--THE TREES ARE SO HUGE THAT THEY SHUT YOU UP

This Is My Depression Talking

I am having an

inkblot moment again,

that sloshing-swimming black

with not enough white,

not enough light,

the jerking-jolting weight

of the world making me seasick,

on the verge of vomiting,

the very act a vanity itself,

so right there that’s another reason

for repulsion and self-loathing.

Let’s face it, not everyone can

skip through rain puddles with wonder

hanging off their toddler face. 

Not everyone can smile

for the camera on request. 

Some of us have to

suck on barnacles for sustenance,

make love to husky poison ivy,

untangle monkeys from our hair

using rusted tweezers.

In these inkblot moments,

I am here and somewhere

else at the same time,

transmuted maybe,

but more transported,

aborted actually,

and life gets slick,

it does,

slippery, coppery,

like a bloody nose in summer,

but violent too, like a slap

out of nowhere, or eating

random bolts of lightning,

falling in a sink hole with its

garbage disposal teeth

working overtime,

grinding away until I’m

just pulp and mush.

I don’t expect you to understand. 

After all, this is

my depression talking,

taking charge, taking over,

an invading Hun with a hatchet,

a band of marauders more

hedonistic and perverse than

Caligula ever was.  

So sometimes, to self-preserve, I set myself

at Monet’s pond, figuratively of course.

(I’m depressed, not nuts.)

I make myself into colors,

soft and blurred ones.

Impressionism. 

Depressionism.

I look from pad to pad,

from moss green leaf to

butter yellow leaf.

to taupe and mauve leaf,

every slurry leaf. 

I think to myself, if I can

actually see the colors,

there is still hope,

there might possibly be hope.

I close my eyes and hold on

to whatever is closest,

and if there is nothing to grip,

I pretend there is,
squeezing tight as I can.

...Hey, look at that--it's 2018.  Who knew we'd make it this far?
Hopefully your head isn't still hurting.

...My PC crashed the other day, so I got a new one.  A Mac.  It doesn't like me very much, even though we've just met and are only now getting to know each other.  For instance, it wouldn't detect the new keyboard or mouse I got.  For instance, it won't let me pull up a photo for this post.  (A blog post without a photo is like standing in line at Starbucks in your underwear.)  I hope our relationship gets better soon, or this is going to be a rocky courtship.  

...I've had a few good writing days of late, well, that is to say good days of writing bad, sad poetry, but I guess somebody's got to do it.




The Weight of Some Bones

My head is full of wrong ideas,
a bar without whiskey or beer,
a harp missing strings,
somebody's lost left shoe tossed
down an abandoned well.
The flimsy moon is wandering,
lost as well, somewhere between Bend
or Phoenix or forever.
The rocks might show mercy
but they're all busy weeping sand.
If there was music on this page
it would sound like (...)
If there was a smell to this ink
you'd assume someone died in a fire.
It's all about the beats now,
or the absence of beats,
those spaces hollow as a sparrow's bones,
light as a book of matches or tooth picks,
yet far too heavy for lift off.



When Misery Comes

When misery comes with her
lipsticked face and cracked glass teeth
don't look to the moon for help because 
she is worthless, a flattened good luck charm,
a broken promise you once believed in.
Put your hopes in something certain instead--
the scorched earth, the un-loseable 
grip of loss, death's hand waving you home.
Remind yourself that even Jesus wept.
Try to comprehend that if God can cry so openly
you can as well.



I Am My Own Thief

Unusual bleeding should warrant alarm and
yet some days there is never enough bloodletting to go around.
Some days the vultures peck maniacally just for sport, not even hungry,
the Jackson Pollock splatter needing another color besides crimson.
I'd be better off handcuffing myself to a windmill or runaway train
but instead all I do is stand at my own grave wondering what to steal.  



The Missing

The front of me is always 
on the dark side of the moon
looking two-faced and bloated
with the weight of atrocity.
The screams of missing children
ring out in the night and
what's worse is their mothers 
can hear them in their sleep.
Some of us are not meant 
to see the sun, even if we're human 
and not actually vampires.
Some of us spend our years
peering down into that deep, dark tunnel, 
looking, looking, shouting out
the name of our own missing.

 

—PILOT COMES ON, SAYS THE YEAR IS ALMOST DONE.  FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE…

…It’s twenty to four and I’m still trying to find the moon.  No big surprise there.

…What do you prefer, that I not think about it at all?

…Looking back, there were a lot of things I could have done differently, but I’m not sorry at all about that.  I wouldn’t change a thing.

…This body is robed in the weight of things I cannot say.

…Every window’s open and the draught is coming in unbidden.

…Love is an immigrant--it shows itself in its work.  It works for almost nothing.

…Is that which appears so, so?  Or is it all flashes and specks?

…Who is this in the mirror?  Why won’t you love me?  Why won’t you let me be?

…I am always trying to bridge the difference between what I know and what I feel.  That’s why I often feel like a surgeon with a little bit of palsy.

…The gate’s not broken.  You just have to walk through it.

