poem; prose; poem

Humanness

 

Decay of this set we live in

Dirtiness, disease, death creeping in

From where it's normal & real

 

Comes at such a shock,

The plague of the comfortable comes in time

 

(I don't want to Be Optimistic here

But there is a solution

We can move toward)

--

 

So on the world stage somewhere battles are fought; and kids and families are blown up and dismembered.

There's this kid, and his nephew, are both have gone through twists and reckless bendings like a mangled paperclip does, and I love them so much I pray to my soul they don't snap, and seperate into pieces.

My cat who takes the household role of my late, beloved one, has had tortuous days(maybe weeks)-longs experiences of fleas all over her skin and her personality is no longer the immaculately free-spirited energizer and player, and now at a young age sickly and getting worse; wandering out.  I wish they would have never gotten that cat door (to exit the house); I wish we would have followed the mandates of that cat-donor we thought was maniacal, who forced adherence to the domesticity of her giveaways (in writing); and I don't know now where the cat is outside in that abyss beyond the night light's borders suspended to the edge of the ceiling-roof.  The cat shakes its paws and whole head, periodically, convulsively, as if a schizophrenic tic.

--

I love kids

 

It's such a pain to raise kids

But that's what we do

And they are next in time

 

Where I'm at

The landscape from one corner, say, Miami, up to the East coast, say, the District of Columbia, to the far West end, say the Bay Area, where the end of the land mingles with warmth, swarming intersections of cultures & setting bouts of fog, and the large Pacific drifting into land curling into water, sits somewhere a guy with his duffel bag as a seat, trying to take it in.
 
Likewise,
 
A platelet gets swept on turning buses at the corner, small sedans, ferries across the waterways, Greyhound transfer-to-Greyhound, that shuttle to the airport & liftoff, the rail, the subway, the underground, the by-foot, and all that weaving through this big biology of nation, and when you just sit, you breathe and look around, and the mind refreshes, taking a large breath itself.
 
Where I'm at,
 
Simply looking for that hole I call home, to call home, anyway you want to put it, all of this, any of it, I'm just trying to figure it out for my kids (yet before having kids), from them to my parents, and all in between and what I look back on, in my attempts to understand it, like a movie, and then I come back to my one and only self, selfishly, always.  The All-American kid, with a little bit of that something else, to add, wanting not a bite but for them to take a bite out of me.
 

...Hell of a first blog.  I will get no readers this way...