ideas
are the sickness
health
provides.

thoughts
are two sons
for a jesus
whose fathers

one heavenly, one earthly

never had
to touch
a woman.

the pain is not tremendous.

lo it has kept me
from hurting
my kids.

I was listening
to my father
tell a story
about two men
with one
outfit
between them
when I noticed
my brother
had been touched
by sleep
and my father
saw him too
and began
a second
story
about the face
of a ghost
that had seen
a woman
undress
and both
stories
made me miss
my mom
for you

(second in a series of shorts for my kids)


Zen was a boy of nine years whose sister of fifteen beat him nightly.  When she would do this, it would be during bouts of sleepwalking that began when she too was nine.  Her name was Beam, and he loved her and she loved him when both were awake.  When both were awake, they would count the bruises on his body and see if their numbers were the highest they’d ever been.  Zen did not tell Beam she was his abuser and Beam promised to find out.  This presented a problem as Beam, no matter how hard she tried, could not stay awake long enough to catch the person she didn’t know she was.  Beam wanted to ask their parents to keep watch, but Zen would not let her, saying he was worried that if the person was identified he or she may start beating someone else.  So they counted bruises, and loved.  Zen is now a boy of fifteen and Beam went missing three years ago.  Every morning Zen looks over his spotless body and prays he too will be kidnapped by gentle aliens who cannot hurt their own but want to.

I reached up into the top of the closet
and took out a pair of blue *******
and showed them to her and
asked "are these yours?"
and she looked and said,
"no, those belong to a dog."
she left after that and I haven't seen
her since. she's not at her place.
I keep going there, leaving notes stuck
into the door. I go back and the notes
are still there. I take the Maltese cross
cut it down from my car mirror, tie it
to her doorknob with a shoelace, leave
a book of poems.
when I go back the next night everything
is still there.
I keep searching the streets for that
blood-wine battleship she drives
with a weak battery, and the doors
hanging from broken hinges.
I drive around the streets
an inch away from weeping,
ashamed of my sentimentality and
possible love.
a confused old man driving in the rain
wondering where the good luck
went.

And if I happen to land in your arms
after I fall for your quirks and charms
I thank you first for doing me no harms.

But if you drop me, I must confess
I will love you a tiny bit less.
And if you drop me on a bed,
I might be entirely and mildly mislead
to do things before I don't think with my head.