high-protein, low carb, says my muse/in massachusetts, and approves./the birds i made/are indifferent, being inanimate. one/needs a prosthesis or two/since her beak was lost in the kiln fire.
coffee/sipped from a cup made three weeks ago/with my own hands and mind/kona, classic black/fills my spirit.
fifty-eight years ago today/I was in an operating room at st. joseph’s hospital/with a doctor reaching into my nose/and excising with his instrument/a gaggle of nasal polyps/of various sizes
then the doc jammed a yard/of packing material into my nasal cavity/to staunch bleeding
and the removal of that packing/produced the most intense pain i have ever felt/to this day
and second place goes/to when dr. frerichs in a subsequent visit/again reached into my nose/to pluck out developing scabs/to minimize scar tissue
and a distant third is the time/i tore off most of the skin of my left big toe/in a bike accident/when i was barefoot
but back to that scar tissue/minimized or not it and more polyps/have appeared in two mris/done five years apart/in my right sphenoid sinus
and that that region is unchanged/in five years/is great news
and I love the word “sphenoid”/so i am overall good/with my nose now
choose well your opponent my friend/especially those with whom you cannot win/age and injustice and mindlessness for instance
and do be a friendly opponent/when challenged to a competition or other game/and let courtesy and goodwill flavor your efforts
your ultimate opponent is your dark self/and worse than laziness or other neglect/worse than weight gain or other addictive earmarks/is the scornful dislike of self/that comes with the self-scolding and self-rage and self-flagellation
those behaviors just keep you where you don’t want to be/and dig more deep the hole/you wish to escape
but when you laugh at realized absurdities/when you realize that massaging a problem works more effectively than tackling it/and that sometimes cooperation and not opposition will yield success/a burden will lift/and heaviness lighten
lightning might be spectacular/but lightening can be even more so though less dazzling
and enlightenment/ah enlightenment/dissolves chains
one bristle cannot/sweep worth a darn. teamwork and/elbow grease succeed.
a new broom sweeps clean/a middle-aged broom struggles/old brooms look nasty
when the floor is wet/a painterly sweep pattern/becomes visible.
groomed broom vacuum doom/particulate settlements/of dust and°or/skin
hey Gramps–how do birds fly?
well, watch em, Tim. they flap their wings, and when they do, they grab some air and push it down, so they go up.
okay, then, how do planes fly? their wings don’t flap…
Tim, the planes have wings that are curved on the top side and flat underneath. so the air over the wing, when the plane is going fast, goes faster than the air underneath. but it’s the same amount of air, just stretched, and so the air pressure above the wing is less, so the plane is sucked upward.
then how do rockets fly? they don’t have any wings at all.
you ask good questions, kid. well, rockets have these little rooms called fuel chambers. and the stuff in the chambers is lit up and when it burns it expands and goes out these things called thrusters and the tops of the chambers get pushed hard, just like if you pooted hard enough it would lift you out of the chair.
(Gramps and Tim giggle and then laugh)
(They hear the yelling of Tim’s parents having an argument on the other side of the house and they stop laughing)
Gramps, Mama is talking about leaving Daddy.
i know, son. (Gramps puts an arm around Tim)
why do they fight all the time?
well, Tim, i don’t know for sure, but i think part of it is your dad has a mean boss and then when he comes home from work he takes it out on your mom. and your mom wants to get out more and do.more with her life but your dad doesn’t want her to. so it’s a lot like that rocket and that plane and that bird. A lot of pushing and pulling. a lot of…
pressure?
yeah, Tim. smart grandson i have here.
(pause)
hey, Grandpa, you okay?
while I wait for the 3:58
am bus
two souls
who have made of the bus stop
a campsite
sleep unsnoringly
in the cool predawn
one looks like a ghost
after a grueling halloween gig
one looks like a shopper
with a cartful of artifacts
the bus pulls up and i get on
i get on with my steady-jobbed life
but i realize that i am camping too
on a different designated area
of campsite earth
and that we only decamp
when we die
i make my home in metropolitan phoenix, arizona/also known as the valley of the sun
one day i flew home from boulder, colorado,/which was lush and green/and it struck me that by comparison/phoenix was like the bottom of an ashtray
you will find green on some golf courses/and some lushly maintained gated communities/but the mountains trap the pollution in a sprawling shallow bowl/and a hike up piestewa peak will reveal/the thin soup we breathe
i love my valley anyway/and my own hair has turned quite gray/and it does not make me too blue/to think that I’m an ashtray too
“Just think,” thought some Chinese person,/Many bloody centuries ago,/”Put this dust in a tube and ignite it/And away a slug of metal will go.”
Now, I don’t think there is an actual designated region/Anywhere but in the human imagination/That human souls reside for eternity/In torment for their misdeeds,
But even if there were/I don’t think the mere imagining of the principal use of Gunpowder/Would earn that Chinese soul a ticket/To such a place.
But the driving force of human survival/Demands that once an idea is out there/That is novel and useful*/It WILL be run up the flagpole/To see who salutes it.
One of the mysteries of the Universe/Is some undetectable stuff called dark matter/That we KNOW is there/But only inferentially/Because the Universe could not exist/Without at least six times as much mass/As we can detect/According to some of us who add their imaginations/To their knowledge of mathematics/And physical law.
Imagine what would happen if we had access to that stuff?/SCARY!!!
A long time ago a man invited us to imagine/That there was neither Heaven nor Hell.
He was trying to push us toward peace and unselfishness.
But some of us seem to need angels
And devils.
****
*Since Useful means at core “full of use[s], putting something to BAD use still counts, alas.
on the salt flat I plod/too tired to stride/and try to make small talk/with the horizon/but it is rude to me/gives me the cold shoulder/and what is worse/backs away from me/with each step i take
so at tedious last i give up and turn around/but just as i do/the horizon/in a high urgent feminine voice/shouts “Wait!”
so i turn back around/and find that while rude/the horizon has nonetheless birthed me a gift/a woman my age/in desert gear
and I drink from her canteen/and we walk toward the shortest way/to civilization/and we have quick murky adventures/and before i know it she is leaning over me on my deathbed/kissing me memorably on the lips/and raining on me with fat splashy tears
and this is no dream
it is however an imagining
but it has dream elements of symbolism/and a longing that drives the narrative
and the magic of impossibility/horizons not being rude/nor capable of giving birth/to the woman/of my imaginings
between acquaintance and friend is a variable ravine
and in my part of the land greetings are clues with “hi. how are you?” standard for an acquaintance and “hey, how’s it goin?” a little more friendly and “billy! whatcha up to?” very likely friend to friend
you are most of the time “fine, thanks. how are you?” with acquaintances
but most of the time no matter the degree of intimacy you tend to avoid unburdening of issues and troubles
a true and caring friend will sense that you are troubled and know you well enough to try to draw you out if that is the best thing for you
so…how are you,
my friend?
One with Clay, Image and Text 