30 Edits in 30 Days

[Trixareforkids]

1-4

After

Childhood
with all it's pushing, yelling
running, hiding, kicking
and screaming
is not
preparation for freedom
but freedom itself
The restraint and constraint
of adulthood is a construct
made from adult rebellion
that we trick the young into building
in fear
of our own free selves

Before

Childhood rebellion
With all it's pushing
Yelling, running,
Hiding, kicking
And biting is not
Preparation
For freedom
But freedom itself
The constraint
Of adulthood is
A construct we
Trick the young
Into building in
In fear of our
Own free selves

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-3

AFTER

World War II Soldier Found (Reuters)

Deathless joining of the ultimate
was the warrior's prize they said
just before the landing craft
opened wide its great white teeth,

and he vanished in the jungle,
cursing emperors for having made
Ainu aborigines
Japanese at Morotai.

Attun foraged thirty years,
stabbing snakes in strangler trees
he roasted on a bamboo spit
the while he prayed they weren't diseased,

and while he ate he thought about
the shrines he made for men he knew,
whose combat bootlace camouflaged
looked like snakes in strangler trees.

Sometimes there were carcasses
whose tags were those of dogs they said
he dragged to where the GI's slept,
then rulers of the island's dead,

and if the night was full moon bright
he prayed for ocean pea soup mist
to leave a mangled body there
before he etched a cross in sand.

They'll take him to the capital
for pictures with Suharto San
on carpets that will chafe his feet,
but Attun can not sleep tonight,

while newsmen do inside their tents,
because he sees so many snakes
on their helicopter blades
that look like ghosts in strangler trees.


BEFORE

Indonesia (AP) — Soldier Found

Deathless joining of the ultimate
Was the warrior's prize they said
Just before the landing craft
Opened wide its great white teeth,
And he vanished in the jungle,
Cursing Nakamura's world
That screamed his name in Japanese
On the beach at Morotai.

Conscripted aborigine,
Attun foraged thirty years,
Stabbing snakes in strangler trees
That tasted better boiled than fried,
And while his snake was boiling hot,
He thought about the shrines he made
Of combat bootlace camouflaged
After every funeral pyre.

Sometimes there were carcasses
Whose tags were those of dogs they said
He dragged to where the GI's slept,
Two days through five kilometers,
And when the night was full moon bright
He prayed for ocean pea soup mist
To leave the mangled body there
And etch a cross in sand nearby.

They'll take him to Jakarta
After morning photographs,
Although he wanted Kao-hsiung
To hear again its poetry,
But as the newsmen sleep tonight
He sees the ghost of Nakamura
Hover in the whirlybird
Who flies with him tomorrow.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-5

After

Thought's Circle of Life

I don't know where to put it
this un-ideal idea
rendered in inadequate words.
My expression of possession and possessing
Thoughts and feelings so intertwined
with the me that is mine
in mind and heart
which is an organ
playing a loathsome tune
in the cathedral of disbelief and disenchantment
Where some enchanted evening
I met a strangeness of self
motivating me to move from behind the keys
reach for the pipe dream
that blows smoke and ash across the landscape
rendering everything in silhouette and smog.
Choking me up until
I rain down poisoned tears
that tinkle on glass blades of grass
in fetid fecund fields of
thought that circles, searching for the carrion
to rip away the putrid flesh
crack the bones, suck the marrow
Seeking to recycle death and decay
into sustenance for another day
Tucking it away in bowels until
it is shat out with erotic release
entombed until it can be tilled
back into the earth
providing fertile ground
for the next crop




Before

I don't know where to put it
un-ideal idea rendered
In inadequate words. My expression
Of possessing and possession
Thoughts and feelings so intertwined
With the me that is mine in mind and heart
Which is an organ that plays a loathsome
Tune in the cathedral of disbelief and disenchantment
Where some enchanted evening I meet the strangeness
Of self in a selfless act with unknowable motivation
Motivating me to move from behind keys, reach for the pipe
Dream that blow smoke and ash across the landscapes
Rendering everything in silhouette and smog choking me
Up until I rain down poisoned tears that tinkle on glass blades of grass
In fetid fecund fields of thought that circle searching for the carrion
To rip away the putrid flesh crack the bones suck the marrow recycle
Death and decay into sustenance for another day tuck it away in bowels
Until it is shat out with erotic release and entombed until it can be tilled
Back into the earth providing fertile ground for the next crop

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-4

Quan Found his Daddy in Frisco.

