If I had last words they would be…
Well… I mean… I see in those streams of invectives
I see especially people who drink, eat, sleep,
who make all human functions
Which are quite rather ******
And I shall say that they’re heavy
It never stopped being heavy
I noticed
I’ve read so many verses and particularly
verses from the 17th century
Verses, so-called courteous verses
I found 3 or 4 good ones in thousands of them
There’s little lightness in man
He’s heavy... isn’t he
And nowadays he’s extraordinary in heaviness
Since automobiles, alcohol, ambition, politics make him heavy
Even heavier
It’s mostly like that, he’s extremely heavy
Maybe one day shall we see a mind rebellion against the weight
But it isn’t for tomorrow
For now... we’re heavy
So I’d say indeed
If I had to die
I’d say
Man is heavy
That’s all
Oh! They were mean but...
Because they were heavy
They were heavy
They were heavy… jealous of a certain lightness
Jealous... jealous like a woman who wears a clothing burlap
instead of another who wears lace
Like someone who owns a workhorse
instead of a thoroughbred
Jealous...
Jealous of being heavy... that’s all
Crippled...
They weigh... they're crippled
Heaviness makes them *******
Therefore we can beware of them
They’re ready to do anything
Oh sure
They’re ready to do anything
And to activate heaviness
They drink, aren’t they
So when they drink, they turn into sledgehammers
It’s frightening, isn’t it
Sledgehammers without control
Yes, they’re especially like this
They activate... increase their weight
Instead of making themselves lighter
Oh! They’re not in Ariel’s side
They’re more like Caliban
More and more

Maybe. Maybe I said it. Maybe.
Maybe I said, “I love you.”
And maybe. Maybe. It was too soon.
And maybe you panicked or I panicked or we panicked.
And maybe we should have waited longer.
For a lunar eclipse to kiss and whisper it under.
Or at least at the top of a Ferris Wheel.
Even soft neon lights of a gas station before a road trip to say… Disneyland would do.
But maybe.
I didn’t wait. And I said it the first time it bubbled out of my chest like mercury and tried to force itself out of the corners of my eyes, shining like mirrors.
And  maybe we panicked.
And maybe you’ll decide to take some time.
And I’ll think it’s a good idea.
And you’ll get around to painting your bedroom walls blue.
And I’ll finally finish that replica of… Big Ben.. made from… toothpicks.. or some ****..
And you’ll get that job for that network.
And I’ll decide to be a carnie, because my feet have always felt so much better on the road.
And you’ll laugh.
Just maybe less…
Or not as hard..

And I’ll learn to roll cigarettes and run the Ferris wheel. And wind up with an eye patch from a freak dart accident in a pub in Scotland. And get sun leathered skin. And road earned muscles.

And I’ll master all the rigged midway games.

And you’ll have a better time in France than the last time and make it back to Greece to see the oracle. And learn to play the violin.

And I’ll develop a keen sense of when to pause the Ferris Wheel to leave the couple at the top just.. one.. moment.. longer..

Or at least secretly teach him how to throw the dime to win her the really big ******* Snoopy.

And I’ll wonder if you ever wake up and look for me.
And you’ll wake up sometimes and look for me.
And I for you.

And maybe I’ll get self absorbed and write the rest of this poem from my perspective.
But probably not.
And maybe one day I’ll go to the fortune teller to find out how you are. And where you are. And you won’t be far away. But I won’t want to intrude.

And then the fortune teller will tell me not to play the game where you knock the milk bottles over anymore because fortune tellers say weird **** like that sometimes..

And maybe I’ll listen..

And maybe I won’t.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget and teach the nerdy highschool kid how to beat the milk bottle game so he can get the frosted mirror with the cheesy rose and the word ‘LOVE’ in cursive for his girlfriend, because *******, sometimes you have to help the underdog  get the girl.

And maybe the gypsy will be right..

And those bottles.
At that moment.
Were some kind of cosmic key.

