https://youtu.be/wPC9tAZwVck

 https://twitter.com/ggreenwald/status/1505168427350175751?s=20&t=qtAuZQ6qH5z3mwhNaYfF2A

 Jack & Fish

Everything happened suddenly, Jack surprised.
Jack? Jack surprised. Jack handsome.
Jack in the front seat, Jack driving.
Jack like father, Jack like Grandfather.
Jack like all Jacks. Jack of all trades
and Jack of all exiles. Jack of the St. Louis Arches.
Jack of hippy-hiking across the land of Jacks.
Jack of Sailor Suits. Jack of smiles.
Jack. Just Jack that day at Tonto.

How did she catch that? Jack said.
No one knew. As big as her arm. As long as her pony.
Her two ponies, Apaloosa and Pinto. Those
ones they all dream of at certain times.
Come here little fishes. She said come here
little fishes, big ones too. I'll get rid of you!
Or, I'll let you go, or you will swim away.
But for now, I'll catch and pull you in.
Jack pulled it in. Jack sliced 

through the trouty guts
with his Jack Knife. Jack, just jack all over.

 Poetry sucks

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late

knowing of course that my years of experience

would account for my greatness of attitude

versus the shortage of wit and rancor.

Want to be my muse Ben?  Want to try my tropes?

Or is it just the young hula hoopers and vloggers now?

We are all Instagram, we must all digress

in this disgusting language of the trying so hard to be important,

trying so hard to change what cannot be changed crew.

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late,

changed nothing, quit early and walked out of the meeting.

Nothing matters because nothing changes.

Which bed will we die in or will it be on a roadside

between a worn out tire and a biodegradable bag?

 Found in a pile...

The Bone Box

She took a token

of herself from the area

began thumbing through 

some of the pages

There is nonsense 

in the eyes of the dead

ad the beautiful problems

of the living never go away.

Phones, crickets, these

special papers and flames

eyes nose mouth teeth

ears cheeks hair

babies. Our babies

when we teach our babies

about this

in our bone box

we find flames and babies.

The names we learned

when our name was only

Adam, only Eve.

My favorite memory 

is in this bone box

with the cats and dogs

on the stairs

when I first heard

widow maker

near the hospital windows

plucking the berries

out of the pyracanthus

tree to place in a pocket

for later study

when every part 

in the assembly

pointed up or had been

counted but still,

there was no goodbye.

...no clue at all what this is about.

When you're not the hero anymore/We thought we'd be feminists for a while -It would take more than a lightning-stroke To create such a ruin. Sylvia Plath, The Colossus We all have that one shot. Without exception, we frame those wicked shop window heads and reflections and click. Most of us however, do not run out and hang ourself in a museum. Even if it is in Prague. This is not a poem, this is a fact. They blame it on one minor thing or another...a fender bender last summer, a broken tooth, nerve damage. No one says much for a very long time although they want to. No one points out the misery in the faces in the pictures. It's all set to music now. Over dressed mannequins shuffled like cards in a deck, Susie in spandex, Su Lin in red chiffon, Penelope in leopard skin replete with boa and Susie in mock drag holding a stuffed animal, Sue Lin in a red bikini, Penelope in bra and panties, some girl we can't remember in a skeleton costume, on and on like that. Picture after picture, shuffled, slide after slide and then, wicked shop window heads and reflections, shuffled with a bit more lighting, night club shots in the girls room shuffled with capitalism's witty detritus here and there and lakeside, little puddles, girls pretending not to be sex objects but pout posing all the same, standard emo pinup, no pick up lines here. Living in the shadow of her Colossus but trying to ignore it. We do not however hang ourself in a museum. We try to be a little happier because no one has had their mastectomy yet.

Ode to Upchurch Mobil Bud had all boys across from the Whitehead furniture store as Pegasus left to deliver lightning as we stopped to fuel the Impala. I didn't know then what I know now, and we trusted all those boys of his not to jerk us around. They shoulda known better. Dad signed a slip and moved on, drunk or not, you all moved on lunging left and right pulling out and pulling in to the Hitching Post next door with a real one right out front. Patio orange for the kids, blood and bar towels for the rest. All those ponies and Medusa riding shotgun, near the wheel.

