I've spent the whole day trying to check in with myself, trying to be in the moment, trying to address the sense of being at odds with oneself. I experience it as being left. That is the definition I have put on the on-going floating feeling of just slightly ajar. The equally minimal feeling that appears out of the back is the knowledge that you are going to experience ecstasy, that first tiny indication of a piece of chocolate dissolving on your tongue. Those two feelings balance each other out. So when one feeling begins to pop up my brain says create the other feeling. And addiction is born.
I am not giving into anything today. I'm sitting in the uncomfortable aura of abandonment, or loss.
Death has taken on
a whole new construct
a whole new meaning
a role
a prominent role
that jerks and pulls
at me whenever
it can. Tilts
me
to the left.
I’m afraid the old wooden
tracks are beginning
to ware and tear at the edges
and the iron wheels
might slip sending me
toppling over the edge
of a Coney Island roller coaster.
Death is now familiar
normalized
peeking over my shoulder
making vulnerability a
common state and
fragility the expected.
For over a year now
every week has taken
at least one soul from me.
Someone who I may have
eaten with last night
or tried to fuck a
half century ago.
Who may have traveled
to paradise with me
or crashed my car
breaking his nose
bleeding, proving me a fool
or someone who
was just here to teach
me a special lesson
about myself in
relation to all of you.
like the bird clock
a new song at each hour.
March 11th we grilled
Maryland crabs on the
concrete slab between the
house and studio on Chestnut Hill.
By midnight lightening
struck while
snow fell and the old
elm tree toppled across the road.
That was not my first
death, but it remains
my biggest, Gone
in minutes after years
of addiction and sorrow
gone while he’d begun
to pick up the pieces
and sing again.
Gone.
And now, death is often.
I watch the obituaries
daily wondering how they went.
Death can still surprise me.
He may begin to show
someone the way and then stop
He may let them suffer
or show then kindness
while they go.
Our lives are beginning
to feel like the
wooden tracks;
still our wheels are iron.
Death has stopped being
a true mystery,
has taken on the familiar,
is accepted as a part of the whole.
Like the heron babies
under the scrutiny of the eagle’s eyes.
And the seasons that go through their
metamorphosis at
a quicker rate than humans.
Kate lost her 18 year old
cat yesterday and
took in her death
through the soothing
spirit of song.
I am whole
I am both strong and fragile
I know death is
a certainty of life
I am grateful
I feel the
weight of each one
gone, even the cat,
I suppose even the goldfish.
Each one tells its own story
and adds another texture
to the whole of this life.
Tells of being, tells of feeling.
of going.
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