fatal thunder was the best one had when she came to me for advice about his economic condition.
she was my first client, she said to me: My husband says I’m a fool for waiting for anything. I’ve been a mistress and a wife and a nurse, but I haven’t made a penny on my own. He makes a living as a taxi driver. I live in a modest bungalow and he has a sprawling country home. I make housework and keep the yard and the cars and two cars in good repair. We spend every weekend in our country home and whenever he is away he brings the mistress and the mistress’s boy and the mistress’s boyfriend and the three men together.
He was twenty-six and I was twenty-five when we married.
I’m not a fool, I told him, and here is how I earn my keep. First, I gather the money in envelopes when it is in my immediate possession. Then I write checks when I am told by the client to do so.
I keep the checkbook with me so I know who I have to go back and ask for more. I have a reliable mover. I have a reliable chauffeur. I have an accurate accountant.
This is how I do it.
When I get in the taxi, the driver asks me the destination and I tell him, and when I get there I get out of the taxi and tell him where to go, and when he takes me to the hotel or the house, I give him the key and when I am getting ready for bed I give him the bill for the room and then I turn out the light and go to bed myself.
In the morning I get up and say, “He’s a fool for waiting.”
I’ve been doing this a couple of years, but now I’m running out of the money I got when I first started.
I don’t get any more checks or checks with letters of explanation from my client, and the money is not growing with my business.
I’m sure if I wanted to I could get another job and earn more, but what would I do with all that time?
It might be difficult for me to do.
So silence and pain are my bed brothers. Love is my sister. Together we weep every night.
:: 09.26.2020 ::
MANY times, more than twice have I seen the ghosts of family, friends and then some whose faces that I did not know.
Quaintly, with ethereal elegance they are silky touch, feather breath, and opal eye, outside of the tick-tock of father time. It is most inappropriate to ask of them to state their business or intended pleasure
extend your politeness over scorn I say. But if I may make a brief apparatus is there a paper in the room, a hall-cabinet or a desk on which a white sheet is available? Might I do with the sheet as a summons?
The respect that one owes one’s guests becomes tested with boredom, oft times probed with practicality of thrift for there is nothing useful to be erected in the holder of the sheet.
Only when it is needful to be done is the one supposed to write in it. The space for writing is too limited.
Must the words be in black to be read? Must they belong to make any good or neither would it do to pay homage to the white sheets anymore? Might I pour out some ink, some thread to fashion myself a gnomon of sorts. Searching the paper to be free from ink might I try another opal eye, like my mother and the razors my grandfather used?
To groom his hair, and his kinks, each time they wore them down, but never ending. Might I even fawn over a ghost. Might I shed a tear for no other reason than it would be distasteful, and uncivil, to not do so. The wrong that is done to ghosts, which is, who has time for them when there is death’s work that need be done?
It is said the uncle, being thin, frail with a rasping voice, would sit silent and tired; sleep nearly all day, never greeting the other relatives, as the family has dwindled to once, two at most.
That he would be found some hours before sunset, with no water and no food beside his dead little cousin. Who was his spitting image when his lips would open he would tarry another moment?
Recline again, only to open them and wander the empty halls, awaiting. Someone who could help him with his chores, is the scene I imagine. A half asleep and suffering ghost who will never rest as long as
he continues to obey the order of his keeper, waiting until someone pays his due respect.
Now the spirit, like some phantom to the nighthawks of the wind and the greens of the apple trees.
He moves as lightly as the wind.
He dances like the light of an airplane.
He looks to live yet again.
In a white sheet, with a black script which could read nothing.
:: 09.26.2020 ::
I drank alcohol and now I am fat and laughing inside the dark cave wanting to take all my life back and to be the me I used to be; to be the music I used to sing; to be the sunrise I used to see.
When I reach for the stars and dream of roses above my circle of friends who I’ve fallen out of just like I’ve changed you. This is what love really feels like. Oh my! I wish it were not true.
This is how I feel when I sing but all I need is a kiss!
I had a dream once — a dream that a bottle of red wine got drunk and woke up. And came onto my hand and I dreamed I was singing and a beautiful lady in a wig came onto my legs and I dreamed I was dreaming &
I dreamed I was falling into a purple slumber; I told my in-laws I want to be my own man. I want the necktie to be the peace of mind I need. I want the dreams to be nice & not get me into a world of hurt.
I just want a kiss!
:: 09.26.2020 ::
we have had many hard things so far we’ll have harder times yet to come
it has been a hard year and we are too young to have had so many hard times
there is nothing else that this world ever gave us at least not this year
you taught us not to give things from this Earth
that will rob us of our precious time
You left this Earth without trusting
you left this Earth without giving to those who need
your light; that you held in your hands
unlike anything or anyone we may know on this Earth
there’s not anything on this Earth/ so special
so dear that was you. you could not live on this Earth
so like a human even when you are dead
you live forever in our hearts
you live forever in our souls
for who else in this world can we hold on to forever
we have you
we have your light
you are! we are the millions who followed you
who laid down their lives and you could not carry
the great weight. you carried so we did not have to
one day we will learn to carry this great burden
no human can carry this great weight
there’s only one who can
And now we can
What OF God?