 For anyone who actually still remembers Carmen, Lilac Cotton and the like, this blog is exceptionally long, political and honest.  It does not reflect my current views or other views of people I know, necessarily.  However it might.  Anyhows.  Currently I am in the process of deciding whether or not to kill it forever after engaging in a massive archival process.  Forty plus years of poetry and this is just a smidgeon of what there is to archive.  Ugh.

Avoid the fall by missing the jump...refers to the notion of dream falling and how it is said that if you do fall and land, you'll die in your sleep.  Wow, just wow.  If this wasn't prophetic, I don't know what is, was or will be.  Geez.  So the person was saved from the Liberian....by a dream so this is a dream within another dream that was also recorded so that when the actual sky dive took place, that dream of the taxi ride through the Ouzai to save a certain son for the price of 20 bucks played a pivotal role.  This dream on the other hand...was unexamined at that time.  I return to it now and am blown away.

The Twisting Sleeps

Edna stated once as she sat
in the semicircular booth
at Sambo's drinking a cup of tea:
you don't want to dream anymore.
She meant, when you are old or wise
or like me, you get to that point.

After the hounds of Ha'wab they sent
a small envoy and then a second, how
many more would come into the fray,
how many more loose ends to tie up?
There are no reasons for these recurrent
troubles, recurrent themes. There
is no reason to be forced into para-
trooping fresh out of the boot camp
of dreams where the mess is
full of ice cream machines bowling alleys
and - Las Vegas lighting.
There is no reason for the envoy
to be buying trinkets to take home
(standing there as they did once before)
and certainly no reason the bus
accelerated like an F-15 but mostly,
there was no reason for the envoy
to pay a second visit at the end
to remind the dreamer there would be
no helmut nor any special lace-ups
for one of the jumpers. Sri Lanka
or wherever we would be landing
is certainly a jungle of the worst type
and we drove by the best forests on our way,
green and dry, beds of needles, familiar.
One last look before you head off.
It is the woman from Liberia who keeps
everything from descending. It is her lost
son and the memory of her slavery
which saves. Blink, wake up, get out.
Avoid the fall by missing the jump.

The Random

I've known some really famous people. I am not sure which who is the most famous but perhaps it is the one not yet and this, yes this, keeps me humble. It might be you or him or that one over there. It matters not. I'm in the olives now, thick in the olives and the pre winter, the knowledge that this might be my last one hurries me to finish, twist tight the last cap of this year's. Sealing up time like that and how about this...one of hers (full of old pasta) contained the odors of her home, the cat boxes, houseplants, old cheeses, forgotten shoes. It hit me like the lights do at dusk sometimes when they tell you, Galway Kinnell-style, it's time to go. I just stood there, fascinated and repulsed by the air in that jar. Since then I am careful not to tighten anything up too soon. I'm rather careful about locking doors, hiding valuables. I remind the children over and over to check into the book jackets, to take only what is theirs. I am not sure which who it is but indeed, it might be me. Oh sure they say, it is because you ran into so and so and they set you straight. As if these accidents are accidental.

 The Caylee Reason

"I praise Thee, Father

Lord of the heaven and earth

that Thou didst hide these things

from the wise and prudent,

and didst reveal them to the little ones."

-Matthew xi: 25

Man was created

anyway

This lip, that tooth

the swelling

in vestibule, in cognito

eye socket, stapes

No intervention

necessary.

Cone-shaped Time

in her mix-matched

funnel-like diagram:

anomaly, pear shaped

clot with buds

and beats.

Outrageous disclosures

in a vacuum, the statement

found in the shoe.

x-------mitochondria

o-------nucleus

)-------cell wall

Man was created

anyway.

Beside the flat

shadow

where the Moon runs

in her orbit

our planet folds

like batter

into cyclones and flurry.

