5/15

My bones are
somehow soft.

Formless spectre drifting,
languidly over the Earth.

It all seems so vast and
unmentionable.

My fear, precipitous
and consuming.

I look in the mirror
and see my innards:

large intestine, pancreas,
brain, bowel,

quivering, wondering
what the hell the future holds,

in my arms I imagine
a baby,

(no, not a baby, not right)

in my arms I imagine
a black widow,

I am alone, in a dark
room, but not

dark enough to miss
the red hourglass,

I will die, in this dream
I will die.

And the moments
leading up to it flashback

as the venom, so potent,
floods every inch my body.

Abjection in tattered
clothes as I sip soup,

out of cheap carafe
under the oaks in the park;

still further back as he
leaves me,

sludge spewing from his
mouth as he slams the door;

the death of dear friends,
cloaked in black as I weep,

stream running down
my cheeks;

to what seems a pitiful
moment of exaltation:

a slim volume of poems
published,

"Birth/Death," fragments
of loss and life, a mosaic,

all shattered now, all gone
in this spiral downward,

to the dungeon, hammer
against the birth,

leaving only empty space
and cessation.

All because of 5/15,
5/15, day of reckoning

when I get that letter
in the mail,

postman indifferent to
the fear I feel,

strong emotions of
stagnancy, suspension,

stepping out in summer
sun and body melting

molasses on pavement
as the ants devour you.

5/15
I cannot help but repeat,

I'm a broken record,
walking cliche,

thinking the end of my
life is suddenly upon

me if I do not get a yes.

Reality settles in,
bones hardening

as my form materializes
once again:

5/15 is not an end,
but a beginning,

I want to publish
those poems,

birth and death
of ideas, things, people

alive and well in my
mind,

(I've got a story to tell)

compassion in my
heart as I settle my hands

soft, gentle, against
the tree branch,

this world has not seen
enough of me,

it must quake and falter
and be remade,

in a new image,
without the smoke,

tear down the facades
and expose the harsh

lines of the face, attitudes,
and bend them to your will.

5/15
5/15

It is you who should
be fearful.