I’ve been so sick, and angry from being constantly sick, sick has kept me from doing much of anything. Sunlight paints a steadiness onto my face. The lungs picket out in front of the White House for more air. More air doesn’t come. What, as citizens, are they supposed to think of their vast country now? Stragglers straggling. Up late, back up early – sleep a few hours at a time as nature will allow. Nature is becoming like the government to me.
What is on TV? I do not wish to peer inside right now. “Deep down he’s a really good guy, despite his making everything so difficult for himself.”
Wishes are worth believing, but bread is real, too.
Back in reality, they want for you to put more ammunition in your gun. They’ll bring a full draft back, but I’ve already crossed the line and regardless, my breath span at this point is terrible. The news is terrible. The news always makes it here. A cop a state down from me pulls over a family on the road and shoots their dog. Such stories challenge my humanity and make me want to pull aside a man like that and with these hands rip him apart an irreversible disassembly. But here are my torn up moments, like I said, one state north, where I can watch the seldom car crashes, the cops we assume in this state, wouldn’t do such a thing.
Land your helicopter in jail.
A small man considers. Considers titles. Considers what the sun is so bright on his face, young growing old with exposed lines on his face the unfair map of time tugging strings against life. In the dream, the two couples had caused each other hardships in the apartment building and the one moved out, somehow forcing the other into the old, battered up space under the ground. An entire wall was crumbled down and exposed the earth. Sleeping there the new tenants would sleep a half sleep just to keep surveillance of whatever might crawl out of that wall in the dead hours. A pleading like a pleading stomach, a kneading of the dough. I don’t know how their science goes. This is best yet of the worst days to trudge through. Sharpen these mental knives, the spirit for a prayerful, humble attitude. Knock these message board kids off their smartest platforms.
History takes its sweet time coming full circle but I have patiently awaited for the good news to roll around, too – if you want to call it that. The mean spirited and cold hearted constantly dug away at their own foundations over the years until the news came back that those who fired me were turned out with their own luggage, turned up like turtles on their backs. You think partnership is something else, don’t you? A sledgehammer comes down heavy upon the diary locket. This is what I have to give to you, for all who might listen, so take heart. The justice you yearn for is well worth it, and it may come without your hand in it. That’s the humble part of just watching, just hearing. Yes, the world news goes up and down while you are once more packing up your belongings and hauling off to the next place. The world doesn’t seem to revolve even for one single person, except maybe only for God who is invisible to the ravaged eye.
Our violence upon each other in just small sentences, or the lack of them – how could we think it’s so subtle? How is that we overlook each other’s feelings? People begin to read well into the underlying intentions. Why are they there in the first place?
This man protects his daughter by turning the boys away with threats and folded bills. She, all the while, sits at the vanity and preps herself for the night. He never showed up, her father tells her. He bides his time. A slow coming wake up call. Dust rises from the floor, the small things. Germs, the right germs, can kill a strong man. They told me that in temples. That’s the reality, you can’t fight gravity.
BGKPOETRY.COM 