Nuns in Baltimore taught me to read
God in a catechism who made me,
but alone in their office at midnight
I read from French nuns in Saigon
how the last of their yellow orphans
was issued in '73.

Later with nothing but holes in my pockets
to play with I hitched to the Tenderloin
where I found Daddy in '91
at the end of a Mission Street alley,
making love with Wild Irish Rosie,
all dressed up in a brown paper skirt.

I called out his name, his rank, his number,
and stared at him like the katydid did
I saw on Willow Street, eyes on the aphid
of Sergeant Magee, a slow moving bug,

as I pretended to sip from his bag,
and he pretended I was his son,
when I split his nose for my tutelary
spirit of Tuye^'n down on her knees.

BEFORE

Quan Found his Daddy in Frisco.

I'm sure that he got his poontang and rice
hot from Nam Ha` every Saturday night
while he told his USA white knight lies,
how bright the steel of the Golden Gate was,
bright the dawn, and safe the homes in his city.

The nuns never told me who Daddy was,
but they told me God it was who made me
and told me about Our Lord Jesus Christ
while I, burning midnight oil in their office,
taught myself clandestine history.

Later with nothing but holes in my pockets
to play with I hitched to the Tenderloin
and found my Daddy in '93
half the way into his brown paper bag:
"Quan? Shit! I wanted it named after me."

I stared at him like the katydid did
I saw on Willow Street, eyes on an aphid,
John a slow moving bug on a limb,
in a manner of speaking, of course; I
pretending to sip his bag, he pretending

I was his son when I split his nose
for my patrimony, a measly five bucks
from his wallet I gave a tutelary
spirit, selling her love, a drop-dead beauty,
haunting me with a drop-dead Nam Ha`.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-6

After

The Price of Conviction

Damn it
I did it again
That thing I said I wouldn't do
Again
I was sure
I was strong
I was wrong
I traded my conviction
For a pair of shoes
In a broken-down Kmart
Fair market trade value
$5.99
I don't know which hurts worse
My bruised ego
Or my pinched toes

Before

$5.99

Damn it
I did it again
The thing I said
I wouldn't do
again
I was sure
I was strong
enough
Not to betray
myself
for a pair
of cheap shoes
That upon bringing home
are neither
as cute
more as comfortable
as I believed
for 30 seconds
in a broken-down
K-Mart
The price of my conviction
$5.99

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-5

Black & White TV

Bobby Hamilton who's black as
Bunn's Lane glass is from broken lights,
delivers The Evening News
to fine homes on Park Avenue
of rich old men and blue haired wives.

On lucky Fridays, he'll get ten
bucks collected, tips included,
and gives seven of it to Mommy
for her weekend Thunderbird
and pablum for Katie and Kenny.

So one day waiting for the papers
me and Pillsy were telling Sunday
jokes our Dads told at dinnertime,
or Mother, raised in Missouri,
who said "Did you hear the one about....
a Jew, a Jap or a Guinea?"

Bobby didn't get the joke,
the one about Amos 'n Andy
and their Mystic Knights of the Sea lodge leader,
George "the Kingfish" Stevens,
I knew how to ape so well
Pillsy said "HOLY MACK-ER-EL!!"

BEFORE

Can't find it.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-7

After

Mixed Medium

The long lines of you
Pencil straight before me
Drawing me in
Tempting me to scribble
Between and outside
Bend and twist
Reshape until
Angles reveal curves
Valleys hidden from view
Where I can add and subtract
Depth, color, shadow
To my hearts content
Redrawing you
Into picture
Perfect desire.