...Let’s face it, love and approval are in short supply.

…Some people are fighting for a better life, and you might call that heroic.

…I’m giving you my word.  There’s not a lot that’s worth much more than that these days, but a man’s word.

…Mining glory out of the rock of struggle, does it get any better than that?

…Biting the hand that feeds you.  Well, that takes a lot of gumption, doesn’t it?

…Nothing’s permanent except impermanence.  Upon that I think we can agree.

…Once you take that turn, it changes forever, so off you go.

…I’ve been making a list of expectations, which is perhaps unwise, presumptuous and a tad arrogant.

…I don’t own a single gun, yet if I did, you’d be the one to hold it, aim it, make the bad men run.

…The strangers in this town, they raise you up just to cut you down.

…I’ll admit that I’ve held onto hope like it was a noose.

…Hospital gowns never fit the way they should.

…What you’re supposed to do is stand your ass up, get back to the fight, and do it for the one you love.  That’s what you’re supposed to do.

…I may not be right, but that doesn’t necessarily make me wrong either.

…Adapt.  Bend.  Red and green...  At this time of year, right now, all this weight is crushing me.

…I haven’t seen a ladybug or butterfly in a long time and that really sucks.  You have no idea.

…I know you’re having a little trouble.  So am I.  By the way, I’m having a lot of trouble, actually.

…I haven’t given up on you, even if you are unable to return the favor.

…And yet I smile.

…Happy New Year.

 

 

 

—IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER, YOU CAN HAVE THE LAST WORD

Every Hollow Star

I am gauging my net worth,

that currency of despair.
I’m rich with it,
weighed down like an
anchor that’s been tossed.
Nothing said can ever
really be taken back.
It all gets recorded and archived,
and so the longest moments
become a black rainbow,
an unwelcome smear
overtaking the sky.
Looking up I see the bottom,
a water well without end,
no tarp or trampoline.
When I finally find them
every hollow star
says the same thing
without a hint of irony:
So much wasted time.

 

White Winter Hymnal

What greets me is
the sound of snow melt
leaping off the roof,
an encrusted suicide attempt
so early this morning.
Everything beautiful wants
to die in a hurry.
No one will say why.
The obstinate trees
cling to old ways,
unwilling to shake
any branches clean
until their coats of ice
have crushed them.
Hoodlum clouds
wait in the wings,
licking their chops,
too lazy or clever
to work for a living.
This winter has been
one for the ages and
yet it’s only just begun.
Even the keyboard
types out slurs
while each blank page
is riddled with hysterics.
Outside the lake convulses
for no reason,
belching up bloated catfish
and someone’s lonely bones.
When viewed
from the right angle,
the waves resemble
a cadaver’s skin,
something similar
to what I see
in the unshattered parts
of my cracked mirror.

 

Methodology

Van Gogh would

drink yellow paint.
Picasso had his
blue period while
the early Roman Catholics
favored self-flagellation.
I’m still searching
for my method.
If you have a suggestion,
please pass it on.
I promise I’ll
give it my best
college try.
I’ll be obedient
instead of picky this time.
I’ll follow every instruction.

 

--BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

 

…Hey, you.  Merry Christmas.
I hope it’s not too cold where you are and that you’re safe and poised for a wonderful day.

There is actually a layer of snow covering everything here--roofs and docks, the evergreens flocked white.  It looks like a postcard made specifically for Christmas.  I wish you could see it.

…My Christmas present to you is a list of very random, and some very unsettling, things I learned over the last couple of weeks.  Here they are…

 

-Honey bees dance to tell other honey bees where the food source is.

-The average age of a Seattle sex traffic girl is 14 to 15 years old.

-80% of heroin users started out taking opioids.

-The United States has 270 million guns and had 90 mass shooters between 1966 and 2012. No other country has more than 46 million guns or 18 mass shooters.  Americans make up about 4.4 percent of the global population but own 42 percent of the world’s guns. From 1966 to 2012, 31 percent of the gunmen in mass shootings worldwide were American.

-America has the highest recidivism rate in the world.  80% of all prisoners are re-arrested within five years of their release.

-45% of Americans don’t have money saved in a retirement account.

-The average American has credit card debt of $15,564.

-The app, Candy Crush, generates $6 million a day.

-More than 10,000 different languages are spoken in Africa.

-The longest recorded bout of hiccups lasted 68 years.

-Officially, the Mexican government acknowledges the disappearances of more than 30,000 people — men, women and children trapped in a liminal abyss — neither dead nor alive, silent victims of the drug war.

-The richest 1% of the world’s population now owns more than 50% of the world’s wealth.  There are now 36 million millionaires in the world.  The US leads the way with 15.3 million people worth at least $1 million.  Japan ranks second with 2.7.

-Leonardo da Vinci’s “Salvator Mundi,” sold a few weeks ago for $450.3 million with fees, a record for any work of art sold at auction. It far surpassed the sale of Picasso’s “Women of Algiers,” which fetched $179.4 million at Christie’s in May 2015.

-There are over 3 million lakes in Canada.

