The Endocardium As We Know ItIt's the Endocardium As We Know it (And I Feel Fine)
That's great, it starts with a heart rate,
Palpitate arterial veins
My Mitral Valve is unafraid
Eat up a sugarcane, listen to your heart burn,
Lub serves its own needs, dubby serve your own needs,
Speed it up a notch: beat lungs, no, chest,
The bladder makes you fatter with pee bright yellow might
Fire up the wires beating 72 per minute
In a ventricle that's higher at a low-fat site.
Oxygen is coming through the larynx and pharynx
Breathing down your neck.
Beat by beat the quarters strangled, lumped, weathered, stopped.
Look at that fat chain.
Fine, then, uh oh, overflow, masticate the common food,
it won't do to save yourself, serve yourself organic snow peas
listen to your heart beat, dummy with a tummy feeling crummy
fat is quite light. You might have colic, diastolic-jam
bright white light fuzzing out your sight.
It's the endocardium as we know it. (I guess I'm just some bones)
It's the endocardium as we know it. (I guess I'm jus
Stitches: A SonnetThe surgeon's plump fist fit in the skull's half-scooped tub.
Stitching up, after the hemispherectomy,
each needle pump sealing off the left half's torn stub.
Grey, brainy clouds roll over missing metropoli
of all function and control, the mind's pup and cub,
neuron-storms over seas of phantom memory.
Only stitching remains to kilter the neck's hub.
Fontanel of Bible-black thread fed through holey
scalp-skin makes fusion from entropy's urgent drub.
Criss-crossing wire hems this fear: scars shaping bony,
knobby, crusty ridges, burbling up just to snub
the stitches, shed like baby teeth, and as lonely.
Right half on a pan, a nurse passed in bloody scrubs.
So the patient voided, avoiding ignomy.
SpacefeintThe astronauts had no rear-view, lying vertical,
eyes to instruments affixed, octopoid arms aflight,
moving eerily as one
Like college-bound teens, they didn't look back,
the mother's faint tears smothered by
the thunder of flaming engines.
Old films and space museums first alerted their minor selves
to the intoxicating blue of the earth's
In the simulator, they swigged digital earthshine,
complex watertanks faking weightlessness --
the sim just wasn't the same.
Belts unbuckled, floating on ballerina feet, a speechless face
in each porthole, no one noticed the captain's
His hypoxic brain unbetrayed by gravity, his limp spine
erect, his outstretched hands drifting clouds,
his eyes wide shut.
In his dream: father sat stiffly at breakfast,
the paper clumped in each fist, with
Long before Jupiter's great red beauty spot, the iron
hearts of stars, the moon's cephalic
sea of tranquility:
an unbuttered crust of bread,
Feather, Knife, and WifeUnpretentious princess at the lip of the wild
broods on her position in the tribal order.
She's gritting her teeth at development's border
with weapons unfit to inspirit kismet's child.
An arrowhead barely tattoos the tractor tread,
A hand-axe fells not the crane its longevity.
Ironicallly, the machine's owe their brevity
to the First Spirit's black blood wrested from breast's red.
A computer geek morningstar, alive by chance,
going cold turkey off his electronic life,
stumbles from the rubble of Armageddon's fire,
surprised to discover unmolested expanse.
She trains him in the ways of feather, knife and wife,
First Spirit's gifts renew him, return him, rewire.
The 1998 HousefireThe 1998 Housefire at 198 Wentworth South
Snow falling on cinders; falling on issues,
300, of Mad,
and Nintendo Power;
falling on a consoles red Cyclopean power (cooked
internally, blinking to black,
volumes of ongoing adventures, dreams of power,
my life in virtuosity, melting,
gooping into Grade One element comprehension);
falling on posters and curtains
gone up fire-fast, like Japanese letters read
falling on the bamboo-print
bed, the heat
to beat the heart;
falling on candles;
falling on bookshelves great with stomach
falling on shadows
I once hid from as from
a hungry ghost;
Falling where Nagasaki
where the ceilingwhere the roof
I feel the pain of everyone.
Then I feel nothing.