Here and Now

I’ve seen this park from

a bird’s eye view

a bird without wings

 

they told me

the horses were

buried here

 

hundreds of years ago

 

I’ve seen myself

in second person

another in another

 

I heard the women

sing “let’s go down”

through the speaker system

 

minutes ago

 

these apparitions

in half-deserted streets

with water trickling

 

weary of things

unknown although-

-although relatable

 

and yet tragedy remains

thousands of miles away

Taking Advantage of

A reoccurring, inexplicable

despair and the question of suicide.

 

The garden of

presumptuous temptation.

The specifics surrounding

mental starvation.

 

This generation attends the funerals

of those they did not know.

A Lot and Not Much

A part of being here

has been

gone away

and long

 

stretches

 

of now are underneath

what cannot be lifted and

so pushing and pulling

in different

 

directions

 

until new comes but

that is illusion

the old still there

just different angle.

When I Was a Witness to Murder

I witnessed this on the

white stone steps of

a building named after

Walt Whitman.

 

Two hawks were

fighting to the death.

Flying in between and

over abandoned ten story buildings.

 

Vocalizing like seagulls,

but deeper and menacing.

The birds would arc higher than

skyscrapers, and then dive at one another.

 

And when they collided

mid-air my insides shook.

No other humans around seemed to notice,

but neither did they notice us.

 

Then the third joust occurred

and one of them made a triumphant screech,

a trumpet achieving beauty

in a single note.

 

But it was not finished.

They kept fighting, lower and lower,

until one fell.

Until it was silent.

Gradual Deterioration

the blackness breathes in then out-

assumptions about death

 

the heart is beating slow, but hard.

and shades for eyes keep shutting,

 

not out of a want to sleep,

but in some manic sort

 

of resistance to artificial light.

freezing regardless of the temperature.

 

remembering a childhood friend

stomping on a baby turtle.

 

the muscles let go and so,

thoughts flow straight no more.

 

howling wind mirrors speech internalized.

(if only it was eternalized)

 

bowels empty again,

with no command.

 

and they say animals were made

for our amusement.