The Surrealist Takes a Shave
(For Sylvia Plath)
The blade scrapes
Reddened skin
Sharp and stiff.
It courses ‘round
The nape of my nose,
Across my cheek,
And down my neck,
Sliding the cream
Out of the way,
Over a speedbump vein,
Pinching the flesh and
Riding a wave
Of hot water.
The razor rips
A slice of epidermis
Like an axe man.
Blood sprints to my chest
Like bandits for the border.
Steam rises and flashes death
In the misty mirror.
I apply a Charmin swatch
To the wound
Then slap myself with Aqua Velva
And live.
2016 or The Apocalypse
I hear their angry voices
Those left outside the circle
Seething through the iron bars
Caught up in the spectacle,
Teeth clinched
Spittle at the mouth
Eyes bloodshot
Fists pumping…
They follow
Because the salesman is
Bold and confident,
Loud and certain,
Spectacular to watch,
The new führer-
HE hears them-
Heil and all hail,
He whips them into a frenzy,
And they storm the palace gates,
Shatter the chandeliers
Puncture the portraiture
Burn the Duncan Fifes,
Piss on the great oval seal,
And stand tall
With heaving chests
Among the rubble,
The charred remains,
The ruin,
And declare,
“Victory!”
Winter
Hanging empty against the steel gray sky,
Moaning in the January wind
Stone-faced and ambivalent,
You stretch, creaking into nothingness
And leave me stagnant,
Alone,
Spurned like an unrequited lover
Saddled with only memories
Of verdant buds twisting to break free
Unfolding in sun-washed splendor
Yearning to exhale into the warming wash
Of April
Exploding, spreading your wings like
The redbreasts who seek your solace,
Chattering in your covert cover
Peering down upon the bourgeoning daffodils,
The greening grass,
The warming earth,
Returning to me so that I may live again
Ten Second Memorial
(For Dad)
I feel your radiance,
Suddenly,
Like summer morning haze
Sort of lingering in my consciousness,
Your liquid laughter lassos me.
I know I don’t actually hear your gentle baritone
Whispering in my ear, “You can do it”,
But I do.
I sense it.
I experience it
Somewhat like Holy Communion,
God swirling all around my very being.
It lives.
It thrives.
It transports me
Onto some other
Promontory of existence
A sensory-beyond plain
Which hovers and envelops and soothes.
My mind whirls with vignettes
Of baseball and pool days and family dinners
Of holidays, snow skiing and racquetball,
Of backyard volleyball and music and fireworks
Your bulky hand on the small of my back,
A roller coaster smile, front room floor wrestling,
Poker, garage dancing, window down car rides
And lightning flashes of enths etched in my recollection
Ricocheting, bouncing, tumbling, fomenting,
Of years and years fired as if from a shutter
And then, just as quickly
It vanishes-
Evaporates into nothingness-
Until the next moment seizes me
My New Suit
my new suit is
rather
unorthodox
with narrow lapels
buttonless
zipper on the far-right side
in nubby navy wool
just the spectacle my weary wardrobe
needs
I think I wear it
well
as I descend into Newstead Station
past a violinist
mumbling ragamuffins
and BLM scrawl on the tile
en route to my job
processing bureaucracy
and obfuscation to the people
the car is stuffed
everyone jockeys for a seat
preferably near the door
as I cruise the aisle
I snag my slacks on someone’s
luggage
the integrity of the fabric
now
in question
I feel the weave unravel
tickling my leg
loose and breezy
a Latinx tugs on my sleeve
with calloused brown fingers
the thread dangling
“I reparo for you” she offers
but I wave her off
because I realize
in a bold epiphany
bathed in golden light
near the 34th Street stop
that this suit was reckless
the style has no substance
the fabric without integrity
and that I will likely
be naked
by 5 o’clock
Still
I sense your
massive hand
against my back
pressed like warm
adhesive tape
when I folded
my feet
and peddled
for the first time
lingering
still,
as atoms flurry
before my eyes
in the gloam
of my years
as if nothing
has supervened
since that spring day
Haunted
What is this membrane stretched
Like an amniotic sack between us
In the thin thickness of the Other?
Why can I sense you,
Your faint laughter and radiant smile,
Your parental voice- steady and strong- yet distant,
Your laboring hands, talcum powder, and Old Spice,
Yet I cannot quantify you?
Like a pin prick or an electric pulse,
A rush of gulf air
Or a hovering drizzle
You are so close
Right there,
A daffodil pushing up ground
Prenatal and burgeoning
But unattainable
Just behind the pink marmalade violet streaks of dawn
Across the morning fog
Co-mingled into the river steam
Suffused into the cumulus clouds
Melted into the twilight moment
Meshed in the midnight magic,
Omnipresent,
Encircling me,
Imbued in the wan light,
But to no avail
Freedom
I stand on the precipice of my own life
Poised to take the plunge
Into the frontier
Untamed, savage, self-possessed
I exhale,
Shutter my eyes,
Bareheaded,
Unconstrained,
Liberated,
And with deep, cold breath
Hands steady
Arms spread-eagle
Where I cannot be corralled
Or conscripted
Or shackled or contained or retailed,
I am ubiquitous
Soaring
So give me wide berth,
For I am a free soul.
Five Years On
rain flecks my window,
the gray sky grows cold,
a storm foments off to the west,
rolling in like the raging tide,
and I live it again.
white sheets,
buzz, hum, beep,
translucent tube,
ashen face,
everything closing in
the way night envelopes the sun,
slowly, without fanfare.
but now
the Moment draws my dread
like a catheter and
the melancholy leeches from
my skin like bleach,
the sorrow transubstantiating
through my fingertips and toes;
my eyes flicker and focus
(do my ears detect your whisper?)
and my pores expel the toxin.
I shiver
and, like resurrection,
I am released,
inundated,
drenched,
cleansed,
free.
Two Miles to El Paso
she stares into the searing sun
squinting through barbed wire
lips cracked from water
she drank
yesterday-
longing,
yearning,
praying
for a chink in the armor
a rupture in the membrane
a hole, perhaps, or
a gap
a schism
a slit-
stomach rumbling
stabbing spine,
blood-smeared hands,
splinters,
blisters,
dried tears,
and a chance…
The Sadist
Slash my shin
Break my bones
Gouge my eyes
And leave me alone
Cut my quick
Squeeze my blood
Run like rivulets
Be done
Crack my skull
Char my skin
Stab my heart
Once again
But why not stay
And watch your will
Enjoy my woe
Indulge your thrill?
Or is the goal
Just press the bane
And not to dwell
On others’ pain?