And as they topple over, all hell bust loose and pours violently out of the mouth of the bottles.

And demons flood into our world in waves.

(And if she kisses him at the top of the Ferris Wheel? Totally worth it.)

And in time, the world would have to notice.

What with the Leviathan coming out of the ocean and the dead rising from their graves and the four guys on horses and all the pesky locusts.

And did I mention the Zombies? And the vampires? And the Vampire Zombies?

And who would have thought that the adorable little fairies would be carnivorous and cannibals and just plain mean?

And maybe it would attract the attention of Aliens. And that U.F.O. you saw that one time in Texas. And maybe the U.F.O’s would attack and fight the Leviathan, which would be kind of bad ***.

And the zombies would fight the vampires and the vampires would fight the zombies and the Vampire Zombies would fight themselves and the Zombie Vampire survivors would find that they had a distinct taste for Soy.

And maybe us carnies would have enough experience with sledgehammers and haunted houses that we’d be rather good at fighting zombies. And I’d be particularly bad *** because of the eye patch and leathery skin and hand rolled cigarettes that I chew on more than smoke. And maybe I’d go lone wolf and ride a motorcycle. Which is also kind of bad *** and I’d do okay considering the apocalypse and all because honestly?

I’ve never been all that scared of ghosts and devils. And the UFOS are busy with the Leviathan and their really is only four of the horseman and we keep a professional distance just the same and the locusts and the fairies are at war, besides locusts don’t bother me, save for the noise.

And look..

I guess what I am really saying is this:

I think maybe I could survive.

And I think maybe I could rescue you.

And maybe we could fall in love.

sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth of vision is necessary
if you wish to transcend
the edges of your inevitable vulnerability
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become entangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
this happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
you shatter the silhouette of my perfect idol
i sneak a peak at a photograph
that you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with your shadow
and feel the earth within your skin
give god a better reason than your sadness
and she may even begin to sing again

Two Blue Beams
rise in the twilight
from dark recesses
of a wounded city

astral projections
paint night clouds
in looming hues
of temporal intent

declarative beams
affirm a bold portent
of an insistent will
and timeless aspirations

one thrusting light
projects wanton determination
bequeathed from unhealed wounds
of a lacerated city

the other casts fervent hope
onto the vast celestial sea
boldly etching upon the heavens
an earnest nations highest ideals

the pillars of light
reveal the dual nature
fixing our place
in a turbulent universe

the brighter light
affirms the beneficence
of liberty's eternal grace
so divinely conferred

received by a higher self
accepted with gratitude
the gracious anointing
of freedoms rich abundance

ride this beam with angry cries
conjure ghosts from a dead past
channel a full measure of resent
its power of restoration is quelled

stirred from nagging agonies
nursed with righteous indignation
untreated wounds fester
the weak blue spire cannot heal

a bleak azure apparition
screams for selfish retribution
heed this dire admonition
a promised fury of
full demonic dimension

the rankled city
yearns to come together
united in communion
around these lights

drawn to the blue flames
like swirling moths
unconscious of what
compels shock and awe

earnest yearnings
flutter to exhaustion
struggle toward the light
aspiring to heal in the inviting glow

transcending the fissures
of our fractured nation
the waning resolve
of a national will

a restless Zeitgeist
cannot be repressed
nor will it relinquish
its will to manifest

a city's fondest hopes
entombed in collective memory
is foretold again
around these bold lights

entranced by the light
a solemn urban campfire
transfixed and sealed
we speak our hearts

holding hands
gnashing teeth
we bite into
our bent knees
tucked up
to sullen chests
heavy hearts
bear pains of loss
dreary tears wash
ash stained cloths
crumpled photos
dear bereavements
of faded memories
and expired hope

resolve is renewed
in bursts of pride
incendiary nationalism
suppress dissent
pummel thoughts
of perceived sedition
pump iron fists as
zealous sledgehammers
forged with conviction
in kilns of
righteous indignation
seething with infected
emotional hangovers
from prurient
tribal diatribes

