like a barn owl. And most of the time they don’t even bother to step out in the hall and do their talking. They just stand right in front of her and talk about her in the third person like she’s already dead. The will and the estate and the dwindling health insurance and the deed for the house and so on. And she can’t talk back because she’s got that damned tube stuck down her throat. And you always happen to be in the room when they do that. And it spooks the hell out of you when they start with it because Grandma always sticks out her little hand that looks like onion skin speckled with brown polka dots glued around a handful of bones and clutches your wrist. And she looks at you with a tear beading in the corner of her left eye like she’s saying You won’t let them do this to me, will you, Mikey? Remember all the good times we had when you were a little boy? Remember when your mom had to pack you out of your house because you were moving and you stayed with me for ten days and I baked for you and we sat out on the porch and had cookies and milk?

And sure. You do remember. You remember Grandma’s house that looked like an illustration out of a fairytale book with her white lace curtains and her French windows and her rose bushes and the sound of the straining hinges on the swing on her porch and the ladybugs that liked to hang out at her windowsills and mushroom quiche for breakfast. And you remember Grandma tucking you in at night because you were afraid of the monsters under the bed. She’d tucked you in without making fun of you and told you she was going to sit right there until you fell asleep. No monster will ever come near you as long as I’m alive, she’d said.

But, nothing lasts forever, kid.

Sometimes we have to make tough decisions about people we love, they tell you. It’s one of those hard facts of life. And they always make it a point to add, Grandma can’t make decisions for herself, anymore.

You’re only fourteen but you know all the hard facts already, because you’re always the one that ends up with Grandma while they’re all out "taking care of business." And it’s not like you hate having to babysit Grandma, because you do remember all the times you’d been a bad boy and Grandma had never said a word to your mom. So you don’t mind it in the least. You don’t even really mind the smell of disinfectant that’s supposed to mask the smell of human waste but ends up smelling like disinfectant trying to mask human waste. It’s just that when you’re hanging out with Grandma, you always feel like you want to try and explain your mom’s behavior, or justify it, maybe. Or something. You know. Just to clear your conscience. And maybe help Grandma to feel a little better. But you know, deep inside yourself, that your grandma knows everything that’s going on, already. That Alzheimer’s may be creeping in and licking away small slivers of her mind, and she may be as ancient as a mummy, but her gut is as alive as it’s ever been. And your grandma’s gut is telling her some pretty evil shit about her daughter. Your mother. That woman who lectures you about morals. Ha – what a laugh! She lectures you about doing your chores so you can "earn your allowance," and then she turns around and starves her mother so she can get on with her own life. Sometimes we have to make tough decisions about people we love.

And so you sit there with Grandma. And you wet her dry lips with a damp sponge because you know she's thirsty but they tell you she can't drink. And sometimes you read to her from Kidnapped while she stares at that right angle that connects the ceiling to the wall in front of her. And you don’t know if she’s really listening to you, but you keep reading, anyway. I’m doing my part of the deal, you say to yourself. And while you’re reading to Grandma, they’re at the bank or at the store or at the attorney’s office. And sometimes they all decide to go out and "do something social." Together. Your mom and her one sister and her one brother. And their spouses. And this is what happens today.

They decide they all want to go out and eat. And they decide they’re taking you with them. And you start to protest and make excuses. I’m not hungry and Who’s going to take care of Grandma? But they’re not listening to you. As usual. And you’re seriously worried about Grandma, because you know that she's terrified of being alone. But they’re worried about the fact that they’ve let you watch them for too long without stepping in and trying to explain what’s going on. And this lunch is their way of ganging up on you and “presenting the facts” in one whopping session.

They’ll start with the usual Sometimes we have to make tough decisions about people we love. And then they’ll move on to Grandma can’t make decisions for herself, anymore. This will be followed by Grandma’s going to be moving on to a better place. And then they’ll start to explain about God and Heaven and all those other words that you never hear them say except when someone’s pissed off at someone or something and they say Goddammit! or  Oh my God, I can’t believe this! or Good Heavens! Yes. It’s always exclamatory. But this time they’ll speak calmly. And they’ll tell you Grandma is unhappy but when she dies she’ll be happy again. And they’ll expect that to make you feel okay about what they’re doing.

So, you’ll all go to a burger joint. And everyone will place their order. Mom and Dad and Aunt Lisa and Uncle Brad and Jim and Alice. And then it’ll be your turn. And you’ll think about saying you’re not hungry, again. But you might as well order yourself a burger and some fries and keep them quiet. You’re going to have to learn to be wiley around wiley people if you’re going to make it in this big jungle, kid. The rules of the game are simple: Order burger and fries lunch with ice-cold coke. Make small talk with family members while awaiting order. Make eye contact with each person with whom you speak. Speak with confidence. When food arrives, pick up burger. Take one bite and chew well. Swallow down with ice-cold coke. Eat French fry. Make small talk. Take another bite of burger and chew. And so on and so forth. And then when they start talking about the whole Grandma business, which will probably come around your second or third bite, once they know they’ve got you stuck, you’ll want to tell them, “Grandma might smell like decaying skin and concentrated urine. But you guys stink to high heaven!” But don’t! Just nod your head like you’re saying, “I understand what you’re saying completely.”

Play the game, kid. And don’t let on. You haven't learned about Newton's Third Law yet, have you? The one that says that for every action there's an equal reaction? It's about matter, but the truth is, it works for humans, too. So just think about that every time you consider not going with the flow. These are some pretty messed up people. And you already know that they’ll do to Grandma what they do to you. So the opposite should be no news – they’ll do to you what they do to Grandma. And you sure as hell don’t want them thinking you can’t make decisions for yourself.

atmosphere of altered dream

                                                         "La Dormeuse"

                                                                  by Tamara de Lempicka

and this is how it always is

we have always met in the dark

we have always hidden in the shadows

you have always cried with open eyes

you have always pleaded for secrecy

i have always searched for the light

i have always danced to the sun

and this is how it always will be

one day twenty years from now

i will see you by chance

standing with another in front of

a certain shop window in a certain city

and i will stand behind you

and i will touch you

and you will turn around

and i will see recognition in your eyes

but you will pretend you do not recognize

and my heart will fold over itself

not because you did not recognize me

but because you denied me

and i once had this dream…

i saw you twenty years from now

standing with another in front of

a certain shop window in a certain city

and you did not know me

and this was real in the dream that i dreamed

you did not know me and it was a nightmare
with you its custodian

after what we had shared was it possible

you could one day see me and not know me

and in my dream i’d written

the preferred scenario

where things went like this…

i saw you twenty years from now

standing with another in front of

a certain shop window in a certain city

and i was standing behind you

and i touched you

and you turned around

is that really you you said

it’s so good to see you

and i said it’s good to see you too

and you said what have you been up to

all these twenty-some odd years

and i smiled and told you every detail

but in the dream i dreamed

the true scenario had imposed itself
and it went like this…

i saw you twenty years from now

standing with another in front of

a certain shop window in a certain city

and i was standing behind you

and i touched you

and you turned around

and yes? you said

and i said it really is you it’s been so long

and sorry you said but do i know you?

followed by a confused look on your face

and my heart folded over itself

even as i slept and dreamed

not because you did not recognize me

but because you denied me

and this is how it always is

and this is how it always will be
in dreams we touch with floating fingers
that linger and hover but never feel
in dreams our voices are muffled
like they're speaking inside our heads
in dreams we are light like we're
levitating in a challenge to gravity
in dreams we try to alter outcomes
in the ultimate test to reality
and this is how it always is
and this is how it always will be