She stood at the edge of a deep rock
leashed to the side of the sea
with foam biting at her feet
and waves barking at her.

She breathes a salt stenched air
and watches its jaws open
only to see a sailor
rotting between its teeth.

She swallows air whole,
call it courage or stupidity
but she takes a step towards it.

Now the hound named
"Sea"
became full
once more.

Her name you may
or may not recall.
It was Chrissie,
the body in the sand dune.

You do remember the shark,
the blood on the water,
death spreading like
a virus in the town of Amity.

You do remember that
the beaches should have been closed
but Amity was a summer town
that lived on summer dollars.

You do remember the shark
doing what it was built to do—
killing Mrs. Kintner’s little boy
on that beautiful July 4th day.

You do remember Mrs. Kintner’s
cold blooded slap
on police chief Brody’s
warm blooded face.

“You knew there was a shark out there.
You knew it was dangerous
but you let people go swimming anyway.
You knew all those things

-BUT STILL MY BOY IS DEAD NOW!”

“She’s wrong,”
the mayor says.
“No, she’s not,”
Chief Brody acknowledges.

Suddenly you remember
reading a news piece
that Mrs. Kintner (Lee Fiero)
was a victim of the pandemic.

You realize there is no
police chief, scientist, grizzled old salt
banding together to do the right thing,
uniting to triumph over disease, death,

Only the orange hair President
standing deep in the drowning tide
smiling and waving and
telling everyone the water is fine.

“We are all Mrs. Kintner  now.”


Note:

The final line is a quote by Mary McNamara,
the obituary writer for the Los Angeles Times.

I liked her because she was brave
and fragile at the same time
--a contradiction I know all too well,
the burden to carry.
I should have known,
as we sat and we talked,
the two of us,
in the silent hours,
that even in her bravery,
the darkness would creep in on us
from unseen places,
--places I hadn't seen in a long time,
and were, tonight,
to be brought before us.
Her darkness and mine
churning the waters until they were black
and my stomach burned
and I hated us,
hated life.
Hated life because it had done this to us.
Made us real.
Made us raw.
Made us emotional.
Too emotional, for ourselves, in this small little room,
not enough space to contain ourselves.
And I wished then,
as I always eventually wish,
that it wasn't so hard.
The emotions creeping in,
too heavy a burden tonight,
as they all eventually became
--become,
in time.
Time is a silent monster,
a stealthy creature that makes his way in the dark,
on his belly,
his scales feeling for the vibrations of hearts nearby that are too strong
or too soft,
or too anything,
really.
Any victim will do.
And that night time stole a chunk of me,
caught up to me,
because I had finally decided I had a reason to stop running,
take some respit,
at least for a little while.
And he mocked me as he ate a hole through the two of us,
there, in the dark.
And I should have known.
And I whispered to her that I was sorry,
because I was,
because I had stopped running and she has stopped to sit with me,
and whether time had come that night for one of us, --whichever one,
he had stopped for both of us.
And so I sit now,
alone,
in my own darkness,
because I would rather be eaten alone,
than to hear the screams of my partner beside me, as we face the perilous jaws of time
together.
And unwhole.

My grandfather peels an
X-chromosome off his liquor bottle
skips it across the pool of my mother’s genes
until it reaches me
yellow cigarette stained walls
green ashtray carpet on his tongue
blue back room full of old guitars
black mechanic oil stained hands
sandpaper voice
watching Jaws 4
homeless woman on couch
feeds dog black coffee
brown belly dragging across tongue
Thanksgiving dinners
my brother plays “Purple Haze”
out of a reluctant amplifier
the old folks applaud
the colors are beginning to
fade
he
battling cancer his way
watching Jaws 4
dog now dead
homeless woman now
no longer homeless
back skin where left ear
used to be
old guitars pawned for
drugs
Purple Haze fades to
black as colors do
and they say
it skips a generation
and now when shades
of pink appear white
my tongue grows thick
smoke burns my nostrils
and
I can only think of
how terrible of a film
Jaws 4 is.

"It Comes At Night"
(Desire) First renewed
Under the silver light (of the moon)

"A Quiet Place"
(A) Fatal Attraction
There will be blood (he hopes)

Venom (drips from his tongue)
(as he forces open her) Jaws
******

(the) Heat
"Let Him Have It"
Primal Fear (is all she knows)

"The Usual Suspects"
Goodfellas (they claim)
(making her play) The Game

Was told we’re not supposed to call it The 3rd World anymore,
that the politically correct term is “Developing World”,
It’s not 1st and 2nd World,
it’s Developed and Developing world,

I thought,
what difference does it make,
the same disparities still exist,
regardless of if the names change the problems remain,

we’re quick to look down on a 3rd world mob boss,
because he executes a few troops to make a statement to say,
but who are we to judge if you ask me all humans are fckt up,
and at the end of the day nothing really matters anyways,

we’re all Lethargic Aggressively Passive Agitators,
we’d all rather get lost in an Instagram Timeline,
than get found in our Real Life Timeline,
where the Beast of Burden are disgusted as Beauties that are benign,

anyways whatever where am I I’m flying through the sky on an Air New Zealand flight,
watching a documentary about Spielberg,
his phenomenal rise in the film industry,
and how some critics pointed to his rise as the demise real cinematographic art,

but critics are critics and that’s just it,
they get paid to criticize,
when in fact most of us artists types would argue,
that everything is art every scene on screen and in real life,

only difference is with real life it feels like there’s no break time,
that everyone’s forgot their lines & there’s no script,
the camera is always rolling the director never yells cut,
and even when you get frustrated you can’t walk of the set and call it quits,

what the heck is this,
what kind of sick joke is someone playing,
I mean don’t get me wrong I’ve got a great life,
I’m not complaining at all I’m just saying,

this mind of ours has some dark places,
everyone scared of sacred water because of Jaws,
it sparked a fear that lead to the slaughter,
of the majestic prehistoric fish known as the shark,

and that’s just the tip of the iceberg with Spielberg,
think how many other ways he altered all our perceptions,
think about his films about aliens,
think about her portrayals of various villains,

either that or don’t think about it at all,
just turn on a screen and watch a show,
and try to seize the moments,
because most of us don’t realize the movie’s over until the credits begin to roll,

oh,
here we go,
another poem about nothing that we find important,
like life and disparities and re-programming of soul,

but what does it matter anyways,
if life is but a dream and we are lost at sea on a boat,
I mean we’re all gonna die at least in the physical sense,
and I don’t know if that’s true but that’s what I’ve been told,

then again I’ve been told a lot of things,
got me thinking that someone isn’t necessarily wise just because they’re old,
so I take all food for my soul with a grain of salt,
because something isn’t true just because it was told,

Was told we’re not supposed to call it The 3rd World anymore,
that the politically correct term is “Developing World”,
It’s not 1st and 2nd World,
it’s Developed and Developing world…

∆ LaLux ∆