it's a specific ache

sleep is stealing over the sheets

i cradle a lover

i'm dizzy-heavy, all muscle melting into madrugada impending

a bird is tucked under its wing

the bugs have gentled their glow

i'm weighted eyes

i'm floating bones

i'm thanking clouds for holding out another hour

i'm almost there

my chest tightens

my throat constricts

i'm an almost dream

i'm haunted by a crying spell

i'm at the edge

my voice curdles

i hold the scream

i fail to sleep

The cart barricade shunts us

suspects past the wary checkout lord.

No one sane buys salad at midnight,

so management routes us to chips, beer,

and night-checkout man, tall and fifty.

We of the early morn file through

his glare that roves our

pockets for bulges and

rolls a teacher-poet

into the hoi polloi so that

for a time I do belong here,

for a time I am not marked

by education and station in

this low wage GED town,

my politics temporarily

indistinguishable from the camo-clad

MAGA man who also heads for beer:

comrade of twilight hours,

brother of the empty fridge.

They shelve the Bud and Keystone

an aisle apart from oatmeal stouts

and wittes. I meditate on pairings

for spinach-artichoke dip.

Nothing shouts out privilege

so much as the desire to doff it,

like a handcrafted cap.

My compatriot carries Coors

toward the self-checkout machine

that declines his card; he curses,

night check-out man scowls.

I pay and pass unobserved.

The truth is, I lack

sufficient they to feel

a bona fide we.

The truth is, I moved

to a town that will never forget

I’m from elsewhere.

The truth is, my beer

tastes delicious, and I deserve

dislocation and scorn.

People being people, and unable to leave anything alone, “they” have put a fountain in our pond.

It is a beautiful little pond that I have written about before. When I sit to write it is directly outside my window; 10 or so acres, spring fed, an overflow creek on the far side. The people who owned the land before it was “suburbanized” stocked the pond with perch, bass (some of which are as long as my forearm), and other fish that are too smart to ever get pulled out. One such of that sort are a dozen or so carp that Pooky-Bear bought and had me unnaturally introduce because some guy at work told her they would eat algae and help keep the pond clean. Well, the pond is no cleaner. The surface does manufacture a thin layer of algae in the hottest times of summer, but despite the fact that those carp have grown two feet long now, the pond still gathers about the same amount of algae every year. As a boy will acquire dirt in summer, I suppose algae is part of being a pond. I like the carp though. They really have gotten huge, and will occasionally surface, rolling in the sun, their fins raised like sharks. If you startle them they turn with such power that you would think someone had thrown in a cinder block. They will not bite a line, but I see them, and sometimes the predator in me is tempted to get a bow and arrow, but I do not. Pook is touchy about her animals. That might not play well.

For several years there were two Swedish Blues on the pond, domestic ducks, easily spotted amongst the mallards and gadwalls by their larger size. Now there is only one. Pook put them in, too (or should I say had me do it). Occasionally one would disappear and Pook would have to drive to what we refer to as “Duck Holler” to purchase another for company, but I finally convinced her to stop. The one seems happy enough swimming with the wood-ducks mallards, and not at all lonesome.

There is a Great Blue Heron who fishes constantly, even under the midnight moonlight, and who drives away other invasive blue herons and egrets. Their slow motion, airborne battles are amazing to watch as they drift over the pond in pursuit of one another like giant kites, and then there are smaller green herons who watch it all disinterestedly. There is a kingfisher who also watches from the surrounding branches, chit-chit-chitting at them as they swoosh by as though he were manning a machine gun. There is a red-shouldered hawk hunting frogs and snakes, and an osprey who dives after turtles, or perch, and there is a pair of owls who take over for them at night.

Deer come for the corn that Pooky puts out for her duck, along with skunks, possum, raccoons, and muskrats. Even the turtles, some twenty pounders, venture from the water for a nibble of corn. It all happened outside my window as I type, only now there is only a fountain.

The fountain is three days old, and isn’t really pretty. It is too small for the size of the pond, and is too near the south end. It has an angry roar that bellows below it’s cascading water, which I imagine frightens the fish. There have been no wild ducks since it was installed, and I have not seen the heron. The deer still come because they must, but even the young fishermen seem to have been at least temporarily discouraged by the new monstrosity. I have considered complaining, but assume mine would be the lone dissenting voice, as the others around the pond have probably never even noticed the osprey diving on a grey, gloomy morn, or heard a carp turn in the darkest of night. They have never stood on the porch at three in the morning and watched as the blue heron, shadowed by moonlight, pulls a fish from the inky shoreline and dooms it down an outstretched neck. No, they probably think the fountain pretty.

