Tiny Zaps to Your Already Electric Brain
I want to have known the term
Before myriads and myriads of
Tiny zaps permeated
Parts of my brain not covered
In Grade 11 Bio
When your beast slowly walked over to me,
All covered in ozone, all
Wolf-dog like, panting after
A recent kill, his first one in years.
I wanted to listen to
The rustling of the dog’s heart through his fur.
I placed my ear right against
His carotid. So much white noise.
We may have been biting on different tongues,
But it wouldn’t have mattered
Anyway – we were going
So later you asked me if
I had an electric brain
And a heart apparatus.
So maybe I’m full of shit
But I think I now know the correct terminology:
Loving you is as easy
As pissing on my own two fingers.
Read my poem published in Clementine Poetry journal 🙂
Has science gone too far this time?.
Garbage Collection – Part 2
Are you okay, ma’am?
At last, one of my many itches
Has been scratched just the right way.
Forget filling the holes you never had –
Instead go straight for the blank spaces
In your air-bagged bucket list.
That one day,
The day cleared his stale throat and
Delivered his gentle reminder
That I, too, am made of junk. A chunk of meat
Cushioned by brittle plastic that shattered
On impact. Discard if the seal is broken –
Unfair as that statement might seem,
It does caution well against bruised, rotting,
Disintegrating flesh. Damaged goods.
Are you okay, ma’am? was
Politely asked over and over
As I was trying to
Assess if I was damaged goods,
Which I mostly wasn’t,
And I sure am lucky,
But I could have done well
Without the precious chance
To recall that my body
Will one day be thrown
Right into the ditch
With or without dignity,
Doesn’t matter which one,
Because to be honest,
Why would I give a fuck
At that point anyway?
That one day,
Later in the afternoon, as I was
Passing by the scene of the crash again,
I noted that the debris has been cleared away.
Licked clean like nothing’d happened.
Give us all your junk!
Just like that. You don’t always get to
Join the winning side but it sure feels
Grand to brush by the greatness.
Day 10 – Graceful
And then it’s too cold and too crammed
And you fix your eyes on the flight attendant
who cannot keep a straight face
while gesturing to the emergency exit
You think it would be funny if it didn’t end well
It’s really marvellous
that you can even complain
You look outside now
There is only one quivering light in the middle of black
So much black
Yet not the darkest black
It’s interrupted by the pulse of your ancient raptor
Relaxed and mechanical
The bird’s inevitably taking you toward more light sources
Toward prettier lights
Toward more graceful machinery
Toward more graceful chunks of stone
that you are trying to resist pre-emptively hating
because everyone else loves them so
It really doesn’t need to be everyone
Just one is enough
Though you don’t want to remember that
One is quite enough.
Day 11 – Saint Francis
You’re hilly and warm
And I am not prepared
But my four-inch heels and I
We make a good team
A baby-pink Cadillac
It looks at me
I look at it
I look away and move on
I try not to seem like a tourist
To draw less attention
In case your streets are unsafe
Some of them are
They have people
I look around and move on
Letting the observation slide
Because my feet are starting to throb
Because the pace is lulling me
Because the bridge is big and its trusses make me smile
And you’re hilly and humid
And I’m not prepared for you