Before

Mixed Medium

The long lines of you
Pencil straight before me
Drawing me in
Tempting me to scribble
Between and outside
Bend and twist
Reshape until
Angles reveal curves
Currently hidden from view
Where I can add and subtract
Color, shadow, depth
To my hearts content
Redrawing you
Into the picture
Of my desire.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-6

All You Need Is Love

They moved John's shrine to Central Park
when Ono said she couldn't sleep
for all the faithful noise they made,

the wailing and gnashing of teeth,
and singing to a hollow sky
hallowed be his name.

I scream, you scream,
we all scream for ice cream
while waiting in the checkout lane

until we see this is the body
and this is the blood
from the best of the Paparazzi.

BEFORE

All You Need Is Love

The shrine was moved to Central Park
When Ono said she couldn't sleep
From all the noise they made outside,
The wailing and gnashing of teeth.

John was gone but there was Princess Di
Inside The Shrine of the Metal Heap
Captured by the Paparazzi
Because we loved our beauty queen.

They called it Di Expressionism.
And don't we all just love to dream
The songs we sing alone at night
Are heard and loved in London.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-8

After

Mixed Medium

The long lines of you
Pencil straight before me
Drawing me in
Tempting me to scribble
Between and outside
Bend and twist
Reshape until
Angles reveal curves
Valleys hidden from view
Where I can add and subtract
Depth, color, shadow
To my hearts content
Redrawing you
Into the focused picture
Of my desire.


Before

See 1-7 After

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-7

Magic Carpet

Mary recalls the vacuuming
of bedroom chocolate biscotti
and cabernet sauvignon,

and some times she'd do a dry semen
lick and a promise with the vacuum
happily every morning after.

She scrubs some purple droplets
next to a diarrhea blemish
where mascara tears fell too

that fell again her blackest hour
Saturday when hospice said
it was time to call Father Mike.

Today upon her hands and knees
she thinks of love as sometimes thick,
sometimes sticky, mostly white,

and red hot lipstick stepped upon
when passion used to leap from the bed
on to a colored magic carpet.


BEFORE


Love Stains in the Carpet

Semen took a lick and a promise swallowed
By the vacuum cleaner happily ever mornings after.
Oatmeal mush however was no laughing matter
When flu-fed misdemeanants spilled it from her bed.

Claret from their 25th blushes to this day
White purple lies when the children's children visit.
"I should have moved the bed there many years ago,"
He said last Christmas Eve. She would not hear of it.

Mascara laden tears spilled too and did again last night
When Father Burns anointed the diarrheic body.

Today she does what love makes right,
Blessing carpet stains with holy soap and water.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-9

After

Misogyny's Morning Wood

It's there before eyes open
Before conscious mind has engaged
At the ready
Poking at my core
Questing for release
Spooned, you feed it to me
And though I take it between lips
Sucking up what it spews into my core
As a matter of course, though
I can always feel the foreign nature of it
Afterward, when I stand
Feel it drizzling out of me
Oozing down my leg
Waiting for me to clean it up
Wash it away
I sometimes think
I should stop
Change how I deal with it
Scoop it out of and off of me
Smear it on your face
So you can see, feel, smell and taste it
Like I do
I wonder in those moments
How you would react
Would you laugh it off
Revel in it
Be disgusted by it
Would it feel strange and foreign
To you, from whom it came
Or would you recognize it
As a part of you
Accept it as such
And help clean up
The mess it's made
Of both of us


Before

Misogyny's Morning Wood

It's there before eyes open
Before conscious mind has engaged
At the ready
Poking at my core
Questing for release
Spooned, you feed it to me
And though I take it between my lips
Sucking up what it spews into my core
As a matter of course
I can always feel the foreign nature of it
Afterward, when I stand
Feel it drizzling out of me
Oozing down my leg
Waiting for me to clean it up
Wash it away
I sometimes think
I should stop
Change how I deal with it
Scoop it out of and off of me
Smear it on your face
So you can see it, feel it and taste it
Like I do
I wonder in those moments
How you would react
Would you laugh it off
Revel in it
Be disgusted by it
Would it feel strange and foreign
To you, from whom it came
Or would you recognize it
As a natural part of you
Accept it and clean up
The mess it's made
Of both of us

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-8

Eve's Having Coffee with the Blessed Virgin

You and I were naked, I said, so what?
He's all upset, fig leaves first,
followed with hides I had to sew,
and the boys started stalking the cat.

