I had a moment

while looking up at the moon

parsing the night sky

obliterating the stars

that the steps I sat on

werent there

that the place behind me I called home

wasnt there

and I too

was immaterial

it didnt frighten me

since Vietnam I was long past being frightened by anything

I found the sensation odd

perhaps in a word

otherworldly

I felt like a note

rarely plucked on a harp string

sensitive to the vibrations around it

the scale ascended  

then descended away from it

keen it wasnt going to be played

it was grateful

to be honed in place

then I was returned

I could feel my knee through my pantleg

with my fingers

from where I sat

beneath this hilltop

there was a pale colored shimmering

it erased the street

the houses along it

the cars the curbs

the dogs their barks

the stealthy nocturnal cats

the brush and rosemary and digger pines remained

thin coyotes yipped

deer flanks twitched

the distant infernal hum

of traffic on the 101

desisted

then electrical lights dotted to the horizon

disappeared

an inky blackness oozed

for as far as my eyes could see

in every direction

it didnt frighten me

I was long past being frightened by anything since Vietnam

0042,  Saturday,  14  9. 13

tonic for Spring

tonic for Spring

sulfur and blackstrap molasses

teaspoons  one part to two parts

professed to cleanse the blood

                                                                 nothing a good iron fleam blade couldnt fix

if one had the stomach or gumption

or perhaps an enticed leech reared in a springfed freshwater lake  

these were beginning to sound like specialty rolls at a sushi house

raw eggs work

some prefer it with a touch of milk and coarse ground black pepper

while others find them repellent because they have something to do with raw chickens

cant beat garlic or kale

legumes or soybean pods

although he was partial to calling them edamame  none of its letters crept off beneath 

the lower line of a Primary Ruled Printing Tablet

                                                                 which returned to him thoughts of one-inch ruling 

Bond paper and its trusty companion  the Ticonderoga #2 Beginner Pencils and their tactile smooth round yellow barrels

Prousts madeleines did justice  but memory isnt confined alone to scents or tastes

theres a weight in the hand  a turn of a phrase  sensations  a place

all are Tonics

and other tonics   toxic   things better left alone or struggling to forget 

banished for reasons  of which none should have to be explained

                                                                             that are      and that existence suffices

that which exists is

and even when it becomes was / Is

perhaps toxic is vitriolic malignant  or inappropriate 

                                                                    or perhaps it just feels that way to some people

to those who have forged ahead  mustered their way beyond the was / Is of their

experience

and who are grappled and clutched   who are sought to be arrested by sincere others

who sincerely feel they ought to be grateful for their time

                                                                                                   and as that time expires

are somehow obliged to rarify or vivify their Past

made Subjects of their memory

                     living as a Memorial

rather than a human being

one takes a tonic to refresh

to invigorate

a tonic is taken Spring Summer Fall Winter as needed

                                                                                                          or necessary

and better ingested alone

1020, Sunday,  7  7. 13

ah   crying guitar weeping violin melancholy viola and cello

                                                                                                              Macabre                  

setting the tone                                                                                                                

percolating his inherent violence                                                                                       

widening the bare offset that struggled to belay  heel  his derangement and keep his                        irrationale at bay

they cast odorous smoke and irritating ash in his face   smarting his eyes  insulting his nostrils                                                                                                                     

provoking him

the hardwood he clutched grew more dense   it smelled of raw blood and senselessness                             

he committed a bludgeoning

                                             freeing             

happily dystopian                                                                                                                             

happily disconnected

                                   he left the truncheon beside the cooling body and before leaving he 

casually admired the traces  splashes  and flung drippings 

                                           he admired the pooling blood  brittle teeth  bone and brainbits

had he been utterly devoid of pity he would have taken their hands                                                                                                          

                                                       which was all there was left for the next of kin for an ID                                                                                                                     

though recently tats helped tell their tale

during quiet nights                                                                                                                       

he imagined if he could shake the music  if he could bring himself to pierce his eardrums

maybe the senselessness might expire

but he couldnt be sure

his brain was spinning record sides separate of him

Obviously the separateness vied for his attention                                                                 

                                                                                he could hear a machine work his 

cloth  -  stitching him together   hear the clatter of a zipper  -  drawing him together  -  or 

coming undone

its Undone or Done was baked into his cake

from the inside he couldnt use a toothpick to test it

and every murder performed   ah   informed his knowing

                                                                                           informed him that if he had 

been found out earlier and killed   -   Take No Prisoners   -   his marbling or perfection 

would never have been

               some Wolves grew old                                            

and danced alone in the dark under an ochre moon or wildly in the eviserating yellow 

glazed sunlight 

                                                                                           Enormously happy they were

Never Discovered

1754,  Moanday,  13  1. 14