-Jeff Bezos, the richest man in the world, passed the $100 billion in wealth over Thanksgiving weekend.  It would take the combined wealth of 160 million Americans to equal the net worth of the world’s three richest people—Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, and Warren Buffett.

-Mark Zuckerberg made $5 billion in two weeks.

-This year on Black Friday the FBI received 204,000 requests for instant gun background checks, an increase of 10% the year before.

 

 

 

—LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

 

…What I don’t get is how you go from that, to this?  But then there’s a lot I don’t get.

…You are a necessary thing.  You might not know that, but you are.  You’re necessary.

…It doesn’t really make sense—not on the surface—but sometimes when people are being cruel to you, it’s really because they care about you, or else they’re working on self-preservation.

…You always fool me and I can’t react.

…You asked, “What’s your pleasure?” then I stuck around for the answer.

…The sex you’ll figure out.  Everything else is the hard part.

…It’s getting dark a little earlier, and now I can’t see my hands.

…It’s probably good you’re not around to witness this.

…Sometimes when I look up from the bottom, I can’t see the light.  And still, I know it’s there.

…Sometimes words fall through me like rain.

…You can convince yourself of anything, and I guess I can, too.

…My best friend once invented his own religion called “Leathamism” whose main tenant was—If you want to do something, and your actions don’t offend anyone, then it’s okay.  For a long time, I believed in that, until I didn’t.

…When somebody says, “The same goes for you,” you should take notice.

…I need someone to take this sinking boat and point it home.

…History will be kind to me if someone I don’t know writes it for me.

…That’s what we should be doing—something fun and adventurous.

…People are always more attractive when you think someone else has them.

…If you start using long pauses between answers, you’ll probably come to different conclusions.

…Here’s the thing—logic doesn’t always work, and sometimes your mind plays tricks on you.

…Don’t expect a free ride from anyone—that’s a good rule to live by.  Another is—never let someone mess with your ugly, or your beautiful.

…What I hate is dreaming, then waking up only to fall back asleep and slip into the same dream at the point where it had just left off.  Almost always the dream isn’t a dream, but rather a nightmare.

…It would be really nice if we believed in the same heaven.

…Nothing you do can fuck up the space for God.

…The people who make you soup are almost always the ones you love the most.

…Once you name something, you can never see it the same way again.

…If one does one’s solitude right, this is the prize—you can give someone everything without giving yourself away.

…People keep asking, “What do you need?  What do you need?”  Well, I need for you not to be gone.

….So if it’s all right, I’m just going to sit here for a while.

 

 

--IN CASE YOU CAN'T TELL, I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT THIS

 

…Things can get lost in the overlap.

…What are we looking for again?

…I might have a black mold problem, and you need sleep.

…The trash goes out, but it seeps back in increment like the backflow of blood.

…We should make you an appointment, first thing tomorrow.

…We couldn’t be any safer, could we?

…Life only moves in one direction.

…I didn’t want that either.

…Those times were terrible, but they grew so familiar and looking back, I’d say they were even beautiful.

…Out on the lake, ghosts are singing an opera.

…Terrifying things come in very small pieces, slowly seeping in.

…I took a walk down the driveway just to feel the trees reach for me in the dark.

…I know how crazy it sounds, but that doesn’t mean it’s made up.

…I did what the book suggested—I ignored things.

…I’m no good at séances, but I could host an amazing playdate with the afterlife.

…I’m fighting off the voices and doing my job.

…Growing up, none of us, except the richer kids who skied, had enough warm clothes.

…Is it possible to mourn and celebrate at the same time?

…My body has become a hard bargain of skin and bone.

…The moon always seems to know something I don’t.

…It’s lovely, every once in a while, to run across that sweet forgotten place.

…I grew up in an anorexic home.   I’d say no.  I’d say, No thanks, No way.  But what I was always saying, really behind those words?  One thing: Love me, motherfuckers.

…The house I grew up in seemed like one big scar.

…Now we’re too far past the moment for me to backtrack.

…I’ll let you call the shots.  You’re better at that than me.

…I heard a lot of serious words growing up.  Some of them carried knives.  I could put myself between the fights if I held my breath long enough.

…I’m practicing saying Yes.  Apparently it’s the right thing to do.

…I checked the To Do list but that’s all it said.

…Snow is a little like an anorexic’s ice cream.

…I could hear my mother’s voice in her handwriting, in the way the walls stared at me when she would light up.

…Maybe there’s a time up ahead, or there was a time, or there is this time right now when you’re in a place with too many people, it’s sweating-hot and you don’t know any of them and mostly you feel lost because everyone seems to know each other.

…When you’re alone you’re invisible.  You’re figuring out how life works.

…Mostly anger is unfamiliar territory for me.

…Instead of putting pressure on your brain, hold a cold beer to it.

…Most people are better at me in the art of looking at a problem and tracking backward, analyzing the smallest pieces to find out where things went wrong.

…Whatever was going on with that guy, nobody told me.  Nobody asked my opinion.

…We don’t know how this will turn out, do we?