Shaken and pegged

the sea not enough

nor the sky up to its limit.

Man was created

anyway.

To look, to find.

And no where to hide

when the death angel

comes around, when the guardians

of the hell fire throw souls in,

when stashing the body

of a baby in the swamps,

"do what you like"

said the Imam

to the questioner

who hoped for a little admonition,

"do what you like

and tell the angel of death

to go away and tell the guardians

of hell to go away

and "do what you like"

women in frigidaires and the

several feet that keep

washing up on the shores

of Biscayne Bay and that

girl in a trunk, her dress,

what was left of her

floating in the Gulf of Mexico

and this just in:

"Where she used to bury her pets."

"Silent Night" by Simon and Garfunkel.

The meter reader tries to claim

the reward. He actually wants

the money for the revelation.

For the bag of baby parts,

duct tape on the lips and a heart sticker.

A canonization of personal effects.

Some of us knew the bones were right

where the Lord had left them.

We know where all the run-aways are.

St Therese of Lisieux and the little way

patroness of the tubercular.

No one really knows why.

"The victim was found sitting upright in a patent leather chair, traces of cocaine on the desk, and suffering from what police only describe as a Cuban Necktie. "

The Vince Foster palate syndrome

is all over town.

Man was created

anyway.

To gawk and gasp

over her bones

and articles, the things

in her lungs and stomach:

applesauce and onions.

How could she!

How could he!

Try to bury

the napthas of her soul

like that.

Man was only created

anyway.

 Ode to the Wolf Pack

It was about the walk in beauty 

episode, the way past sorry

we are closed down near where

the down near where

between buildings up stairs

in the twilight before the gods died

but just barely,

the twilight of the twilight.

We only go to bookshelves now

to look for the dust of his ghost.

 Happy Fourth of July (almost)

Here's the thing.  About religion.  About Holi-days.  About where we are now as a collection of others who just happen to be born between here...and...there.  A dotted line separates the states and a solid one, nations.  They wouldn't even exist if it weren't for someone one day, a very long, long time ago having a great idea:  the Nation State.  Which was designed by Divine Right distributed by a Divine Entity.  Flash forward to the United States of America.  We got it right alright.  We did it all correctly by removing the Divine from the Rights part and did so on the basis of a few good men who supposedly liked the idea of a Creator enough but just didn't want to get the Creator involved in things that weren't, ?, his "business"...like ownership.  They developed a format that is best described by a Quran thumping academic muslim (I kind of am) as a Polytheistic Nation.  <it won't work either btw....people need 'instructions' you know.  On how to operate and well, there aren't good instructions when it comes to handling these "holi-day" things.  

It gets to the point that those naughty little ideas behind these holi-days start creeping in.  Wait a minute...weren't they already here?  Yes by gum, they were.  They were placed there on a map created to celebrate remnants of yet other holi-times from even further back...this map is called a calendar.  The west uses the most reliable time map of all...solar.  It doesn't vary much at all from year to year and is adjusted by the 6 hour deficit every 4 years and is, entirely secular.  Like it or not and regardless of who you think founded the USA and what their religious preferences were.  

We hard core advocates of time on a much larger scale (the beginning to end scale aka monotheistic creationists) use the lunar.  The Jews are like us although their Time Map is linked to the Metonic cycle (both lunar and solar/19 years long) and historical knowledge of Space Time....an even bigger clock which most likely has roots in what some of us refer to as Milankovich cycles (oh dear, way, way, way out of the scope of this brief explanation on why the 4th of July Parade here in Bisbee AZ is now going to be passing by my house at a much more reasonable hour versus the scorchingly hot 1200 that it used to).

