Winding the Master Clock
Time feels like it's going backwards
Each ticking second hand
Working double time
One click forward
Then a half click back
Slowly eating itself
Making the day longer
Each boring task more labored
Until the clock is watched
sitting at the bar where
time slips away
Hoping for some terrible thing to happen
away from you
As you sit in anticipation
for the best thing to hurry up
Take you to a place where there is no time
His and Hers
"Tell me I can love you again
Treat me like you do not know me yet
Just once teach me how I can survive alone
I must be whole."
'I never wanted you to love me
I don’t even know you now
You’ll never survive me
I numbered the pieces as I took them.'
"I once had desire
I’m falling so far down
There must be something left for me
I’m fighting with no strength."
'I gave you your desires
Then I pushed you down
You had nothing to begin with
Just lay down.'
"I can’t do this any more
Your lies poisoned me slowly
Your darkness has consumed me
I give up."
'You never could do anything
You ate them like candy
You never saw light in anything
That’s my girl.'
They sure had a lot of technology at the clinic
A sprawling walk-in only
Mad jumble of doctors with names posted on a menu
behind the receptionist
When she checked me in she took my name
age, date of birth, marital status
And scanned my ID through a machine the size of a standard ruler
Every office before them had a boxy multipurpose copy machine
To make paper files about medical history
But at the clinic I simply picked a doctor and
waited to be called
Like sitting at the ER among flu patients
and screaming kids
With the random bleeder sitting in the corner
When they called me back the nurse took my vitals
and logged numbers into a computer
She put me into a room with my friend (never see a doctor alone)
and started asking about my medical history
I can't even remember her face
I think she was fat
with that thick valley accent splashed with her native Spanish
All I could remember was the tablet she took notes on
A thin screen much like the one on the computer right next to her
but it must not have been practical for them to
put all of the information on one source
Then she took my picture on the device
for my profile
Then she left me there to wait for the doctor
Another short, round, Mexican with a computer in his hands
Then he asked me the same questions as the nurse
about my complaints and brief family history
So I told him
I told him everything I could remember in addition to the
piece of paper with everything else written on it
Horrible symptoms with incredible weight loss
That I needed to know what was wrong
He let me talk for several minutes before telling me
There was nothing he could do but order a blood and urine test
for the standard things that the basic gynecologist would test for
and he sent me to the lab station where the first technician
completely missed the vein when she stabbed my arm
then proceeded to dig after it with the needle
A cold bitch insensitive to screaming
with a reputation for leaving bruising
When I got her off me the next one tried
but failed to read my allergy chart and reached for me with latex gloves
I yelled to my friend "LETS GO! NOW!!"
and checked out in a fuss
Violated and confused
I found another doctor after that
The military set me up with that nut bowl first so I had no idea
what they would dig up on the second round
So I asked for a real doctor's office that made appointments
Insurance uncovered a gem
A reception with a big copy machine
And paper everywhere
The nurse asked me what was wrong, my sore throat for that particular visit, and
wrote down my medical history on my chart
When my new physician came in she had the same piece of paper
and began drilling me with questions
When she finished she said,
"We have a lot of work to do"
I like the way it sneaks up
the reckless abandon it brings
in a quiet room
with just the music
push through the missing
when there is just one thing
that is so far away
that it never leaves you
But it turns on you
it goes sour and scratches you
when nothing is there
There were lonely nights out there
smoking on the front porch
The only covered area outside
In a quaint little square
and the open sky
The view of the sun as it set.
The rising moon.
Across the street was that crazy house
the road between a path for the coyotes.
There was a raccoon the size of a car tire.
Always slowly scavenging in the yard
Among the rats
As they threw nuts down from the tree.
A good one
or a bad one again
fearlessly frittering up and down the tree.
And then came the rat I saved
so I think.
The cats were always hunting game
The lizards were always male
And the birds always devoured leaving only a head or maybe a foot.
And the rats were always babies.
I saved three once.
The first died of head trauma
the second in my hand
the third in my house coat
cuddled and clingy towards me.
Then later the cats found more
one got away.
The other I saved twice.
How it lived is a miracle
And I believed it was that rat peering down from the gutter at me
sniffing and nodding
then running back on the roof
checking on me each night as I would sit alone out there and smoke
I would hear the neighbors arguing
late at night.
The crackhead's scheduled melt down.
And the same cars would go up and down the street at night.
A world of things happening around me
and I would soak it all in
Changing with the weather
getting lost in the routine
Knowing too much about others.
Trying to focus on wild life
Owls would search for food at 2am
I would hear the hard beating of the wings
the screeching of the catch as it
was flown away into the darkness.
The most beautiful nights had a fog
Thick enough to feel
still able to see the street
In a mysterious
Oft' creepy haze
The howling of the coyotes would bounce around the canyons
and echo in my ears
Most likely coming to kill something in my yard.
One California Night
The only call on a lonely night
Some guy named Bo or Beaux
looking for his sister, wrong number.
