DEEP CUTS
Today my d.j. brain
she drops the bass.
Creates anticipation,
expectation -
Hangs…
She never hits the beat.
I know the beat she’s looking for,
One hymnal that you sang.
Vinyl from your collection
you left to me.
But, no,
Please not today
don’t want to play this game.
Yet the bass pulsates
my head it aches,
so, I retrieve the cardboard box
your holy cross.
I flip one over to side B
where you and I reside,
that’s where the deep cuts hide.
The needle dips
into the inkwell groove
your smooth voice moves.
She’s scratchy, parched,
she stops and starts;
drinks greedily
from your sweet mead of poetry.
The song grows strong,
Then suddenly -
you burst in glory song.
I pause.
Your voice becomes the room
all things I touch are you,
my God I love you.
Now you’re in my skin
where do you end and I begin?
Why did we love and hate
so deep we could not escape,
a walled in gate
our lust and jealousy.
This song sings lovingly
of moody deep blue dreams,
were they for Us -
I wish I knew
but I can’t ask you,
missed my cue,
my body aches for you.
Now, what do I do
but look for clues
through your vinyl deep cut blues.
DUSKDREAMING ON MY PORCH, LATE SUMMER
I lay my head back
and feel the breeze.
I smell dusk of summer,
dying myrtle leaves.
I should be thinking of
Steve.
But I’m dreaming
of New York City.
A café.
Tasting coffee
mixed with liquor.
The smell of tobacco
and of French cigarettes.
I am a student.
A poet.
An artist.
Living on caffeine
and passion
in a garret apartment.
With only bread,
and butter,
and wine.
With desire of the pen
and detest of fame.
With my lover
who is an existentialist,
or an absurdist,
or someone who’s an ist.
And we fight
and love
with the same ferocity
of wild animals;
and we create
and live
every day
on the very pulse
of the moment
of the now,
never thinking
of the next….
A horn blares, yanking
me from my lover,
Who is an ist,
and my garret
New York apartment.
A MAN REFLECTS ON AN EMPTY PLASTIC BAG UPON
MOVING INTO HIS ROOM AT THE Y
Outside his window
a plastic bag,
once groceries of abundance.
Now dependent on
wind
who keeps him,
dancing aimless
in the sky.
Exhausted parachute.
Now carelessly discarded.
Only wishing
to live as he did,
in abundance
once again.
ROYAL AIR FORCE NUCLEAR GUINEA PIGS REUNION
2,000 atomic bombs were detonated after World War II and tested on hundreds of thousands of young soldiers to prepare them for nuclear war. They were not allowed to speak about their experiences during this time under threat of treason until recently. This is some of what they had to say.
They told us:
“Bury your eyes in
the crook of your arms or in
the sand.”
It was sheer brilliant light.
To say it was frightening,
was an understatement.
Indescribable…
shocked us all into silence.
When the flash hit -
you could see the x rays of your hands,
of your bones,
through your clothes.
Then the heat hit.
It was as if someone,
my size,
caught fire and walked through me.
Absolutely…Unearthly.
Strange.
Some lads would stand up
thirty seconds later…
limbs broken and bruised.
We could not believe
the blast would not subside.
After a while we were told
we could stand and look up.
Watch the mushroom form.
You caught sight of it at ninety degrees.
It was huge.
It wasn’t there -
It wasn’t there -
It was practically above you.
All we saw was this rising fireball.
A colossal fireball.
Going up.
And thunder, lightning.
You name it.
I noticed the clouds moving away.
Round and round and round.
It was too much for some.
Some were crying.
Asking for their mum….
Awful.
There was no comprehension that
anything like that could even exist.
It was immense.
It was a sight to see.
And I never want to see it again.
*Originally published in Morsus Vitae (April, 2025)
I Exist
My life is a dot lost among thousands of other dots. Yayoi Kusama
I exist
in galaxy
A universe
infinity.
Who am I?
A piece of dust
a passing thought,
am I a must?
It crushes me,
this weight of stars.
The everything,
it does me harm.
All I can do
is focus on
minutia in
daybreak of dawn.
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