Now why on earth did something called the Rotary Club decide that for the City of Bisbee to get along well with the numerous churches along the parade's pathway they hoped to move the July 4th parade this year from a Sunday to a Monday (what on earth is the Rotary Club...doesn't that have something to do with the advent of Tang and the faked moon landing?)?    Go here and get the new Soros vision:  https://www.rotary.org/en/about-rotary  

It nearly caused a civil war in this town.  Bisbee Arizona IS the Fourth of July.  It is our own personal holi-day.  The kind of day that, blessed be (as the Wiccans say), brings us all home to our kin folk.  It is magical and gosh, puts even the Shinto worshippers of ancestry to shame.  Before I go too far though.....let me tell you why I found this controversy so ridiculous.  It's gonna hurt some but indeed, I hope it helps some to make sense of why the Time Map is going to change the world regardless of what any of us thinks about saying Merry Christmas versus them toppling another statue of some long dead Confederate soldier or Cristobal Columbus.  The Time Map is way more important than the average American Polytheist grasps (yes, America is a Polytheist nation...don't bother to argue with me over that one, you'll lose).

That anyone would think that a church or even a collection of churches (none of those nasty synagogues or mosques in my neighborhood, no sirree) might have a problem with a purely secular parade (is it really a secular holi-day now that you have raised your consciousness a few more degrees?) interfering with, prayer times?  Huh?  Wait a minute.  You mean....no I wouldn't say that.  No....or would I?

Christians do not have prayer times.  Sure, they like to congregate on Sundays but that is a formality, a pagan one (yikes).  I truly hope none of them feel that Church is required 'as such' on a Sunday.  It isn't.  Not even according to their own books (luckily that info has been preserved very well by their forefathers known as the Jews).  Technically speaking....the Sabbath is on Saturday.  It was the Emperor Constantine that issues this edict:  "All judges and city people and the craftsmen shall rest upon the venerable day of the sun. Country people, however, may freely attend to the cultivation of the fields, because it frequently happens that no other days are better adapted for planting the grain in the furrows or the vines in trenches. So that the advantage given by heavenly providence may not for the occasion of a short time perish."

It was literally a FDR move way back before any of us was even a twinkle in the eye of our Etruscan daddies.  Who in the hell do these Bisbee Rotarians think they are anyway?  Geez Louise.  Again, Christians do not have prayer times, they do not have a real Sabbath and they run their show (except for those hold outs at the Roman Catholic diocese who use something called Ordinal Time based on Julian Time which is a very very complicated way of combining fact, fiction, Metonic cycles and solar/lunar intricacies minus the Milankovitch conundrum Aztec time map aside).

Now, truly....don't argue.  If you are a Christian...you do not have proscribed prayer times.  Jews do.  We do.  You don't.  For important reasons that you ought to investigate further.  Also, look into that basic cleansing you do at the front of every Catholic church (no offense intended)...it is your form of ablution because yes, you should.  I mean, be clean to go to church.  All the same, I promise everyone at the Rotary club that reversed this dumb decision they tried to make to be oh so inclusive on the seriously important local Holi-day called the Fourth of July, you did the right thing.  

No one and I mean no one...was going to hang around for an extra day to see a ten minute parade peopled by the nearly defunct Boy Scout troups and Ft. Huachuca honor guard and our dear, dear mayor Ken Budge riding around in someone else's convertible.  No one.  

You almost ruined the single most inclusive and best ever Bisbee Holi-day and maybe just maybe, you need me.  A muslim member to tell you how to avoid ruining Christmas and Thanksgiving too.  It isn't your job so don't do it.

 It's always something.  Today it was yet another stupid comment uttered by an anyone, the type of person who says 'you'll be in my prayers' and then they don't say them, they never do.  They don't know how.  How often to kneel, when to say amen, where to do it, etc.  They do though say these things, these anyones and it is probably so they don't have to get into any further detail.  Details that they don't have even the vaguest clue about, details about the afterlife.  This anyone said, "they're always with us" and without a single bit of proof or even information they lie through their teeth.  They say this when really they ought to say, "well I just don't know" or how about "that's a nice dream you had" or how about just don't say anything at all?  There's that.  But no, nowadays these anyones must respond and respond in a manner that conveys their own spirituality.  That nice word, the one that tells everyone how nice one is.  I am spiritual.  I'm not one of these other things, I'm a neutral.  An observer but even better, a non participant.  A Schrodinger principle, neither here nor there.