But honor thy father, right?
Anyhow, I figured it out:
It took two thousand years, more or less,
and a lightening bolt in heaven.

They wouldn't let girls read or write.
It's easy then to call me a slut
and every woman the same
when we can't sass back in the holy book.

Ever wonder who wrote this stuff
and if they ever got laid?


BEFORE


Still on Parole in Purgatory

You and I were naked, I said,
So what would you expect?
Anyone would want to look, so......?
He's all upset, fig leaves first,
Followed with hides I had to sew,
And then the boys start stalking the cat!

But honor thy family, right?
I shut my mouth, got up one day,
Paired with the Prince of Darkness,
Polishing his apple for Chrissake!

Why'd I say that? I don't know why I said that.

Anyhow,
I figured it out:
They wouldn't let women
Read or write.

It's tempting then if I'm a slut
And every woman the same.
Ever wonder who wrote this stuff
And if they ever got laid?

Yeah, right. See ya next month.
Don't bother to send a letter.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-10

After

Chill and Grill

A thin blue line snakes
toward my current prey
who smells of fear and
regret as he sits there
tied to the steering wheel.
We wait for the coming
fire storm. A flash and
pieces of steel and flesh
rain from the sky with
discordant clatters and plops.
I lay down on the cool earth
mouth open, hoping
for a taste of prime rib.



Before

A thin blue line snakes
Towards my current prey
Who smells of fear and
Regret. Tied to the wheel
As we wait for the coming
Fire storm. A flash and pieces
Of steel and flesh fall
From the sky with
A discordant clatter and
Plop, I lay down on
The cool earth, mouth open
Hoping for a taste of prime rib

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-9

AFTER

Magic Carpet

Mary recalls the vacuuming
of bedroom chocolate biscotti
and cabernet sauvignon,

and some times she'd do a dry semen
lick and a promise with the vacuum
happily every morning after.

She scrubs some purple droplets
next to a diarrhea blemish
where mascara tears fell too.

Today upon her hands and knees
she thinks of love as sometimes thick,
sometimes sticky, mostly white,

and red hot lipstick stepped upon
when passion used to leap from the bed
on to a colored magic carpet.


BEFORE


Magic Carpet

Mary recalls the vacuuming
of bedroom cabernet sauvignon
and chocolate biscotti with Frank,

and some times she'd do a dry semen
lick and a promise with the vacuum
happily every morning after.

She scrubs some purple droplets
next to a diarrhea blemish
where mascara tears fell too

that fell again her blackest hour
Saturday when hospice said
it was time to call Father Mike.

Today upon her hands and knees
she thinks of love as sometimes thick,
sometimes sticky, mostly white,

and red hot lipstick stepped upon
when passion once leapt from the bed
on to a colored magic carpet.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-11

After
His Old Shirt

An hour in front of a carefully lighted mirror.
Potions, paints and powders
Meticulously applied in artful camouflage.
Sheer stockings, silk and lace garter,
Panties, no bra. Black dress with
Plunging letters, front and back.
All to reveal
That lazy dazed look I luxuriate in.
Dinner full of longing looks and caresses.
No show tonight.
We'll write our own.
Morning comes softly and gathers
Me in an embrace as warm as worn flannel.
As I pad out for coffee
He says I've never looked lovelier
Than I do in his old shirt
And I say, coffee can wait.


