Archive for January 2013

was the maker lonely
up to the time the maker made?
or merely curious
to discover what a fabricated will
would do or say

maybe the maker has always been making
universe after universe
each divided by plastic orange fences
each using a new ingredient or spice
in the recipe for free will
each seeing a different hue
when light reflects through sky
some perhaps with no light at all
no heat
no change
what will a will do when
there is nothing to break free of?

What do you think of at the word soul?
what is a waterline traced
by a child’s fingertip?
what do you see of a cloud
after it has spilled out over the hill?
what is that sound in your ears
a moment before thunder?
that sound of that moment of anticipation
of the wake of a cracked sky?
what is the name of the fear
that floods you when
your heart skips
or stops

What is the soul
is it that which says I and me?
or a silent witness
you occasionally think
to invite over for tea
once the
dusting
and the sweeping
is done

It could have been kid
it could have been different
it could have been me and you
back to back against our foes
kickin ass and grasping big ol handfuls of glory
laughing like pirates cuz it was just too easy
“Those scurvy dogs never knew what hit ‘em”
we’d say to each other
and laugh
and laugh some more
together

It could have been me and you kid
and I suppose it’s just silly
to be wishing on that lost star now
but I do
here at two am listening
listening to them howl out there in the greenbelt
I do wish I could tell you
about the chunk they took out of my heart
even from here I can see stringy shreds of chest muscle
stuck in their teeth
dangling from their snarls

I do wish I had been at your back kid
when the crystal wolfpack first circled you
you were easy pickins and they knew it
their night cries gathered their number against you
“we found one alone, come feast”

It could have been different though
it could have been a reason to live
to live at full volume
a reason to wake fist banging for the day ahead
it could have been doorways into a grand courtyard behind high walls
instead you were exposed
out there in dry wilderness
with a bottle of pills for hope
that hope to end hopelessness
it visits me too
it comes round in the dark and pisses on my doormat

It could have been different, kid
it could have been me and you
shooting fireballs of light into the fucking darkness
owning our street
riding with the top down
spinners singing that sweet chrome song
I know I’m not very gangsta
and I had wished that world would refuse
to welcome a twelve year old white boy
but now I just wish I had just put on some dem gold chains
and learned to bounce
and be with you

You probably don’t know it
but for Christmas one year I bought you a Busta Rhymes CD
it sat under the tree until well into January
I finally unwrapped it and played it
and man it was good

You probably don’t know it but I’m not who you think I am
I don’t feel the way you think I feel
and I was just about sit down to write you this
when the amber wolfpack came for me
I didn’t fight long before they had me to the ground
I reasoned I belonged there
and so I just laid down in their hungry circle
just like my father did
you didn’t know him much but you remind me of him

There is not a lot of pride in our blood kid
sometimes kid it is just that way
and we get only what we scrape up
but it could have been different
it could have been you and me

All used cups – 99 cents
and there is one well-used
A bit delicate
A sharp lip
The floral design fading into china white

She drank her coffee black
I conclude with a tipping look
or perhaps a single sugar cube but certainly
this cup lived its life favorited

It has rested beside many morning papers
and accompanied many fresh tea-biscuits
here it is so sad so lonely
its friends saucer and spoon lost
at the bottom of a box in back

All these other stranger cups surrounding
most haven’t a clue how to be a favorite cup

You must meet her lips just so for
what you contain is both
a delight and dangerous

You must shape into her hands lovingly on cold mornings
and balance perfectly from her aging fingers
when her mind is engaged elsewhere

Your morning greetings should be bright and hopeful
reminding her daily of all she is likely to forget
- There is beauty in the world to savor today
- There is goodness in every drop of life
- There is truth to be stirred by even now

It is not an easy thing to be a favorite cup
you must endure many more scrubbings
than the visitors cups
and the thoughtful-gift cups
which say “Worlds Greatest Grandma” – loved but unused

You are far more likely to be dropped and chipped
so you must be stronger than the rest

and more than any other dish in the cupboard
you become part of who she is
until the day she dies and when
she does
the plates and bowls and holiday mugs
will always find a new home
you never will