noeyes
“…as you stare into the vacuum/of his eyes…” Bob Dylan, “Like a Rolling Stone”
he is noeyed/nevertheless he is eyeing us all
judging
looking out at you and seeing foibles
waiting for another slip
and that is why he is there on my home screen
amongst stuff i often use
i made him to watch me/keep me mindful/let me know twin abysses abide/and every moment counts
i stare him down to prepare for a challenge
he wants to intimidate but hey
i can see right through him/so can you
on the pier you smell fish and saltwater/or you might be inside a shack to buy a hat/and you hear seagulls and tenor-clanging bells/and you might see a huge grey battleship at the edge of vision
on the pier you lean on the rail/and resonate with incoming crash of surf/and you are pulled by a sea that sings to your dna/of home
on the pier an excited boy catches his dinner
while a wandering-eyed husband catches hell
you walk from the pier to the boardwalk/rent a bike and build a breeze for your face
you glide and look backward and see that the pier you were on is shrinking/and you turn around to make it grow again
turn in the bike pay and walk to where you had been and are welcomed by a calm pelican who gives you a tiny nod
on the pier
a honeybee thwarted
must go to plan b
b cautious when straying
from combs in the tree
b mindful b wary
b nectar-aware
b able to map-dance
and lead sisters there
.
the dance of survival
in honeycombed tree
will lead to arrival
at bloomful point bee.
in the concourse/walking toward me/a fortyish guy wearing his allegiance to ohio state
i’d never met him but i congratulated him
he said Thanks a touch apprehensive a touch smug
his football team had last night defeated the texas longhorns
and as I sat on a just-vacated seat/they started allowing group 3 passengers on the plane
scant minutes later i and my fellow group niners are let to board
scant minutes later i am strapped in with seat 23F
one minute later I am remembering/the car ride to the airport/on icy roads
right now the welcomer to flight 474/has mentioned the need to do some defrosting
but assures us we are under clear skies
.
ever the pessimist i worry-wart in my seat and wonder if this my last message
so to give it the gravitas it may need/I hereby state that it is possible to love everyone/and hate no one
love sweetens the psyche and hate venomizes the psyche
my universal advice to everyone in five words is “have good safe challenging fun”
happy landings
Note: At the time of this writing, the author is still alive.
the buddha’s lap is full of snow/his testes are retracted./his head is void of yes and know/and dead men’s laws enacted./ignoring cold and hungerthirst/and mudra’d bladder fair to burst/he’s in serenity immersed/and centered, stilled, and placid.
the buddha’s chakras are aglow/attuned to One with All./the fountain by him does not flow/it welcomes flakes to fall./by dusk the snow will them enshroud/make trees no longer barren-boughed/and false existence disallowed:/Nirvana come to call.
B is for Bravery facing the elements
R is Reflection on good times indelible
R also Raconteur seizing tale filaments
R is the Race to the End-Tale that’s tellable
R we emotional? Tear ducts are wellable.
yesterday my right hand was whittled in two places
i can feel the sutures tug when i overflex/and every several minutes the constant dull ache gets a brief sharp stab of emphasis
but ibuprofen and the weensiest splash of canadian whisky have been effective pain management
and i welcome the sensation as evidence of healing
on the left wrist until early this morning/ were the enhancements of FALL RISK warning tape/and Adhesive Bandage Sensitivity medical advisory/to go with my visit ID of name°date of birth°date of service°visit code
so the left wrist is a drastically reductive synopsis of my current identity and peculiarities
while the right hand is a reconstruction zone
i am a fall risk in winter springing back from infirmity
and just this instant summer you are perhaps wondering what the lame puns are doing in an otherwise serious poem
there are two answers
one is that the tendency–nay, the URGENCY–of making puns is hardwired into my DNA
and the other reason is that i tasted the first draft of the poem and found it bland
so i added seasoning
in less than two hours the doc will slice my hand and wrist
so clean sheets go on the bed NOW
and as always the fitted sheet tries to not live up to its name
making its mischief first by pretending to be Portrait when it is Landscape
then by spontaneously shrinking three millimeters so that tug mightily as you will the corners never quite line up
not without wrestling and tugging and mattress-lifting and knee-balancing and cursing
but there is some comfort with these machinations in having remembered to perform this uncomfortable task pre-op
and not with fresh incisions
i ate/two hours ago/and have not cleaned up/nor gone anywhere
i fritter/i dawdle
i did put a call in to the surgery liaison lady/because i don’t yet know/when tomorrow i am supposed to show up
got her voicemail left a message
i keep telling myself Get A Move On and my self answers Nothing Doing
but there is something in the nothing that i am doing
and that is charging up/preparing
and taking a quick lookthenlookawayfast
into the abyss
.
i would spit into that abyss
but i don’t want any part of me going there
not now/nor soon
The soup is turnip and yellow and bell pepper and barley and vegetable stock and three carrots, softened to succulence in a crockpot overnight
The coffee is from Sumatra, recommended by a magnificently tattooed artisan who makes bells as part of one of Arcosanti’s revenue streams
The coffee is in a mug that the maker calls “The Anarchy Cup,” inspired by a former co-worker who denounced all politicians
And is flavored with half&half and blue agave syrup recommended by an architect friend whose designs were incorporated into buildings made throughout the Valley of the Sun over forty-five years
The bowl of soup is gone but there’s more in the crockpot, cooling
Dessert is Whoppers with the coffee that helps the chocolate dissolve to uncover the malted-milk core
And the Whoppers remind the bachelor of going to the movies with his daughter, now estranged
It is a layered breakfast laced with memory and reminder
Unconventional unto weirdness
Richly satisfying
One with Clay, Image and Text 