Those above
And those below
Some stay
Some never go

god
the kindly butcher
and you, lying
obediently on the table,
cleaved neatly in half,
your sinew and flesh cut by
the same hands that molded you from the river bank,
who cradled you in the arm of a spiral galaxy
just shy of a light gentle enough to reveal the
cave around you; now, there is only
an unfurling map to the
star-speckled wings of space
that roost in every dying
cell of you.

time passes until the
begetting,
the ending,
the abandoning,
your body now bearing the marks of
a believer swallowed by tragedy:
a noah who drowns in the tempest
a jonah eaten by a great fish
a job who dies in pain and poverty--
and you
a death in slow motion.

make a wish
let the coin touch your lips
reach far
hear it splash
watch it drown
the gods will hear you out

you looked so hopeful
I ate all the happiness
you're so blue
you don't like darkness

I'm your last sacrifice
make your wish
kiss my cheek
slipping away
I'll take the dive
watch me drown
the gods hear me now

What is this search for,
when the dirt poor explore
the locked heavy vault doors?

What are the blind trying to find,
when all roads lead to
streets where lonely-hearts bleed through
before they ever get to meet you,

a place where the closest thing to an angel
is that strange human being
who drops off a few essential things
for the scattered flock of forgotten
flesh forms who follow the hollow
and hard streets            
to find a warm and semi safe place to sleep,

where stop signs and streetlights
are the most productive spots
for the needy to plead freely
with cardboard requests
to ease the hunger pains, they are feeling.

What is the point of this struggle?

Suddenly, a bang
fired, astray in the air
just after eight pm,
when the church bell
tolled for prayers
invoking the restless
dead in purgatory,
my mother halted
her litany of all saints
to uncover, check,
count our bodies still
on the palm mat-
covered wooden floor
cold in August;
I quickly got up
to look for tan Olive
that did not howl,
its usual noise after
a loud gunshot
echoing for a while
as if to remind,
our dog lying
down on the corner
where I placed
a bowl of sour soup,
under its belly
the puppies lining up
for warm licks.

The hardest part
Will be the days that come after.
Prepare your heart.

Where the tops of the trees
Have been chopped
The looking down
Flows easily along.

Love Mary ***

when you sing,
you want it to bloom out of the garden
in your bones and out of your heart,
and you want it to be like
you were thirteen again and you had blooming
sunshine in your face

you scaled trees, climbed rocks
skinned your knees
wild and as brazen as the first kiss you
stole from some girl
spattered freckles on her face
you counted with your lips
(you got to 14)

erected a monument
out of your garden but it was bare
your bones,
dried husks

who can pull you out of that water?
i can't...
neither can she...

everyone wants to be the moon
touch the stars
and kiss the sun

everyone is secretly sad
that sad gleam in their eyes
confusion covers it all

I don't want the moon
I don't want the sunrise

I want my broken heart fixed
I want the voices to quiet down

trying my hardest
everyone looks away
dealing away
with their mess

to busy helping ourselves
we don't look at eachother