When can I see you?
When will I see you?
why don’t you leave me alone?
Leave me alone?
You’ve been with me for ever, in my bad times,
in my good times, when there was no way out
and no one to understand the way you could see
in a million hands held
The King of Glory.
I guess you’re going to have to leave me now
if you’re going to come back
I guess you’re going to have to leave me alone
when you say my life will not end
So do you see?
How can I see the King of Glory?
Well, if I were to fall into Hell
and be the first to greet the King
then, I’m sure I would find you
But I don’t want to go to Hell
I have never been to Hell
It’s not like I’m afraid of Hell
I’m afraid of living without you
without the comfort of your embrace
or at least the touch of your hands
or the warmth of your smile
or the sound of your voice
or even your kiss
no, I don’t like the smell of Hell
the sky is always clear
and it looks so pretty
when it’s sunny
no, I don’t want to go to Hell
I don’t want to be the first
to greet the King
I just want to be with you
:: 2020 .24.2020 ::
Jason had this penthouse apartment that was centrally located in Beverly Hills. He was incredibly clean, but in an overwhelming kind of way.
The carpet and stuff were spotless, the cabinets were plastic, and the paint was not chipping. I felt like I was in a Doctors office waiting room.
He was snoring loudly, and just at the right moment he opened his eyes. “Ha ha! You’re dead! This is a dream right?” I felt a bit offended,
as I was obviously the one snoring. “No, no no!” He pointed at the clock. “It’s 4AM!” (Lucky number 8!)”You’re a zombie! You’re dead
and you’re dreaming!””I’m a zombie, alright!” I yawned and started to hack up zombie gore.”Watch out!” He screamed and jumped out of the bed.
“All right, you monster! I’m dead and I’m dreaming! I’m dead and I’m dreaming!” He chased me around the room.”You’re not dead, you’re a zombie!
You’re a zombie, that’s just what you are, a zombie, so it’s a dream!” He threw up his hands. “You can’t win!””I can’t win, yeah? That’s right,
I can’t win. That’s my luck, haha! I hope you like midnight horror flicks.” His face crinkled with confusion, the zombies smile that I was always
afraid of flashing on.”Well I didn’t say I was a horror movie person.””Oh, that’s right, but you said, I’m dead and I’m dreaming, so that’s
a horror movie right?” I thought about it. “Okay, I guess it’s more like…Like if a zombie comes to my door…”
:: 09.24.2020 ::
i act as the poet this night, this time for a Soul with empty stares. Without
melancholy or extermination, of a broken home with distance mother and father —
believing not knowing that bitter Souls have separated hearts. Time grows me
older but not my skin nor flesh — bride — we dream within pride!
others grow death through disease. So we hard harder toward the feast of Paradise.
Where did she go wrong/ hey! mother! Father! come back! i’m trying!
hey! Mother! Father! dreamer i commend my light to her dark star,
Nature so stretched out. Two oiled
lamps with the gentle flame of her flesh.
I watched over bleched bones and
the clothes of the once impregnated
with seminnoctural material.
Withing this historic way my bones
and flesh acquired a great thought
of preponderance in my loving
and forever living intentions:
do you not know I write of you
;those in the future.
:: 09.20.2020 ::
SWEET falling light of a waning day /tomorrows\
to dream of a Life over pain
crushed by distance and time — you come to
show me : near or far and wherever we are
the heart follows & once again we find our
hearts closer now.
Tears fall and fears break minds
so love is Love when Love is with you
and i hold you again
Once…near and more so far in time
once more you open hope and find me
Oh! Nothing i fear! That i know
love wins over thoughts and flesh and
time! Forever this way we are together
within entwined hearts.
near—far; wherever love falls i believe
the heart follows & we go on — forever.
:: 09.20.2020 ::
i wish to look out upon a summer’s day
with you and me to catch colors and chills
& how i suffered for my sanity to catch swirling clouds
of bright blues and summer haze
i will paint a pallet dark & gray
watching shadows upon the hills
now i know what my heart tried to say
to me — i did not listen then but now
those colors of changing hue
and mornings of weathered faces
and lines of pain and now i understand
that while within a revere i was lost
//i caught a breeze and winter chill\\
you listen now? under flaming flowers
perhaps now? love listens now when i
stood alone upon a pier and watched
these beautiful stars tonight — i
watch the world and the strange souls i met;
like crushed beneath virgin soil and shall
they listen now?
Love gives much toward hope.
:: 08.20.2020 ::
WHERE are my poets? I wish to play
a game known as, “Exquisite corpse.”
It also goes by, “Cadavre exquis.”
We should collectively gather
our words and images so lovely.
I cleaned my parlour for this game,
and have wine and foods for all!
Let our hearts and souls gather!
:: 08-30-2014 ::
\W H I L E we fall deeply into Life as towers
with hope of love and sugar emotions
angels behind following our trail of spirit
you and me belong to us at the height of
golden days underneath silver rain and timeless
— extensive nights and days of suddenly heard.
look and we see –> a great dampness
of soft silky memories while time burns our
skin and memories.
A serenade of Life.
:: 09.19.2020 ::