Oh, you want an abortion? Sure they'll tell you, it isn't even human let alone spiritual. Because, this much is for sure, being spiritual requires an actual choice, involves an evolution and is more than anything else, completely egalitarian.  It is also equated with mindfulness and a fetus cannot have a mind, a developed sense of self that perpetuates this particular type of unregulated equality.  They can teach you all about mindfulness and clean food at workshops.  Sometimes you pay and you always register.  Sign up for some of that, yes,  No one bothers with the soul much anymore because well, there isn't much use for a soul if there isn't an afterlife and if things keep going the way they have been, no one will even dare to mention that word out of fear of retaliation.  Why?  I'll tell you why.  I'll tell you why most people cannot say much more beyond spiritual.  

HELL.  That's why.  Hell.  No one needs this thing called a soul and in fact, in order to own this thing called a soul one must be able to formulate a disposition for it once the body dies because a soul is separate from it. It has to go somewhere and there are only four possible places to go: a next life, no where, heaven and hell. That's it. The soul leaves the body, the spirit doesn't.  No one really talks about spirits leaving the body however they allow these spirits to hang around all over the place and say things like "they're always with us".  Are they? And, why? What would the purpose be of always hanging around us after they are flat out lifeless reminding us of our own promised demise? Like the movie Ghost, pushing pennies off of tables like cat videos. It is problematic in many ways. But hell, let's not take the fun out of death, the little bit of fun that we can extract from it anyway. Let's sell some spirit then.  And certainly there is a reason that in the past someone connected intoxication, whiskey and spirits.  It SELLS.  Hell doesn't.

The spirit of a person, that individuality that they created and either impressed us with or imposed on us, can remain for a very long time.  These 'spirits' then are the stuff of our imagination, memories and for some of us, hopes of reunion. Reunion and the desperate sense of loss in itself taints the occurrence of visions, dreams and other sensations that occur after someone dies. Or the spirit can be much larger in scope and cover a wide variety of ideas, in fact it is used synonymously with words like 'idea' and 'intention' when we say for instance, "in the spirit of wanting to agree".  Spirit becomes more than an individual, it becomes a group think. It literally wrote an entire Bible. No offense to Christians, absolutely none intended but this is the premise upon which several iterations of a text from several people came together to form what we call the Bible.  It is, I did not make that up.  I am just logical. All religious thought and non thought involves group think, afterall with over 8 billion people planet wide, there are no more individual options regardless of how proud you are believing that you are unique in your 'beliefs'.  

Soul on the other hand, is never used in the context of more than a single person and that is what distinguishes it from spirit and the 'spiritual'. It's a one body and one soul proposition unless of course you subscribe to the notion of reincarnation and many people do.  It's a nice idea this transmutation of souls across multiple time frames but with it usually comes a get out of jail free card. There is no real accountability in the sense that in order to be accountable, one must be conscious of one's accountability.  A vicious circle that. The entire purpose of a next temporal condition is to improve on this one or be penalized for it in the world of transmutation of energy.  And, in addition to that, what good are all these lives if one cannot appreciate living them one after the other after the other?  Sure, if you want to believe you have lived in the past I guess you are entitled to but honestly, no one can prove this. Any more than a believer can prove the afterlife except through a logical set of evidences and premises. The playing field in this is level IF and only if a person plays fairly. And, most of us don't. When I say "us" I mean both as individuals and as large congregates or 'religions'.  It is human nature to make stuff up when it comes to the 'spiritual' realm.  We like it.  Alot. But what happens to these folks who are reincarnated?  Are they as the anyone suggested 'always around us'?  Or are they packing up for the next journey?  Are they already in someone's uterus or being born at the exact hour as the Druze believe?  Hmm. When does someone do so badly that they are just not given another chance?  When they murder and rape a two year old?  I am fond of posting on social media sites that report on the seemingly modern trend of heinous crimes towards mostly children (Nancy Grace) that there is a reason for hell to exist.  An absolute reason it must exist even if you believe in reincarnation.  The life of a cockroach is even too good for most of these psychopaths that are demon possessed in extremis. All the same, even this heterogenous lineage of transmuted souls it ends up in one camp or the other i.e. heaven/hell or nothingness.  As well, when the physical universe ends, what's the point?  Where does one go?  Again, one of the other two camps, heaven/hell or nothing.  Why bother then with all that time existing if it means 1. you don't get to remember stuff and 2. you lose it all anyway at the end.  Doesn't make logical sense.