I could hear booming in the distance
What sounded like cannon fire
And I was kicking myself for all
The nights like this
with the mood
And I never wrote about them
The crackhead across the street
Taking off in the middle of the night with his son
While I waited for her to come over
But I knew she never would
So I drank the wine I bought for us
for the one night away she'd get
When the dope fiend came back it was quiet
All for about 20 minutes
Then he was out again
Selling another sack or maybe
steeling the rims off some other junkie's car
I secretly hoped he would sell them back to
the same poor soul he stole them from
And the booming
filling the dense night air
Trapped under the ceiling of clouds
With nowhere to go
But invade the quiet homes lining the coast.
Round and Rubber
I've decided rats are better than people.
Let's face it we all, as living beings, must find a way to survive
food and shelter must be obtained but people have the most worthless method of acquiring the bare essentials to life
We are stuck in buildings constructed by other people that are also stuck in buildings to learn a generic enlightenment, of which things will never be applied in actual life, to then ask for permission to work for a period of time and for a designated salary and quite often hearing "No". These people fritter about searching for love, money, fame, really good drugs, or a feeling. An emotional sensation to fill the void ever deepening by the lack of ability to obtain the things they need to live a good life.
When finally they are unable to work, assuming they were given the opportunity to, they die.
Or get hit by a bus at 37
Drunk driving accident during the teen years
Most certainly the Coup de Grace-drug overdose.
But they die. All of them.
Just like the rats
But people become even more useless when they die.
Most of them continue to take up space with a grave marker
or a ridiculous mausoleum that no one will ever visit except horny teenagers that lose their virginity or get dared to make out in there for three minutes.
Then you have the rats, the ultimate example of life going full circle.
A rat is born and, if it survives the first six weeks, learns to hunt.
It builds a nest of whatever it may find and gathers food wherever it may come from. No asking permission there.
At some point the rat will choke on a seed and die, become old and just croak, have a disease and be killed by its fellow rats, or get eaten by and owl, cat, coyote, etc. The point is they become food or fertilizer in the ground.
The rats don't care about money for a nut that fell off a tree
They fight tooth and nail for their territory
And they sure as fuck don't say Please.
There's Gophers Too
I remember the wife had just left town
He left holes in the yard
The result of moving a trailer just after the rain
The ground too soft
Doing it alone like a 'hero'
The night I pushed it out I knew
So when he left I got the shovel and did it myself
The people we rent from said,
"Start a garden, the work's half done"
Only optimists out west
Like that ass across the street
He could yell about the darkest fantasy
He still sounded excited
He made all the noise on the street
Except when my cat got out at night
Only when the wife did it
A strange fellow
He saw people but
Never inside them
Or considered what would fill there holes
And my holes
Are slowly becoming filled again
And the sun breaks through the clouds
With the cats right there behind me
Digging another hole
It was the first sunny day in weeks
But here the days felt like weeks so...
Time had been drifting here into an awkward monotony
Nothing special, nothing new on any given day
The same cigarette
The same cat food
The same crows leering over the shed
Something gloomy and pale drifting through the air
There was the family across the street
Hot dogs on a junior sized grill
The five minutes of the day that man didn't yell about something
Not that a full mouth would stop him
And the eternal patience of the girl
Quiet and scheming
Careful, most of all
But a quiet afternoon on this boring street
A slow day with curious sunshine
Warming the skin after an eternity of clammy fog
Finally able to open the windows
The mountain air mixing with the coast
Chasing away the old chill
And yet its different when there's sunshine
Always bringing the heat
Boiling down on this peaceful street
With the yelling drug dealer
And the woman proud to have married a black man in more racist times
And the ice cream truck that never stops here
And the cat brought me another lizard...
Powdered Sugar Belly
I walk up to you and touch your head,
You move your ears and bat at me,
You roll over to your side and expose your belly,
You look at me expectantly and scrunch your paws up to your chest,
I run my fingers through your hair and stroke your chest,
As the sounds of pleasure escape your throat,
You close your eyes in contentment and swish your tail,
I move my hand farther down your stomach then back up your chest,
Your annoyance shows and you roll over and walk away,
Never again to show me your powdered sugar belly.
The Man Named Sarah
There once was a mam named Sarah,
He lived in a town named City,
Then one day by chance,
He happened to glance,
Upon a girl named Benny,
They went out for a date,
To a place named time,
So the next day they met,
On a friend's foolish bet,
The friend lost the bet and Sarah lost Benny,
So Sarah was sad,
But his wallet was glad,
And the next day he spent every penny.
Do angels obtain addiction?
Does an angel know how to love?
If an angel smoked a cigarette would he feel it as the smoke filled his lungs?
Would he crave another?
Can an angel feel the snow on his skin?
Does an angel know sleep?
Would he feel guilt?
If you struck an angel would he feel it?
Would he cry?
Are angels curious?
Can an angel have a favorite color?
Does an angel know art?
What is time to an angel?
Can he go back and change something?
Do angels know hate?
What does an angel do to pass the time?
If an angel loses faith does he become human?
Does he go to hell?
Do angels have gender?
Do angels feel?
Could he fly without wings?
Is an angel's wings made of light?
Do angels die?
So where do they go?