these sweet sentiments
swing between the polls
of the vast pendulum's arc
along a narrow celestial scale

too and fro
angst and expectation
ebbs and flows
in this astral assignation

the heavenly helix
a set of blue axles
a modern vision
of Ezekiel's Wheel

the rung-less vertices
of our Jacob's Ladder
invites all citizens
to climb again

ascend this pathway
in the company of angels
arrive transfigured
renewed again

build new cities
transcendent destinations
new Edens await
pioneers to explore

fearless pilgrims
sojourn onward
moving to secure
liberty for all

conscious stewards
of the blessed good earth
celebrate rich diversity
of all the beloved

descending back
to an expired past
is a ridged stasis
anchored in Hell

witness flitting
nostalgic phantoms
pathetic pantomimes
of histrionic fictions

the downward path
of the lesser light
tethers us to the place
we cannot leave

The upward light
abhors a hells decent
resolved to vacate
acrimony and hate

the dancing helix opens
a blue portal to heaven
don saintly garb
wing upward in light

transcendence calls us
to traverse with angels
touch the luminescent hem
of God's divine robe

Selah

Music Selection:
Aaron Copland: Appalachian Spring , Simple Gifts

NYC
9/11/10
jbm

wreckers arrive, trucks & sledgehammers & ball
on chain, tumbling brick walls
glass cacophony
crystals of sand.

demolition early, everyday ruins, debris
piles hills, constant removal.
wheels shifting loads
burial journey.

gulls fossick mountains discarded, peck at
rocks & remnants. banister
shattered, chunks of steps, rungless ladder.
a park ascends

sarcophagus past. developer opportunity
real estate soars, minion mcmansions.
corner view of water & trees,  haven of
light & ore

These words break backs
(I love you no more)
Make bones shudder.
Marrow leaks from vertebrae to hearts
-bleeds-
Life leaves, fire-water draining,
Drains lava flows from mouths opened.

Whispers can sound off like shotgun blasts
(This is over, I’m leaving)
Splits ribs, peppers tendered tendons,
Rips muscle, tears tears
From sockets agape.
Wide eyes speak
Volumes of saline solution-
Downed flushed flesh cheeks.

Teeth grind dull chainsaw
Blades chew emotion to dust.
These words that hurt
(I’m seeing someone else)
Cut deeper than sticks or stones;
Some syllables cleave like sledgehammers
To kneecaps and elbows-

Usually land: right on the button.

When the smelling salt revives us
We lie,

We are still;

Never quite the same.

A little nonsense is good for the soul
But human emotions are hard to control
It's too easy to take a twisted thought and make a twisted mind
You ignore all the damaged spots
To convince yourself that you're fine
It seems like a lifetime of mental disease
You see yourself as helpless
Sledgehammers straight to the knees but
I guess theres always a rocky start
on the path to greatness
They say keep courage in your heart
And you will be most famous
To live a life devoid of love and passion is not to live at all
There are too many who stand so strong but still continue to fall
Pick yourself up off the ground
An earthly experience can be truly profound
Just be sure to take time to come to terms
with the darkness within us and the life beyond "our world"

