Sending poetry to the world
from the gas stove
a sizzle
[move quick –
and stir the wok, flip the
frying tofu,
while the rice pot
boils]
the table is set and your hands
folded
compliment the
napkins bowed
carefully in half
gas flames flicker off,
settle down,
scents rich then fill
noses with a quiet
anticipation
scattered and devasted
like how glass feels
after a break-in
shatters the street
it is –
the aftermath
that counts.
days without
words
i am nothing more
than
vapor
water on the stove boils
til dry
the hiss of a gas flame
laments
the loss
a cool glass sits with
a clink
the quiet takes form,
slips by unannounced, settles,
fifty years go by.
scraps of our life together
scattered on the floor
tossed repeatedly
when our life becomes
junk hoarded
each crystal figurine
seems to, in a dusty coat,
frown
and shake a finger
each newspaper, one
on another,
screams a headline of
war
when the dog sniffs out
an old banana peel
drags it along
thinking, one day, this will be
useful.
the closer i get
the more it crumbles away
the horizon
with its dark mouth
whispers
“if you cross this line
no light will escape”
you
and i then
as holograms, mouths open,
silent screams like
Munch
and our families
will go on living with us
hanging on
their walls.
some of our memories
like heavy silt find
a way to drop in a stream
like Haruki Murakami
might slip into a dream
chase a lost love | all
consciousness lost
in bleary
Japanese
mountains…..
hermit lives
on a mountain,
alone but for
the clouds,
hair grows long.
Sagacious child,
tell us –
are you scared of him?
or do you see
the wisdom in
that particular
silence?
you will never meet another
as terrifying as me
my hook will rip
your cheek
as you claw your way
across the deck
gasping for air
every twitch
compelling you
forward
your glassy eyes,
pleading.
those of us who believe in math
know statistically
all kinds of things are true:
solving for x
must equal
the balance
and this,
death is just one … fraction … away
it will take a lifetime, though,
limits
un-defined,
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