But I am not the type to stand idly by, so I have convinced my dog, General Sherman, to run for President of the neighborhood Home Owner’s Association. He is the only one who could win, as he is insanely popular, while I am notoriously stand-offish, and Pook too demanding.

Unfortunately The General has not shown much interest in the fountain one way or the other, as there is a pretty new doodle-dog across the pond who has caught his eye. It may seem shallow, but I think I will follow his lead. A fountain is a small thing in the grand scheme, and there are bigger worries, as I now see that the neighbors have bought kayaks for their young boys… ugh.

sometimes I fantasize

about smoking

cigarettes

to be able to take

one long drag

and that toxicity

to my body

will set something free

but not me

maybe this feeling

is something

we’re taught to

naturally exhale

without chemicals

what am I doing here

at least I know

I probably won’t do it

sucking down the hurt

isn’t art

Momma wouldn’t approve

of a girl with dirt

in her lungs and heart

Underwater,

It's the same dream.

I am a

fish again.

I come

Gasping

For air.

the subtle static lining the air

when black clouds begin to fill the sky above

deep in dark woods

orange, brown, black

distant flames

distant voices

in minor key

purple lightning splitting the horizon

butterflies in my stomach

and the presence of something more

We're walking in the same parking lot. You are on your way into the grocery store. My eyes are on the ground. I'm looking for cigarette butts strangers threw that have something left to smoke. Your eyes shift on and off me hoping I don't ask you for anything. I try not to notice who around me is staring. I don't want to see their faces. I remove the top off the butt bucket by the entrance and sift through whats on the top. Anything too low is soggy from the rain. Or stale. There's needles, but they have caps. I grab a few butts and replace the top. I go to walk away. I hear you start to say, 'here, do you want a...'. Your wife grabs you and pulls you away. 'Don't TALK to her!' She hissed, appalled.

I peel my eyes off the ground and watch you both walk away. She's scolding you.

This moment. Is a different type of lonely.

Shame has a weight.

A different meaning to sad. Alone.

An alternate life. Parallel, but very far apart. Even though, we're walking in the same parking lot.

I don't know

I refuse to know

I didn't know a word

to describe

to explain

how it matters

how it feels

how to bear

the lungs

that was squeezed dry

by rigid shallow rain,

nothing was left

to breathe,

it pains

flowers bloomed

on my mouth,

wilted

from exposing to thin air

tasted bitter,

it's rough,

tasted crimson,

it's soiled

It burns,

my stomach

filled with cold sands

crumbles the words

I swallowed,

what remained

was

lemon

coated

sugar and salt,

somersaulted

the insides

and exiled my voice

in vomit

prickles my skin

with thorns

adorned with poison,

it was cold,

scorched in black,

engulfed me

in oblivion

my heart

my soul

fractured to dust,

the barrier

I built,

fragile and thin,

disintegrated

from the dull winds

Cover them

my eyes,

my ears,

my mouth,

so I won't know

I refuse to know

the words

it brings

to make me feel

this world

that revolves

Dive to the unknown

Climb from one feeling to another

Somewhere in between

There you'll find it!

Be careful darling

This one is big and fragile

It can destroy you

But you can't break it.

This one combines all emotions

That way can become unstoppable

Stop it until it's to late!

But be careful darling

Once it's big and fragile

Can break your heart

It can push you away from me

Dearest caramel don't go!

Let the emotion exist

If you kill it, I'll die too

The unknown doesn't scare me

But it will harm you if you touch it

So get out of there

Let my emotion come out

I need you caramel in my life too.

I need you to be there to save me

But no dearest caramel,

You are too important for that.

Leave before everything comes out.

Let me be alone cause it's coming,

Dearest caramel,

Only thing I know

Is that this emotion will eat me

I don't know how or why or what

But I know it's strong enough to eat me

So dear caramel let me say

I LOVE YOU FOR ETERNITY

I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU

I'LL BE GUARDING YOU!

Bye little caramel!

It is the feeling of numbness consuming your whole body, yet tears still stream from your eyes. It is the knot that pulls tighter within your belly and a lump stuck in your throat that brings unexplainable feeling. It is feeling while not feeling at all. Its the need to speak but the desire to left alone. Its sleeping to take a break from all the thoughts that circle in your head. Yet, when you wake up, your mind seems refreshed and ready to start the roller coaster all over again. its staying up late, draining your body physically just to be too tired to feel anything. just emptiness.