26.5.14



under brittle white light
everything smelled of berries
even the pine tar soap I worked into my hands to kill the scent of onions on them

it leaned against my back peering over my shoulder as if it had a right and I had no
privacy
I pushed back against it with the bump and a nudge of my shoulder
working for a little room
vying with it to remove its breath from behind me lapping warmly at my ear

                                                                                 then    because it didnt take any heed
I leaned eversoslightly into the free-standing four-legged sink  
and came around with a vicious elbow
landing it against its temple

the light went zigzag   then silver    and then eversoslightly dimmed


I dont know what happened after that
I went black
                   bitter black
so black nothing dare follow me in
and anything that was with me
cowered and hid in the folds of my crumpled body
                                                                                    there on the cool starspeckled linoleum
hiding like feasted spiders ignoring the tugs and temptations plucking their silks

they had more sense than me


I dont know how long I laid
nobody begged me with ammonia or smelling salts
and the weight at my chest that at last worried me back to consciousness was a
neighbors cat who evidently came in through the broken window over the sink
                                                                                                a tinny-edged starburst standing on two black thin stems
it forgave me for disturbing it  -  rousing and groaning  -  and slinked distracted into
a near corner and watched
                                           its nocturnal eyes thin shining disks

the kitchen was filled with darkness
though I could make out things in it
it didnt contend with where Id been
around me lay broken stoneware plates saucers and cups and scattered bent flatware 
above these latent shadows and incumbent quiet dark there was a hint of laughing
cellophane
and making to my hands and knees I half-expected to be rerouted back to where Id been

I didnt leave

absently my shoulder twitched   my elbow ached
my forehead and face were sticky from making flowers with the windowpane
I was dull
dumb
and keyed up by the faint presence and humor which sounded elastic and brittle at once



1211,  Sunday,  25  5. 14

25.5.14

a shakedown



a shakedown
gone awry
but they wouldnt get what awry meant
both a little too thick
but those who put them up to it
banged the buttons on their cash registers to S O L D
who wanted to do an end-around rather than play it legit
theyd get it
when it got back to them

you want things like this to get backed up
like a toilet
the shit backed up and spilling onto their shoes
their expensive Italian leather shoes

thatll piss them off
not the two thugs they sent that got busted up
a little bit too obvious
a little too over the top
though that was their risk

but the shit on THEIR shoes
the business cards they carelessly tossed into their attaché cases which morphed 
into a steaming turds
thats what gobs up their sudden attention

but only briefly  just long enough to really get their blood percolating
get it hot
up in their eyes
then bringing them down
real cold
using the tire iron on the backs of their skulls
that they had wanted all for you

sometimes thats what greed gets ya

it aint always the wag of a pretty fairway iron in your manicured hands





1725,  Sunday,  2  12. 11

24.5.14

                                           www.youtube.com/watch?v=95N1rFtC7-E


Happy 73rd Boithday, Bob!!!

all the things you have witnessed and done



  
eventually
you realise
all the things you have witnessed and done
will never go away

they will wait their moment or turn
to appear
or waken you
hang in your eyes
and haunt you

there is no amount of disorientation
not booze or drugs or sex
vapid glaring entertainment
or Cried-Aloud denials
or Genuinely demurred apologizes

there is no
shutting them out
or closing your eyes
they permeate your eyes
swell in your chest
are acrid smoke seizing your senses

there is no
getting away from them
no faithful apology to stem or staunch them
there is no way
to leave them in a room and shut the door behind you

they are yours
as much as you are theirs
your skin cannot divide you
your brains and organs dutifully work for the pair of you

no thing that ever entered you
departs






1343,  Moanday, Memorial Day,  28  5. 12
remembering a cat’s murder