Keep it down

Today has been about
keeping my thoughts and liquor down
breathing as though air were a scarce commodity
damage control of the mind
be still, and remember that you are a person
who doesn't hold anyone's hair back
True, she is
a tiger in a nursery
brutal without ever meaning to be
but not evil, never evil

One to nine

The other day an old friend from high school
comes to my house
a sad character with whom
I hadn't heard from
since graduation
and would you believe
that after all these years
the first thing he says to me is
that he's too drunk to stand up
so we sit down awkwardly and he starts talking about this
and that, until finally he admits that
He has fallen into a sorry state of disrepair
he is a morbid caricature of his former self
There are large gaping holes in his stomach
something, I observe, has been eating away at him for years
‘Do you think I will ever be able to get my life together?’
is all he asks, then just stares and awaits my honest
reply, for I was always someone he could trust to give
him my honest opinion
he might as well have handed me a gavel
I didn’t answer him
I just told him about these concrete statues I once saw
at a bus stop in Portland
like me they were sullen, waiting for the bus
that had not come;
one man was scratching his concrete head over a
sudoku
in the back of his concrete newspaper
another was frozen in the act of lighting a concrete cigarette
and years later,
when I went back to that place
they were all still there
every one of them
waiting
for the bus
for the nicotine hit
for all the numbers to align
from one to nine

the colonist and the native

In my experience, the interplay of love and sex is extremely one-sided. It is like when the Colonist tells the Native to sit down and speak the language of business, that is, the language we believe to be universal. ‘This is some fine soil you’ve got here’, he says, taking up a handful of dirt and appraising it as a jeweller would a zirconium. He conducts himself coolly, without giving away his intentions, much like a collector considering an item for his already extensive collection. ‘What say we make a deal: a nation’s worth of this terrific, cultivatable stuff in exchange for more liquor than your virgin liver can handle!’. And when that pen is placed in her hand and she takes her first deep swig of brandy, she might be forgiven for thinking that she’s just duped this delightfully naive dandy for all he’s got. ‘Dirt for liquor!’, she will exclaim, blurt out as it were, once the liquor has rendered her thoughts as transparent as the bottle she drinks from, ‘what a one-sided exchange!’. And the Colonist chuckles quietly to himself.‘Indeed’, he will say with an affected, car salesman grin.

Faux flowers

The flowers in my house are changed often
And at great expense but
I have no trouble telling what’s real from what’s fake:
Flowers, even the ones in full bloom, are not without their
Imperfections
browning, fraying edges which
Remind you that they will soon be
Replaced.
A flower that gets watered and preened is real
Just like a dog that walks on it’s hind legs is real
Accept, for the moment, that they are there,
Poised and perfect
But always remember that some manicured hand has gone to
great lengths
to make you itch to reach out and touch them
Just to make sure

Runway

This weight fell on me
like an airplane onto a runway
I could see it coming
but when it happened
it was louder than a bomb
in my head