I never paid much attention to abandon buildings until I became one.
It was after I heard the words,
I heard you say the words,
"She's gone."
Two words that can make a fifty year old veteran feel empty inside the pit of his stomach that was just fed.
After all, no matter how many meals,
no matter how much liquor he drank,
It was never enough to make him feel full.
And no one ever tells you being so empty can be so ******* heavy.
And no one ever tells you a stranger's soft hands cannot hold you back together.
Because the truth is you can't always turn your sadness into a poem and sometimes it just sits in your chest and drains the life from you.
And you can run away,
as you will try,
but you can only go so far until noticing the sidewalks are only cracked to commiserate the broken hearts that have stood on them.
This is not about me.
This is about the human spirit.
The resilience we have installed within us to feel
Everything.
And when my best friend broke up with her boyfriend,
she told me he was OCD,
always doing everything in threes.
But he only said goodbye once,
And I don't think she realizes that it is killing him,
as much as it's killing her.
As humans,
we have the ability to create,
and destroy.
Love letters and suicide notes are just different combinations of the same 26 letters
remember that.
But love is a beautiful thing,
Our love was a beautiful thing,
A fragile thing,
A glass castle,
And we were both sledgehammers.
We created and destroyed and we did it beautifully.
Mr. Lunn said some people are already dead.
Walking around the halls in their own high school,
Waking up for work every single day at nine o clock only to start driving back home at five,
these people are already dead.
And it didn't hit me that he was right until I was lying with a friend,
his head on my chest,
admiring my heart beat in a way confirming he did not have his own to admire.
I asked him if he believed in God, if he believed in the universe, if he believed in the stars staring back at us, if he believed in the connection when you can look at another human being and feel
Thankful to all of those things,
thankful to every god in the world,
for the mere pleasure of knowing them.
And he said he just didn't know and I still don't know what moment was more alarming.
I wondered if he payed attention to abandoned buildings.
I didn't either,
Until I became one.

Failure
Illuminates
And plagues
Our accomplishments

"The first bullet
To **** by your head
Is the scariest,"
The general said.

"All the rest
Are just like
Old girlfriends
You might catch sight of
At the bar."

When we take our own life
Into our own hands and
Rely on the sincerity of others,

We are playing a game
More dangerous
Than Russian Roulette.

I take for granted
What I have

I dare not to see my
Many blessings

For fear of feeling
Unworthy

The walls here
Do not leak and
There are no cockroaches
Scurrying underneath
My one sheeted bed

The air I breath
Is not nuclear and
There is no
Secret Police
Pounding on my door

I am alone
To do
What I please

When I please

The only rapping
That echoes around me
Are from the hand's of
An unknown creativity

Who put
This desire
In me?

Who cursed me
To never be
Satisfied or
Free?

How long have the shackles -
Rusted and red orange in the sun -
Been strapped to my wrists and
Gripped around the bases of my ankles?

But
To abandon my irons
Would be to abandon
Myself

Leave myself
In the desert sun -
The soul begging for
Water, for food, for
Shelter from the beating flares of sunlight

Where there are questions
There are answers

Where there are answers
There is rest for some

For others
They dutifully
Choose not
To recognize

Outside my windows the
Street workers with their hammers
And their sledgehammers pound away
To the mad rhythm of this hustling city.
History has not forgotten them,
But it wants to.

History wants to forget us all.
History wants to re-write itself.
We want to write ourself to be
The divinely chosen Men of the World.

We will never be,
We will forever be human.
To reach the heavens
Would mean death.

And death
Lasts longer
Than a lifetime

I.
from one direction a voice is heard
the Word pours forth from the mountain
i hear the language of the birds
truthfully we converse often
they recount tales of passion
beauty and satisfaction
our mutual attraction is gaining energy
i feel the pressure building
its all consuming
like a waterfall it threatens to engulf me
and dissolve me in its intoxication
her scent is everywhere
a constant reminder of the divine
i am taunted by her essence
her fragrance and her spine
inflict mortal wounds
dare to hold her tight
if you do the energy of love
will overcome her
sweet innocence
bound to the intellect
essential qualities
of communication
sensuality
actualize presence
in feeling and form
i freeze
her beauty is numinous
surreptitiously blooming it almost fooled me
she took hold of my insides
it lingers near me
i sleep within her memory
can i shield myself from this surge of music
hunger and inclusion
an institution of feeling

