I just want to let her sleep.

Let her rest
        so she can reemerge a warrior against
        the gilded masochism
        and misogyny
                of the office.

        so her perfect vessel combats the encroaching infection
        and she can breathe deep and strong
        and snort in the lifeblood
                of the dawn.

        so she can see despite our return to dust
        there is yet so much
        and she must live in ecstasy
                of the moment.

        so she can reap the reward of a long deserved slumber
        and lose the swollen circles and pains of defeat
        and shake the anxieties
                of her heart.

Let her rest
        so she can come alive.
Let her rest
        so she can come back.

Just,
        let her sleep.

she penned a note
in girly curling cursive,
blue on white lined paper,
taped it to his carrier, a cage
one size too small

"he bit me, crapped on my floor,
made thousand anxious scratches
on  my door"

she didn't intend to report his heinous
crimes in rhyme, but she did; they were enough to get him the needle, ministered mercifully, of course

though cursive's now a dying art,
it's sufficient to sign another death
decree--for slaughter, we know,
can be accomplished
with any font

Eva comes home from work to where there are many flies
and slaps my brother side-headed because he left the back
door open,  she is bovine heavy and limps to close it.  We eat

Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and it is soothing like peanut butter
fudge or Pepsi-Cola.  Eva says do the dishes up boys,  goes
to bed and cries.  Me and brother go to sleep and I dream

of a burning house.

Have a will to learn
And be your best
Possess a can do attitude
Always show your gratitude
Be at the top of your class
Continue to shine
Shout it out loud
Get that piece of paper and make your parents proud

I was visited again by Death.
Not the hooded creature, but a shadow of my own cadence
        slid across the cortex of my mind
                the place
        where the rational man falls to the unceasing siege of the animal,
        where every edge of every plane of time thrusts itself and
                interrupts our daydreams to inter seeds
                of fear
                of frustration
                of hope
                of anger
                of things gone
                of things we wish
                of things we want
                of
                        things we dare never speak aloud.

It (I) brought to me (myself) no vision of my own demise,
        no recycled image from film or phone or fable.  It brought worse:

My own house.
My own floor.
My own back
        hunched.
My own legs
        crossed.
My own head
        bowed.
My own shoulders
        heaving.
My own arms
        flaccid.
My own lap
        heavy.
My own son
        Limp.

        Brown curls on a blue forehead in a peaceful, lifeless rest.
        A pietà.

        ---

I fade away as I appeared, and revive. A searing kiss on both eyes.

        Brown curls on a pink forehead in a peaceful, mid-meal grin.
        A Cheerio.

        ---

Wake up!
Wake up! Arise! Look out!
        and See
        and Be
        and Grasp
        the Goodness of All around You.

There must be more than this.
More than what lies
beyond the deep,
blue sky.
Where stars condense,
and collide.
Where glalaxies spin,
and multiply.
Where life blooms,
but never dies.
There must be more
than what lies
at the end
of an ordinary life.