A VISIT TO THE DENTIST

The Green Mile to
The Chair
The snap of hygienist’s latex gloves, then
Scraping, scritching, spitting blood

“Only one” gaping hole
no matter how much chocolate I eschewed
in favor of chewing Trident
(I’m *******)

The Dentist
My personal Olivier, and I, his Dustin.
Needle.  Lets it set in.
The drill, the smile of the sadist
squealing torture, my mouth on the rack
I CAN FEEL PAIN
but it comes out, “owiusmmorsoss”
(“ow, I want some more shots!”)

Another shot.
I press on:  “LA.  The 70s.  I did more than this for fun.”
Reluctantly, another shot.  And another.

As the drill grinds and keens
I pull out my secret weapon – how could I forget?
This is why God
invented the IPod

There is a Raven
Perched upon my window sill,
Its talons tearing into the paint.
The tick-tock
Of a grandfather clock
Resounds throughout the walls,
Matching the scritching-scratching
Of the ravens claws.
I sit in the corner,
As I have for night after night,
Not sleeping,
Never sleeping,
Simply sitting and waiting.
The Raven begins
To tap-tap-tap
At the window pane.

And I sit

And wait.


How long now has it been?
Since my Sun,
So beautiful at its Dawn,
Had left its Noon-time heights
For an untimely Setting?
Sadly grieveous as it had been,
My Sunset had been darkly beautiful,
Asplash with deep reds and purple,
Crowned in gold.

Oh that I had been Pyramus and she Thisbe.
Star-crossed and Tragic,
A love made eternal by mutual deaths.
Alas, it was not to be,
For I am no Pyramus and she no Thisbe.
She went ahead of me
And not by choice of her own,
By my blade yet not her hand.
And after her I would chase,
Pleaing forgiveness on bended knee
In that next dream.

Yet I am afraid,
Of the knife,
Her scorn,
Her embrace.

And so I sit

And wait.

The Raven is at my window,
Talons scratching divots in the sill.
The resounding of the clock
Still surrounds me,

As I sit

And wait.

Now all I have left is
water in my ears, heavy chlorine in my hair,
a hangover from lack of sleep, and
"Mama" playing along to the demented viewmaster in my head:
K snorting fun dip from a paper plate and
rolling on the floor with her blue-black tongue.
us running across the train tracks,
nettles scritching my poorly-shaven legs.
And us trying to perform a satanic ritual
in a hotel pool.
Surprisingly, thirteen doesn’t feel any different,
does it?

As i Smoke the Day's last Cigarette
Animal Sounds all Around me

the Restless cat Scratches at
                    the Watchful dog
the Seagull squawks, Seeking to
                     Snack on the Frog
who Sings his Heart and Throat raw
                    Out in the Pond,
a Song for the Raccoon
                    in the Woods Beyond

and the Cat starts to cry,
the Dog gives a sigh;
the Frog sings along,
the Raccoon and Seagull die

Mother Sleeps while Child Writes, the Story
                          of so Many Nights-
the Animal Sounds All Around;
Crying, Sighing, Singing Dying,

Scritching and Scratching of Claw and Pen
As i Smoke the Day's last Cigarette

The scritching and scratching of bristles on canvas,
The whispering of dancing paint strokes upon it,
Meeting and mingling with each other
And attempting to reflect
the ethereal dreams drifting deep
Within the misty maze of my mind.

On past the trail
I follow you there
pulled by the stare
you eager face fair
unwound and unbound
untamed by a love
your scritching and scratching
from the limbs up above
A beast that has hunted
my body tonight
then took flight
as I gasped in the
aching of sight
I just might
live the night through
or be eaten by you
doesn't matter, I speak
for I know I am weak
and I hate you for bringing
my body to peak
in the dead of the forest
we kissed, oh what bliss
in the fear of the rustling
things in the mist
I relinquished my soul
as you knew it would be
so i tried but i died
and the night never lied
but it craved and it hungered
then it rained and it thundered
till there was no trace of me
nor of thee

the sound of
    scritching and
                 scratching
  creaking and cracking
                          hounds me
                   even if it is merely
                          echoes of thought
                      in the examination hall
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­ fal
                                                             ­       ter

the sound of
  squeaking and
               scratching
  clicking and clacking
                    surrounds me
                   even if it is surely
                     bellows of ambition
                    between the office walls
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­fal
                                                             ­      ter


                                                           ­        as I
                                                               stand
                                                      at the edge
             where the whistling wind beckons
                   me to the chattering city below
                        I promise you that I will not

                                                            ­               fall