II.
her eyes are furnaces
her breath vapor
never less than the totality
of liquid light crashes
fast and than slowly
the rhythm laughs at our feebleness
saturated innocence
bursting out like steam from coal ovens
simple ecstasy is my only hope
form is pain
a prayerful reminder of our impermanence
swiftly **** me and i shall dance on your grave
sledgehammers finish off the drudgery
some moments are pounding
others are cool like the crystal ocean
a depth and vision is necessary
i am in need of shelter from her fire
a muse that burns all that she inspires
a silent lover of beauty
furthering her art
between the spaces of dreams
our fingers slip into everything
and become tangled like twine
rest here and unwind your heart strings
the scintillating heat
is blinding yet rejuvenating
if you are my love then uncover your soul
give naked silence a chance to grow
surround my faithless jungle
with your vines of hope
i am conscious of the lack of rope
for happiness is binding
like kindness climbing invisible ladders
shatter the silhouette of your perfect idol
sneak a peak at a photograph you have kept hidden
silver visions destined to uncover
the lust of beauty
smiled in my direction
if we wish to dance then circle around the fire
aspire for magic to abolish your name
switch places with the shadow
and feel the earth with your skin
give us a reason for you to be here
or you better start swimming

III.
what is this feeling
of loneliness and shame
as it arises i witness our pain
like flaming eagles
it circles high in the sky
our instability gives rise to flight
you gave me the impression
that you were alright
now i know the difference
between the darkness and the light
as featureless women
become a formless sea
of instant gratification
is this the medicine i seek
our trials and tribulations are tripping me
every which way i reach
i feel you chasing after me

IIII.
never quite on time
we run always behind
i am dancing in flaming spirals
a feather high up in a tree
i am a shepherd and i am a chief
i am the river, the mountain and the sea
life gets hectic and full of noise
in the confusion we reach out for toys
to anchor us to reality
yet it never works
these childish games remain shallow
and keep us narrowly awake
barely alive
what a dismal dive
into lakes of cold liquid
refreshed by the water and the ice
somehow our humanity survives

Everywhere we went,
we rode shotgun,
carried one too.

We were home wreckers,
housebreakers,
misfits riding on the edge.

We came with sledgehammers,
battering rams, metal-knuckles,
some disappeared for interrogation.

You should have seen the head splitter,
he went back to the world,
they turned him loose again
into the general population.

Bright-eyed bushy-tailed bucks,
we forged into no man's land,
miles & miles of golden desert sand
was the mainstay of that virtual wasteland.

A traditional-home of the kingdoms,
warlords counting their money,
that **** wasn't funny.

I never laugh at horror stories
or disbelieve fairy tales,
they might be real.

Does it matter that every time I try to get out of the bed, my head feels like it's being pounded with at least 500 sledgehammers?
Does it matter, that every time I try to breathe, my lungs lock out any air and let me drown in my own dusty and black smoke?
Does it matter that every time I see you it's just like the world has stopped?
Does it matter that every time I cross near you, I can smell the cologne that leaves me breathless?
Does it matter that every time I go to school, you choose to ignore me? Does it matter that when you cross in front of me you don't even glance in my way?
Does it matter that I feel helpless when you play around with her, wishing that it was me you were playing with?
In the end, I believe it doesn't because I know you'll never notice.

You are never given a warning
Often times, not will try and stop you
Your heart will flutter like hand painted butterfly wings
You will know you are in love when your hand is aching to write poems on their shoulders
Love grows like vines up from your stomach climbing to your heart and mind
Braiding into itself like a strand of DNA
Singing prayers and sacred alphabets of lust
No one is sure how to describe love because we negate definition when we know it is deliberately dangerous
We make it seem like this heartache is so wonderful
Because it is better to feel something for someone that to not feel anything at all
A joyous disaster is still a disaster
We are putting up wallpaper to cover up old memories, love songs, favorite colors going grey
We are never sure of what to do when our pulse turns to choir of sledgehammers when they tell you that they just don’t love you anymore
Something will trigger inside of you and you will feel like a city of stained glass with an approaching terrorist attack
But we continue to fall in love
Wondering how many times we can survive roulette

She told me that women like
men with grizzled,
*******
faces, men with scars
men with eyepatches
men with very unkempt beards
Mouths that snarl
when it’s time to smile
Eyes that are like eggs buried in
a nest of wrinkles
Noses that are never straight
And the jaw,
oh the jaw has to be big
square
like a drawer
A man’s face must have a chin
that can take sledgehammers

that’s why the luckiest woman
in the world
was Belle
from The Beauty and The Beast.
That was a real man, The Beast.
although the story is a tragic one
because in the
end he turns
into a charming prince
with smooth face and polished
features.

