Sketches - 51 (November 15th, 2014)

51.

Mozart is an artful composer -

     he pulls you into a vortex

     of the way things ‘should be’

     but will always fall short

     of the expression pressed

     into the event.

The vision is overwhelming.

For some mysterious reason

I remember playing with toy rockets

and seeing velvet clown face paintings

on black nightmare backgrounds

as a child raised on the abysmal

flat-drat plains.

Mozart chimes away

the dry sandpaper hours

of a fever dream, melodies

knocking around the inside

of your skull in musical telepathy.

(November 15th, 2014)

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Sketches - 50 (November 15th, 2014)

50.

Winter day long breath of

pure cold gusting here on an artic

front from some furthest coldest

heart of complete unknown.

It has our traffic in stitches

and our fevers up high,

translucent blank panelled

passing of minutes - idea begun

and flitting away as forgotten as a

nondescript bit of ash.

Dog Dali - comes in, goes out,

comes in again, the whole

tender routine of our

family dog.

Eyes droop down at my slippered

                     feet.

Yes.  Like Lou Reed, I could

sleep for a thousand years.

Or should’ve been born

a long time ago with sailor’s

suit and cap.

In the kitchen with

           Sibelius - great grand

           quiet patient

           dark withering

           quivering soul

           like tiny brown

           leaves trembling

           in this Artic

                    front.

When someone like Christopher

Smart had a fever, you can bet

            yer ass

that he saw and experienced

           THE WHOLE THING,

and then forgot it again.

The blade will strike when it

                 strikes.

Pit-n-Pendulum logics.

Big watery yellow eye.

Eternal sickly KALUMP

of heartbeat in the most

granulated evil whiskey

drunk EVER.

Outside there are monsters

and dreams waiting to be born when

the machine is turned

                        off -

it’s inevitable.

(November 15th, 2014)

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Skteches - 49 (November 12th, 2014)

49.

‘First thing you learn is that you always got to wait.’ - Lou Reed / The Velvet Underground - I’m Waitin’ For My Man

Waiting for the Alegent Care

Doc-assist at grocery store

               HI VEE

to check in and make sure

that I’m well enough to

work a CNA shift after

being sick with flu this

last weekend.  And while

the quick wall-in-your-face

hot cough is gone, very

few sneezes left over the

course of an ordinary day,

and while there is nothing

about me that is contagious

(save the urgent need to

          express)

I still require a doctor’s note

before going into work a half

         hour from now.

In the overactive flu

season that has taken Omaha

town, I thought I could easily

slip back into work without

the AGENCY imploring for

the doc visit and note I will

need to show the AGENCY

enabling me to work a simple no

nonsense shift for a fully

functioning 93 year old man

with a heart condition yet

hardly needs assistance

with the majority of his

         ADL’s

and now I sit here in this

tiny waiting room along

side the doc-assists

tiny office / sick room

just to make sure I cover

the AGENCY’S ass

      at my

      expense,

all the while ignoring (as best I can) the

dull heartburn pop-radio

interrupted occasionally by

young people on crackley

intercoms demanding so and so

get to when and where -

out the door of the waiting room,

100’s of tubes of various tooth

                  pastes

and cluttered top shelf

of tooth brushes stick up like countless

map flags on a strategic war map -

I sit here, waiting - time keeps

               ticking tocking

               and this whole

               bothersome waste-o-time

is certain to make me late for my shift.

I’ve yet to meet or know anyone

who gives a good god damn

as I take the fictional doctor’s note

to the fictional AGENCY

so reality won’t bite them in

the bureaucratic ASS.

Wait - hurry up - wait

hurry up - wait - hurry

up - wait -

          after all, slavery has

          many forms

          and the night

          is still

                YOUNG.

(November 12th, 2014)

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Sketches - 48 (November 7th, 2014)

48.

Baby fever - whole days

of coughing sickness.

Jesse sips cool water

out of a sippy cup/bottle

bleary eyed, all the usual

baby movements droned

into a ponderous red slow

down, and cold/cool wind

gusts outside, creaks

at the windows and whistles

like fall fevered ghosts.  

Reminds me of being a

boy in the small town

library as cold weather fronts

came tumbling gusting over

the town.

.

I would check out Tom Swift

books, sometimes Hardy Boys -

              rarely ever finished reading  

              the books I checked out.

I was more interested in the radio

and riding bikes through alley

ways and cutting over people's

manicured lawns on my giant

purple fendered bicycle I

inherited from my dad - an

adult bike from the 60’s with

white wall tires - was a hell of

an eyesore but the best bike

I ever owned.

I’m 44 years old now - spitting

tobacco into an empty yogurt

container while actually both

fever boys sweat it out in

their bedroom across the hall.

Jesse’s tight cough and

Lowen complaining to go

downstairs.  Jesse tries

to make a speech ‘Ah gwah,

aah ah cootah, quah ma

da, ah , awwwwww’ (sip, sip)

Lowen is more direct -

      ‘I see a butterfly!’

      he yells delightedly,

      all eye-ears-enthusiasm.

Huge wind outside, window

creaks and giant engine

snarl flat bed weight

KAWAP-a-WUMP and tinkly

chain friction as a truck

passes by out on east

Cuming street north of

our ramshackle house.

Our mailbox out there too,

occasionally

stuffed with bills

and other bits and flaps

of semi-laminated junk.

Ash kisses on Jesse and

attempts a conversation

as he takes his tiny hand

(fever-hand and hot armpits)

says ‘mom’ as he touches

            her lips.   

Everyone’s sick today

         except me - sort of

         dodging the bullet through

         some miracle or other.

That is, until it taps me

on the shoulder and I too

will wake up with that tight

dry nowhere-cough feeling

        like a dog burning

        in hell.

(November 7th, 2014)

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Sketches - 47 (November 6th, 2014)

47.

‘God damn it Charlie’

my wife says quietly -

Charlie’s our over sized

house cat who nibbles

at some of the plants

in our bedroom.  Apparently

a plant at the east

window has been nibbled

down to little ripped  

weathered flags across a rigid

           pulpy stem.

Zoey plays with an art

game on the computer

sitting on our minuscule

medium sized bed,

and later on, my heavenly repose

onto that same bed when

sleep hits me, can’t keep

my weary head from the

pillow, initial sighs into

the bliss - flash REM state,

down into peaceful

           tranquil quiet dark.

Izzy (almost ‘5’ she proudly says)

watches Zoey play

on the computer, creates

mountainous rainbow triangles,

       impresses the hell

       out of Izzy.

‘After you show me you can let

              me try it.’ Izzy says.

There’s a poignant hopeful tone in

her direct mini-sentences,

               Izzy gets down to

               business.

‘Uh, blue, and purple, and I

          think some red will be

          good.’  She plaintively

          requests Zoey to show

          her.

Today my wife called in

sick from work and the

boys have been hacking

and coughing, sometimes

puking, their breath and

sweat imbued with that

warped thin metallic tang

of sickness indicative of

red-cheeked roaring high

fever.  It casts swollen

eyed spells, long stares into

space hardly normal activity for

a 20 month or a three year old boy.  

They've been sick all week.

Ash calls Mother India

after I gave the two toddler

boys a hell of a shower/bath

scrubble bubble glub, all

the honey soap and shower

steam - gets rid of that

sick smell, and now I’m almost gone

to pick up my wife’s order from

Mother India on Leavenworth, soup,

flat bread and the car radio/CD

player await albeit in the

single headlight Chevy Cobalt -

I’ll need to drive with care.

(November 6th, 2014)

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