What is remarkable is that all the known systems we have can all be traced to these fundamental concerns of spirit and soul, one or the other or both.  Except for athiesm and well, they have no use for a soul do they?  And if they do, ask them why would they eed one and see what the answer is.  It will be as black of a hole as their core presumptions of lacking a creator and hence, a design.  Just willy nilly creatures like pollywogs who turn into legged frogs and bats who see with ultrasonic technology, like U-boats and B-1 bombers.  For sure, atheists have no soul because they have no use for one.  Their consciousness is just part of their inherent existence and isn't separate in any sense like a soul or even the lesser of the twins, a spirit is.  I'm not sure what they would say when faced with the grief of a friend.  Maybe, "tough luck" or something like that, like what one says when striking out even though the pitches were pretty good. They probably wouldn't say "they're always with us" because that doesn't make sense in their Creator free/design free world.  Maybe they just stare blankly and remember their own mother or father or a favorite guppy.  All about the same when it comes to biology in fact we have more in common with most pigs than we do with Neandrathals and use drosophilia for understanding the epithelium of the prostate.  No one matters more than a fly in reality. We should mourn them as much as we do our own and some people do imbue cows and birds with their own form of spiritual likening.  We just don't say to each other, "they're always with us".  Even vegans don't bother with that.  This is not to say that athiests aren't good ethical people.  It's just saying that they have no soul, no need for a soul and ought not have their feelings hurt for admitting it to them. Some of my best friends are insert word here, to be as inclusive as possible.  

 Written by Sam Pakken Bisbee, AZ

Sam Paken

His name was Willie Baker

He was a black man ,Nevada State Heavyweight Boxing Champion

It was election time in Bisbee Phil Olander was Shheriff ,he said that he thought that win reelection and resign so Undersheriff Racshilla

(spelling)would become

Sheriff ,,,,,but he wanted

Bisbee to be able to have a fair election .

My father Savo (Sam)

Was recruited from Bisbee Police Department

To campaign for Sheriffs

Department .(Democratic Party).

It was hunting season and we all met at a Barbeque spot behind Eads Construction

Company Phil Olander wes going deer hunting and was leaving the Sheriff's office responsibility to Racshilla and my father (daytime)

Deputy Lugo (nights)

Willie Baker escaped on Deputy Lugos watch ,he ran around Bisbee for 2days and nights (I think ,correct me if wrong)

Olander was gone deer hunting ,Willie Baker broke into the high school and stole some food.

After chasing sightings of him around town for several days and nights he was spotted in the hills behind the current Cochise County Jail,Sheriff's office.

My father Deputy Paken

Had an elephant hunting rifle and fired a warning

shot into the air and yelled

as loud as he could "Come down off that mountain "

Wellie Baker surrendered).

They said he would do 200 push ups at a time in his cell ,when he went to Florence prison, he was boxing other inmates and won all, or most of the time(what I heard) someone threw gasoline in his cell and he burned to death ,i thought he had a twin brother but not verified.

Jim Willison won the election......Olander being out of town during the

"prison escape crsis",,,,

and a " Big Feed"(terminology of that era") ,where everyone got shitfaced drunk at Elmos bar were considered factors in Sheriff Olanders

loss of the election.

So that's what happened ,o know because I wes staying at Pueblo Courts Motel with my father and attending

Bisbee high school.