“What a *******,” she said. “If only
he stayed a beast…”

Meanwhile I think about
myself
the most grizzly feature about
my face is the mad
eyestrain I developed
because of my job, after staring
at monitors in a dark room for
all those years and then coming home
to stare at another monitor.
it is now impossible for me to get
outside and keep my eyes
open like a normal person. I die if I
don’t strain them as hard as I
can. Sunglasses don’t even help.
and there’s also the dark
circles below my eyes
they’re not even purple as I’ve seen
in other people

“They have the texture of the
skin around the *******,” she said,
laughing.

She was right.

She was also right when she pointed
out that if you can’t grow
a beard by the time you’re
twenty you’ll never grow a proper
beard.

“****,” I said. “Guess I’ll never
be a beast.”

“It’s never too late to get your
face ****** up
though,” she said. “You
just need
to hang around
the right people.”

“Such as your dad?” I said.

“Oh, *******,” she said,
dragging the blanket
over her *******.

When I said "I love you"
and you said "I love you too"
our hearts were sledgehammers
swinging at one another

Rebuilding the home

After nearly a year trying, I moved house
The house was tired
It had dated
It had lost the sense of who it was
It had lost all its character
Too much time with someone not attending to its needs
And it, tired and unloved as it was,
Didn't provide much of a home
Frustrated by its loss of self

I started by pulling down the ceiling
Get the structure right first
Dust and debris fell,
I wore a mask to keep from breathing it all in
The dust toxic with a touch of asbestos
I wrapped it up in the carpet that smelled of an old mans dog and threw it out

This weekend I knocked down a wall.
There were sledgehammers, crowbars, chisels, saws, hammers, electricity, falling timber and plaster, screws and nails.
I didn't even get a scratch on me.
Tonight I picked up a cardboard box and got a paper cut and it hurt like hell.
Sod's law!

Breaking down all the bad parts of the house nearly broke me
Pulling out the guts of it
Taking away all the unloved furnishings
The trappings that were there to make it a home but actually just held it back
Searching for the hidden character underneath
Everything was ***** - a building site

Looking at the beams
Wondering "would they hold?"
I needed a break

Eventually it changed
It started with the fireplace
I smashed through all the fake brickwork
Stripped the plaster
Needle gunned the paint
And there was the character
Beautiful, strong stone mullions
Aged and flawed but beautiful

I pulled up carpets and sanded floorboards
Changed the bathroom for one more in keeping
Painted, varnished, wallpapered
Added in all the things that I loved
The good memories
The hobbies
My artwork
My children's photos and toys
Filling the house with fun

I took things that were broken and made them new
Changed their form
A garage door to a bed
A smelly sofa to a garden bench
Made the broken new and beautiful
Seeing them in a new light
Making amends with the past

Talked to the kids tonight about me dating. They were really interested and happy about it. Told them I don't want to date at the moment and Tom and Hazel both said "well, when you get your house finished Dad, girls will like that" They're so sweet. I properly love my kids

Just before Christmas, I got the carpet and the laminate down.
When the kids saw the house all done up they said this...
Hazel... I love our new house!
Tom... It's the best house in the world!
Jake... I think the reason it feels like home is because of all the work you've put into it Dad.

We're home now

sledgehammers aren't so expensive
compared to the cost
of piecing bits back together

i'd never ask you to pay
so much
to undo something
deliberate and cheap
so how about just
don't

I think of you
like hands think of folding;
like birds think of singing.
I think of you
without meaning,
in the middle of my sentence;
while I'm standing in line.
I think of you
and my heart sounds off
dangerous rhythms
reminiscent of your words.

