bifurcation
in the office building a spreadsheet
last two weeks of two and a half years here
hasta la vista terminated
entering digits and recalling lyrics
hold that number firm for five more seconds
whatever paintings flit in front of it
later i’ll play the drums
right hand ride, left foot hat, left hand snare, right foot kick
head swirling about
splitting always splitting the soul
i start up my Buick and head down the hill to walk the dog
and the sun is and isn’t obscured and this song from Status Quo pounds
(April), Spring, Summer and Wednesdays
just the right tempo with just the right space
between ultra-course bar chords and cutting hi-hat
power restrained, felt more than seen
and as these seasons try to occupy the same space like numbers and paintings
whisps of steam breathe from the too-warm wet blacktop
my sedan cuts right through
and i wish i was behind me
to watch them split and curl
clearcut car-wide between
summer job
in dread and desperation
with death inside me
i stood on the small back porch
off the kitchen
short of breath and smoking
staring into the almost two tone yellow and green
of the state forest in midsummer sun
the entire periphery so bright
vision reduced to pinhole
at an arbitrary and anonymous leaf
the bushes, trees and deer indifferent
the pond and trout indifferent
the kitchen indifferent, the guests indifferent
my mind in crisis indifferent
my chest ablaze in absence of a heart
death burning in its cavity
stoked by mind of doom
my heart far far through the forest
up and over, south and west
tens of thousands of dollars away
i never got the funds
but i got it back
or grew a new one
no, i unmasked death to find it was just my heart
sometimes black and red with fury but still mine
and now i let it scream or burn
hear it just as when it sings or radiates
inside me where it will remain
and death sits across the forest
and i’m just walking slow with my glowing heart
i keep my shoulders down
my breath low and my eye scanning
whistling a tune about our meeting
idiot weeund
the light is brilliant and freezing
8 am in mid april
winter’s death will not relent
wanting music but trying not to wake her
i smoke at the window
whatever i put out comes back at me directly
i am angry at the wind
which is the most idiotically human thing
i can imagine
