My room is an abyss
windows blackened
with construction paper.
I lie alone, awaiting
enlightenment, incense
burning sickly sweet.
Apparitions of people
appear, examine me
with physician eyes,
determine the dimensions
of my dementia.
I do not see them.
Instead, they chatter
while they work
their of voices
blistering my brain.
The process is slow,
but eventually I will
tear the covering
from my windows,
flood the room with light,
and become invisible.
This is no hallow place
it is pasture land and that is all.
Why do I find myself at it
in times of trial?
And have since November ‘97
10:00 pm–20 degrees
steam rising in phantom sheets
off the hood of my car.
Even when I am nowhere near
I still find myself drawn here,
always with the same question…
****
I walk the gravel trail
adjacent to the water’s edge
noticing the broken beer bottles
and charred remains
of a previous night’s exuberance.
A five-leafed marijuana plant
spotlighted in the moonlight
makes me laugh. It is no weed.
More likely the remnants
of someone’s cheap bag–
perhaps they are growing it–
another laugh. I consider
crushing the plant under the heel
of my shoe. It cannot help me,
it is out of the question…
****
At this distance it is difficult
to hear the semi-trucks
on Highway 56, the drivers
No Dozing their way across America
I look back at the ’90 Chevy Beretta
parked next to the boat dock,
just able to make out its maroon doors.
I have been here before.
Am I dreaming now?
Is that the question…
****
The moon falls in the lake,
is Li Po drinking again?
Should I try and save him?
I pick up a flat stone and
sidearm it over the water’s surface,
letting my emotions ride eddies
into the horizons.
There are two moons; similarly,
there are two of me,
each a reflection of the other.
I look up as if to ask myself:
what face will you wear?
Already knowing that I am
asking myself again:
what face did you wear,
when you looked to the sky?
From the outside
looking in
this appears
to be a normal place,
but nothing is
normal about it.
Objects move,
telekinesis
and philosophers
feverously grind words
to their nubs.
How much a ticket?
how long a ride?
do not ask these questions.
Save your money
for the cinema;
you would not
like it here. Stand back
telescoping the madness
that takes place–
for there are those
who, once walking on water
never again touch dry land.
I sit across from a man,
we look at each other
without shifting our heads,
it’s a staring contest
like the ones from lunch
in junior high school.
My opponent has no face
I am afraid he might win.
I try to picture him with
eyes, blinking, signifying
my victory, but I cannot.
He is tougher than to fall
for such trickery. He simply
sits there blankly, wearing
me to the point of exhaustion.
I rapidly throw my hands
above my head, screaming:
He has won! He has won!
I have no time for games
that are unfair towards me.
I run circles about the table
chanting silly rhymes and
his eyeless face stares
to where I was sitting.
It is pointless. He has
won and is still playing.
I sit back down, rest
my head against the table
and fall into a deep sleep.
Later…I wake, blink–
surprised at man laying
on the table sleeping,
and how he looks like me.
When we talk about making love; it is
as though we already are; it is as though
the world has collapsed at our feet and
all the walls that held us at their mercy
have been destroyed and we are left among
the ashen ruins; as though we have been
placed there all along; it is as though we are
Adam and Eve, sent to make our Eden
from these crumbs, this devastation left; and
in that hour when we hold each others’ bodies
naked in the cold sun, when our bodies
lie exhausted quivering; it will be
as though we never parted before or
holding forever while time slips endless.
