Three Poems

“What Will You Do to Hurt Me?”

How illogical,
How suicidal,
How manic-depressive
Would I have to be
For one emotion
To bleed into the next
And to be explained away
By the one after?
I thought a late-night drive
Would cure my head,
But now everything’s reversed
And my head’s even sicker.



“The Dead and the Damned”

Here’s a story
Of a family,
They were all adopted,
Except they had the same blood.
They knew each other from birth.
They said to each other,
‘It hurts to look at you.’
Their faces were like scars.
They said they loved each other
But they really didn’t.
One tried to bleed
All the blood out
But got dizzy in the process
And so stopped.
Another
Changed her last name
To someone else’s
And left with him
Somewhere else,
But came back
Because
He wasn’t
Who she thought
He was.

Here’s a story
Of a family
Despised.
They hated each other.
In the morning
They left
One by one
So they wouldn’t see each other,
And they came home again
Without a gesture
Or spoken word.
One said,
‘I’m suffocating’
The air had become
Too cloudy,
Was overbearing.
‘I’ll die if I don’t get out.’
The fourth one
Ran away
To the circus probably
Or to sit in the movie theater.
But the police brought him back,
Except without handcuffs
And no tickets
And made him say sorry,
Which he said
But didn’t really mean.

Here’s a story
Of a family.
The last one succeeded,
But left behind a mess
That was easy to clean up
With water
And laundry detergent.
The others
Were a little bit angry
Because
They had agreed
To go together,
And now
They were one less
Than they were
Supposed to be.
The house
Wouldn’t open up
So well anymore
So no light
Wanted to come in
And stay.
The others faded
Away
And left no traces
Of ever
Having
Existed.



“The River”

The river
Leads a crooked path
Straight
And the birds’ calls
In the trees
Sounds like laughter
Falling upon
Ears
Haunted by memories
Of fire-soaked
Boundaries
Led astray.

The river runs
And burbles,
And the shallow hand
Clutches
Stones that lie
At the bottom
Waiting
To be picked out
And examined
By the eye acute
To naming
Substances
And minerals
That couldn’t
Possibly
Exist.

The river washes
Away
Into the sea
And disappears
In tendrils
And currents.
And pieces
Splash
Against the coast
Where lighthouses
Flash
Their lonely cries
And sigh
Relief
When the night
Is done
And the sun
Cuts open
The day anew
And sets
In motion
The machinations
By which it will
Set
Once again.