try fixing issues
with nothing to guide you as family is primary dislocation. so aroused in pain
or can’t feel pain or too damn numb to socialize. a fever in laundry an angle
in blood or kissing pavement—so proud to survive those years in hives so much
bleeding to sustain life. or a Haiti child or deep in Africa or to tell it
happened accused of lying. to live in tyranny to reside with the enemy or
seduced into thinking anguish is natural. where it hurts, for something
registers, while something isn’t right! to be touched to be thrashed to have
tears. a wrenching gut-ride a lethal creature while morals are for others; such
survival such chi so blank it feels good. a demented child a vexed psych where
a son is only thirteen. our daughters to all night affairs our souls to all day
regrets so tortured it feels normal. it couldn’t be the skies, or it couldn’t
be the humans, while it couldn’t be mother. we exist so close to disaster. or
most might be privileged. while I never heard such bull crap.
I would look at walls. mother was catatonic. some
crucial ingredient. I would look for father. father wasn’t coming. while they
say, “Keep your laundry!” but faces are depleted or memories are plural while
our worlds are eroding. I fix a feeling. I dance a cappella. I keep looking
into the well. it gets vivid it becomes life while a little conversation might
alter tomorrow’s agenda. to reach for you, a total stranger, as proof that most
are unconcerned. as never again, floating through miracles, or divorced too
deeply for sensation. a bit flat a number we exalt while living dysfunction.
the pipes are hot the liquor is dripping the weed is prime value. our souls
dying our families getting ghost where it was hell to get a voice.