Before
His Old Shirt

An hour in front of the carefully lighted
Mirror. Potions, paints and powders
Meticulously applied in artful camouflage.
Sheer stockings, silk and lace garter,
Panties, no bra. Black dress with
Letters from the end of the alphabet.
All to reveal as they conceal.
That lazy dazed look I luxuriate in
Has the desired effect on both of us.
Dinner full of longing looks and caresses.
No show tonight. We'll write our own.
Morning comes softly and gathers
Me in an embrace as warm as worn flannel.
He says I've never looked lovelier than
I do in his old shirt.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-10

First Grade at St. James

Anno Domini 1953

"The Commies, Children, count my fingers,
"told one two three Roman Catholic men
to curse Our Lord in Commie Russian
snow to where your tummies are.

Two, Children, did; one didn't,
and after all of them froze to death,
two went to hell and one to heaven,"
Sister Mary Judith said.

After Commie story time ended
Sister screamed like a fire engine
and told us to kneel under our desks
when it started to thunder outside.

"Look! There's a big black mushroom head!"
Sister Mary Judith said,
so I said to Dennis let's pretend too!
and we looked down into my ink hole.

"Off with her head," Dennis said,
"Sister looks like the Queen of Hearts"
the White Rabbit pee-peed black ink upon
from Dennis's sister's fountain pen.


BEFORE


Adventures in Wonderland 1953

Sister Mary Judith said,
"The Commies, Children, count my fingers,
"told one two three Roman Catholics
to curse Our Lord in Commie Russian
snow to where your tummies are.
Two, Children, did; one didn't,
and after all of them froze to death,
two went to hell and one to heaven."

After Commie story time ended
Sister screamed like a fire engine
and told us to kneel under our desks
so that the Blessed Virgin Mary
will pray that pagan babies won't die
until they're baptized with atom bombs
where a good woman shouldn't be seen
on the beach in summer and be keen in.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-12

After

Strange Devices

When left to my own devices
I dismantle them
Piece by piece
To see how they operate
Then decide
Whether to re-assemble
Or use the bits for scrap

My scrap pile
Grows larger by the day
In the dark
I am left
To cobble myself back together

But can't see
Which am I
The device
Or the scrap


Before

When left to my own devices
I slowly dismantle them
See how the operate
Before deciding whether
To re-assemble
Or use the pieces for scrap

My scrap pile grows larger
By the day
In the evenings I am left
To cobble myself back together

But can't decide
Which I am
The device
Or the scrap

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-13

After
A Tomorrow My Coin Cannot Purchase

Leaping, spinning, turning
body always moving
At seven I knew I'd be
a dancer, how could I not
I simply couldn't sit still if
music was playing
Lessons? Bah, no need
my body knew where to go
what to do for any piece
you could play

At fifteen I carried a sketch pad
and pencil case with me
so I could sit down and draw
whenever something caught my eye
I never could get the shadows quite right
a teacher suggested lessons
Bah said I, some things are either
natural or not. This is just me
taking in my surroundings

Of all the things I might have been
the only one I wish
I'd invested more of the coin
of my imagination in
is a dreamer.
So that now, when I can't sleep
I'd still have dreams
to carry me through the night.

Before
A Tomorrow My Coin Cannot Purchase

Leaping, spinning, turning
body always moving
At seven I knew I'd be
a dancer, how could I not
I simply couldn't sit still
if music was playing
Lessons? Bah, no need
my body knew where to go
what to do for any piece
you could play.
At fifteen I carried a sketch pad
and a pencil case with me
so I could sit down and draw
whenever something caught my eye
I never could get the shadows quite right
a teacher suggested lessons.
Bah said I, some things are either
natural or they're not. This is just
me taking in my surroundings.
Of all the things I might have been
the only one I wish I'd invested more
of the coin of my imagination in
is a dreamer.
So that now, when I can't sleep
I'd still have dreams
to carry me through the night.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-11

A Day in the Life of Big Ronnie

Big Ronnie watches the red-eyes
on sun-risen Sunrise Boulevard,
prepared to say he hasn't any
change when shaking hands for a Lincoln,
selling the Sunday paper to
Casanovas driving home
or early risers to church,
not far from his dugout and the bugs
that feed on tobacco juice.