I think of you
and I wilt in remembrance
of something like love
that we beat to death
with words like sledgehammers
and glances like knives.

I think of you,
and I try not to miss you
too much.

i have good and bad days. its just that the bad days outnumber the good ones. and sometimes the bad days get really bad and i lose myself in my thoughts. sometimes the bad days get so bad that i can feel my heart aching and trying to burst out of my body. sometimes the bad days get so bad that i forget to treat myself like person and instead, beat myself with sledgehammers and hockey sticks. but sometimes the good days are so good that i skip around dancing and singing all day. i smile and laugh and forget the bad things and become this becon of light. i just shine and shine and infect everyone around me with all the pure happiness i project. sometimes the good days are just the day where i dont break down. sometimes i have good days and sometimes i have bad days. im hopeful that the good days will outnumber the bad ones, eventually.

Our lives: fragile as porcelain
Our egos: swinging sledgehammers
A bull in a china shop will do less damage
Than hubris will inflict over a lifetime
Our ego may be a loaded gun
But our ignorance pulls the trigger

Osip Mandelstam writes his final poem
on stone. Other prisoners in the Soviet
gulag swing leaden sledgehammers
to crush rock. Every hundred pieces
equals one crust of bread. Pulverize
till you drop earns a damp pinch of salt
thrown over your shoulder.

Mandelstam's stomach rumbles. His empty
crime: mocking the great Stalin in verse,
manufacturing metaphors of cockroaches
lengthening the tyrant's mustache:
now a thick, furry barrier to free speech,
now a bristly edge of the black hole that
devours all hope, that ruins all rules of art.

Osip entertains Pasternak with his militant work.
Boris cries, "What you read... is not poetry,
it is suicide." Freezing in thin clothes in a
Siberian camp, Osip vows he will never bow
to the soulless rule of the Bolsheviks. His pen
will penetrate stone, he proclaims, sculpting
anti-symbolist verses as a monument to freedom.

On the icy steppes of Siberia, a political prisoner
named Dostoevsky begins The House of the Dead.
In it we can read the tea leaves of Osip’s destiny.
Shivering, emaciated, he volunteers to carry stones
to a construction site. His thin muscles aching, he
says, “My first book was called The Stone, and the stone will
be my last.” He pitches a pinch of salt over his shoulder.

Others laugh as he gathers his poems in a rock pile
of remembrance. He succumbs to heart failure,
exhaustion. History faintly records that Stalin *****
stones as he lies in state. The dust on his mustache
spells, “Find, praise Osip.” But as soon as he swallows,
the letters vanish into the void, and the endless
parade of lock-step pomp and circumstance begins.

From the North comes biting cold
biting flesh while numbing minds;

sword points of pain
sledgehammers of wind
voices lost to winters howl.

The highest court in Arizona,
Stuck in 1864,
Just dug up an abortion ruling
Written during the Civil War.

Amazingly, the seven judges
Must have found a time machine,
And no, this is not a film
We're watching on the giant screen.

The law banning nearly all
Abortions was a barricade
To women's right to choose until
It was blocked by Roe v. Wade.

Reflecting the times, the law exposes
Feelings that were deeply rooted.
Physicians who assisted women
Could easily be prosecuted.

Hmmm. I wonder where the court's
Time machine will take them next.
Will they soon unearth another
Old, antiquated text?

Republicans who might agree
With what the court is doing, now
Are scaling back their rhetoric
In hopes that they'll squeak through somehow.

All who champion women's rights
Should honestly be mortified.
Choosing to favor the court's decision
Should be political suicide.

Fortunately, a lot of folks
Who've heard the news are having fits.
Take out your sledgehammers
And smash that time machine to bits!

-by Bob B (4-11-24)

over use and undervalued
words wielded like sledgehammers