The Sheriff's and some other police agencies and an occasional local

businessmen would come to the motel for Hawaiian

Barbeques and play Poker

(Sheriff's got an allowance for their vehicles ,owned

and operated themselves)

so any extra money left over from maintenance

financed the poker game

I went out for football and dad would put Horse liniment il my injuries, because he wes an old Horsecav Sgt.

They had a little blackboard and dad would mark it, CQ,,,Confined to Quarters

When I did something wrong and they all had a good laugh at my expense

CQ. Also meant Artic

Circle Burgers for supper

Not T-bone steak and potatoes,,,,,,had to sit home and study ,,,,no coffee and dognut breaks

with Dad and other police officers, agencies.

Anyway that's how I know about this aforementioned incident.

To the best of my Recollection.........

 I am not truly sure, not at all, that I loved her.  I am always insisting that this is the word...this this little word, love, that gets us in the most trouble.  Love.  What it is and what it isn't.  No, I'm not sure I loved her but there she is in her ash-box.  This black brick contains the very pieces of her and I've begun to keep flowers there until they wilt and fall, tinged with guilt as they do as if I might keep them alive if I tried a little harder.  I always tried to make her laugh.  I tried to impress her and once in a while I stood up to her.  Not all that often but once in a while I'd get a lick in.  Kid sisters.  We were really kid sisters.  But did I love her?  I don't know and now that she is just "absence" in all of its forms (late/not yet/done-all done, never, gone, empty, zero, still...you get the picture and why bother closing those parentheses as if rules matter to the dead.....period Love no love is not what most think it is or at least if they do think it more than a four letter word usually coupled with fuck or hate or i and you no i am not truly sure if i loved her and if i did then she forgot to return it not knowing of course like i do that love is that thing in which you worry about the outcome the ultimate outcome of a persons soul in the afterlife and now she is in the interlife i do wonder if she can hear me in that ash-box of hers and sometimes i yell at her or try to make her laugh hoping that she is nice and tight in there not cold not hot and looking out onto the prairies of heaven the rolling ones that climb up into the cathedrals of mars and remind me of mogollon and pinos altos and the city of rocks and as they lift into the air to touch the bottoms of thunderheads i dont know if i loved her enough at the end when i failed to ask her too embarrassed i suppose to ask her just if maybe she might utter the shehada for me for old times sake but somehow i know that she knew i was doing it for her anyway without her permission as if she would mind because i knew she wouldnt mind and now in her ash-box this thing that has reduced her to all the common denominators i wish if just once more we might try to have that conversation but know that we did but it just didnt go well and it leaves you hoping) no I am not sure at all that I loved her you tell me.  Did I?

Oh Fred.  I wish I could have been a better 

friend to you,

you were noticeably insane.  In a good way.  Of course.

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.

 http://wallacestevens.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Vol.-32-No.-1-Spring-2008.pdf

We Gifted

 Just thinking about scissors and sisters,

down pillows and cutting boards,

and sisters, just thinking about

the moon over whitewater

and sisters, thinking about our

half dozen fights sister.

You are walking away too fast

but waiting right there,

inside the inside joke,

the guy in Bata who grabbed your ass.

We made it all the way to

the Sahara to greet the camels.

We made it all the way to Shakra

did we not?

 All I Remember is Tennessee

-for Radiann

I am not ready to write this,

not ready for this part of me to go.

It is not time, no......

it is not time to allow destiny

to rummage through our drawers,

yours, the ones as cluttered

as those we used to share

as children, the waterfall dressers

split: highboy in mom's room

the vanity in ours covered

in layers of dust and hairbrushes,

filled to the brim with last year's

horned rim rhinestone studded

eyeglasses, mom's top drawer

had naughty underthings and silk gloves,

certainly the place where babies come from.

How did we all fit in there?

Why can't we just stay in there,

fermenting and coalescing,

looking out to see someone else's hands

reaching in, pushing through

trying to find the reflections

where we knelt to put

our eyebrows on.