If there's no get up by the morning,
well, he can sell flowers at 5 p.m.
to shirts and ties for the Mrs.,
which now he comes to think about it
reminds him of Kat back in New Jersey
with a K, not a C, and her section,
Peg he guesses is 2 years old

he doesn't much more think about
as he thumbs to the People's Free Clinic
to have his first bout of kidney stones.
That's what Pillsy told him to say
for pills he'll sell to the Sundance Kid
who'll drive Big Ronnie back in a BMer
to crawl in his hole when the lights are out.

BEFORE


A Day in the Life of Big Daddy

Big Daddy watches the sunrise and red lights
With red eyes on Oakland Park Boulevard
And says he can't make change for a dollar
Each time he sells a Miami Herald
To rush hour cars when the light turns green,
Not far from the dugout where he sleeps
With bugs that didn't fly into softballs
Or floodlights shut down before midnight.

If there's no get up by morning, well,
He can sell roses at five o'clock
To a shirt and tie for the missus
Which, now that he comes to think of it,
Reminds him of Hanna's wicked good body,
Once as smooth as a bottle of rosé,
Mateus, he thinks, she used to drink
Before there came C-sectioned Johnny

He doesn't remember much about
On his way to the People's Free Clinic
To have his first bout of kidney stones.
That's what Pillsy told him to say
For the pills he never could pronounce
He'll swallow or sell to the Sundance Kid
Who waits for him at their hole in the wall
And will drive Big Daddy back lights out
To his hole in the ground by midnight.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-12

Going Home to my Dog

Don't ask your friend in a restaurant
peeling the label from his beer
how a loving God allows
such pain in the world and His Book

when happiness of nations appears
in pidgin English, returning to
pots and pans in the kitchen
smiling who says "Such nice day."

There's not a wrinkle on her face
when joining hands as if to pray
and turning to her boss to bow
who joins his hands and does the same.

The fly that bothered me flies away.
It's time to go home to my cockapoo
who jumps on my lap when I say "Up"
after we've gone to her happy place.


BEFORE

Going Home to my Dog

Do not ask a clergyman
how a loving God allows
the pain you see in the world and his book,
nor ask your friend in a restaurant booth
who pretends to speak with you
while he peels the label from his beer
just when happiness of nations appears
in pidgin English from a kitchen serf
leaving a moment soap and suds
to pass some time with a customer's tad
who doesn't understand her words
but smiles and holds two fingers up.

The house fly that bothered me flies away.
It's time to go home to my cock a poo
who wags her tail every night at eight
to tell me it's time for happy place,
jumps on my lap when I say "Up,"
and wriggles to have her belly rubbed.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-14

After
Sign Language

It was in the quiet that I heard
The words he couldn't speak
With eyes, hands, lips, tongue and
Shaft, he spoke with such eloquence.

There was a poetry in his touch.
The way he would nuzzle me from behind.
Slow shaky breath falling into the valley
Of collar bone while lips and tongue
Wrote odes to neck and shoulders.

With his hands he tattooed sonnets
Down my sides from pits to thighs and
Then, he'd scrawl limericks
Telling dirty ditties to part lips in a smile
Of welcome.

Which he would morph to sighs
When he changed to bittersweet prose
Of things lost and found in dark damp caverns
Where sleeping beasts would soon awaken
Shake off their slumber and emerge to feast.


Before
Sign Language

It was in the quiet that
I could hear the words
He couldn't bring himself
To say. With eyes,
Hands, lips, tongue and
Shaft, he spoke volumes
That he could not voice.

There was a poetry in his
Touch. The way he would
Nuzzle me from behind. Slow
Shaky breath falling into the
Valley of collar bone while lips
And tongue wrote odes to
Neck and shoulders.

With his hands he tattooed
Sonnets down my sides
From pits to thighs and then
He'd scrawl limericks
Telling dirty ditties
To part lips in a smile
Of welcome.

Which he would morph to sighs
When he changed to bittersweet
Prose of things lost and found
In dark damp caverns where
Sleeping beasts would soon
Awaken and shaking off their
Slumber, emerge to feast.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-13

SWF, 33, Seeking...

She put her face on
her Panasonic
mirror-mirrored
on the wall

to snap her fairest
of them all
portrait better taken

if in her room
there was whose once
soft finger was
wet and was
already
on the button.


BEFORE


SWF, 33, Seeking...

She put her face on

Looking down
Her camera mirror
Mirrored on the wall

To snap her fairest
Of them all
Looking up
Cheesy portrait

Better taken
All the while
If in her rheum filled bedroom loft

Was the face
Who made her smile
Finger ready on the button.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-15

After
The heavy scent of vanilla
sets off undulations in the back of my throat
and makes me wonder why
when there are so many tantalizing fragrances available
do people return time after time to vanilla.
I'm told it reminds them of home and childhood.
Maybe that's all it is, maybe
their past was less kaleidoscopic in its flavoring
or maybe it's that the smell of vanilla
Reminds me of fresh baked cookies and
tastes of apology and regret
to me.


Before
The heavy scent of vanilla sets off
undulations in the back of my throat
and makes me wonder why
when there are so many tantalizing
fragrances available do people return
time after time to vanilla.
When asked I'm told it reminds them
of home and childhood.
Maybe that's all it is, maybe their
past was less kaleidoscopic in its
flavoring or maybe it's that the
smell of fresh baked cookies
tastes of apology and regret
to me.

 

[Trixareforkids]

1-16

After
You and I are wind blown seeds
We landed in the same soil and flourished together
Roots intertwined , trunks within kissing distance
Requiring only a good breeze to bring our limbs together
Our closeness has sheltered us through many a storm
But as my leaves brown and fall to the winds
They view us from a distance and see
That we are shaped differently because of our proximity
And I wonder,
Are we twisted and gnarled by nature
Or by one another's shadow.


Before
You and I are wind blown seeds
We landed in the same soil and
Flourished, roots intertwined
Trunks within kissing distance
Requiring only a good breeze
To bring our limbs together
Our closeness has sheltered us
Through many a storm
But as my leaves brown and
Fall to the winds they view us
From a distance and see that we
Are shaped differently because of our
Proximity and I wonder, are we
Twisted and gnarled by nature
Or by one another's shadow.

 

[greenmountaineer]

4-14

No Translation Needed

Dr. Wu asked me, “Why?”
I asked Angelina “Porqué?”

She sat between us,
eyes to the floor.

Alone he was in Mandarin thought,
Clipboarding third word English

Notes:

“Twitching and shrugging of Δ’s shoulders”

Then there was silence, nothing but silence,
more shrugging of shoulders,
eyes to the floor.

“Ay, mi Madre!” Tears flowed like agua.
“Dios Mío! Por favor.”

Note Diagnosis:

Still suicidal

Camden, New Jersey after his letter

“Dios Mío! Por favor!”

postmarked Santurce,
Puerto Rico 00901.


BEFORE


Out Patience from the Great Society

He commanded, "Why?"
I asked her "Porqué?"

She sat with the two of us,
Eyes to the floor.

Alone he was in his Cantonese thought,
Clipboarding a third word English

Note:

"Twitching and shrugging of Δ's shoulders"

Then there was silence, nothing but silence,
More shrugging of shoulders
And eyes to the floor.

"Ay, mi Madre!" Tears flowed like agua.
"Dios Mío! Por favor."

Note Diagnosis:

Acute suicidal
Δ's depressed

Alone in Camden after his letter

"Dios Mío! Por favor!"

Postmarked Manhattan

As Doctor Wu writes something like latin,
Hands me some chit and opens the door.