CLXXXI.
June 1, 2013 § Leave a Comment
Ten-year-old Sarah Murnaghan has end-stage Cystic Fibrosis and has been on the lung transplant list for 18 months. Too sick to leave Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia for three months, she has only a week or two before she will lose her battle. If she were two years older, she would have a high probability of receiving lungs in time. Sarah is eligible for adult donor lungs, but because of her age, she will only receive them after all adult candidates, regardless of how sick they are, have the opportunity to accept them.
Please sign this petition (click here) to Change Policy to Allow Pediatric Transplants of Adult Lungs Based on Medical Necessity. Lastly, please share this with others to sign.
–
pink, shriveled balloon,
weakly inflated, deflate
whispered struggle into age. My own passage,
mother rushed to the hospital, son’s body seizing any chances
Air, so rushed
obtain! obtain! relinquish! never harbored for long
Labored, shriveling
does a signature deliver breath?
sunlight raising hair
knees, wet grass
fur on fingertips
arms out, hanging aside hot metals, car zipping
any moment, just one
obtained, relinquished, clear as these lungs may savor
CLXXX.
May 27, 2013 § Leave a Comment
trees, foreign; multitude of growth
power-lines, piercing
Divided; double-pane glass, sealed
still, tunneled winds unravel, bound particles unbounded
bounce? scatter?
in my ears, nature relates
Through frame, drywall, plaster, paint
structures shaken by oppressive sounds
If not light (color) then
whatever else these nerves interpret
All moves through me,
a part; I am a part
Apart, forces obliterate walls. Apart, these walls bend
toward me or away
as trees, foreign; multitude of growth,
bend against or at will of wind
apart, all parts
CLXXIX.
May 15, 2013 § Leave a Comment
measured how?
height, inches. daylight, orbits
-
death of a rabbit
tick tock, I am afterward
-
Coming Soon!
moments,
you, me, them
-
named how?
unnamed, unmeasured
I
a drop, a grain
atom of the universe
I,
universe of atoms
CLXXVIII.
April 24, 2013 § Leave a Comment
The apartment flooded
belongings crowd my back
monitor light assaulting glass lenses
behind,
treated-mahogany bass drum, keyboard, laptop, suitcases, leather shoes,
dry-clean shirts—
slacks, ties
water-logged artifacts towered, crushing air
around our Room-less roommate
unobtrusive, he huddles in the couch, comforters, whatever dry
All behind,
behind me
Wet towers suffocate
novel sentences unfit,
Cannot fit—
noun, adjective, joiners wedged
No room
no money
no money, in this
no money, for lights
Oh, Monitor, how harsh upon these eyes
how late,
I must quit
CLXXVII.
April 22, 2013 § Leave a Comment
blinds slack
lantern pitches light, static-orange
That television grandmother tossed
once the tube fizzled out
night, from bed
room-window pantomiming childhood
bright, stare long enough
applause emerges—
laughter, instrumental queue, monologue
worlds untouched,
boxed, static
Room-window glows
CLXXVI.
April 21, 2013 § Leave a Comment
exert
forearm, abdomen, limbs
caged immensities — the head, the chest
thoughts mimic breathing
eased; in, out
steadied,
unsteady
wickedness breeds selfishness
removed, naive
These traditions
boys equipped
nails, ball-bearings, backpacks
from Oregon
to Boston,
I weep
CLXXIV.
April 3, 2013 § Leave a Comment
particles
scatter, frenetic, unbound
absorbed,
human eyes imagine color
without perception, brilliant pinks, blues, greens—
cease to exist
unheeded travel;
dying cosmic giants burned into weightless, heat-absent black
if we blink out
who witnesses our light?
–
from a hospital bed,
I perceive shadows, warring particles
scattered, frenetic, unbounded
Devices capture, release, diminish
Urgent Care cries dissolve, rinsed in time
CLXXII.
March 20, 2013 § Leave a Comment
concave lines engineered
blinds, lampshade, vase
moth wings flutter
panicked, glass cell
hit! sputter, hit
refracted lamp-light alerts the call
the search
the warmth
CLXXI.
March 9, 2013 § Leave a Comment
secluded head, severed arms
autonomously, throat-chords strum:
“Nuclear Might”
“We Are A Threat”
self-entitled aggressor,
earn what you deserve
Un, frightened child
CLXX.
March 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
Taken from John Roderick’s “Punk Rock is Bullshit”:
“What has punk rock done for us? Did it defeat Reaganism and Thatcherism and end the Cold War? Has it brought us social justice? Did it smash the state, prevent in any way the 12 years of the Imperial Bush dynasty, galvanize youth, subvert the dominant paradigm, or for one minute prevent the total commercialization of culture and the chemical digitalization of music that happened under its watch?”
petty shifts,
words make
ears distort
Hive-mind: “for a cause!”
its successor scrambles, a blind infant seeking unheard sounds,
more shifts, such petty shifts
What has anything I created done for anyone?
brash, misguided inquiry
CLXIX.
March 7, 2013 § Leave a Comment
for a close friend,
Thank you
for administering such raw, unsolicited, immeasurable love
Your speech endows my hearing;
your dress, my sights;
your fragrance, my ancient faculty—how olfactory nerves yearn, impassioned!
Against long distances
ambitions intertwine us
CLXVIII.
March 5, 2013 § Leave a Comment
beneath asphalt roofing
lanterns beam
Out my window,
condensation flares orange
leafless, scraggly oak limbs tower
A white-blue mouth is crashing
down, around us
CLXVII.
February 24, 2013 § Leave a Comment
I have only submitted one opinion to the Statesman Journal. It was published a few years back. For my second submission, I have responded to the [above] scanned image. It was published in the Journal on March 2, 2013:
This is in response to Bill Blankenship’s Feb. 24 letter, “Why would a homeless person need cell phone?”
This struck a chord after having driven 1,465 miles to visit my homeless father in Arizona. He suffers from schizophrenia, (and is) incapable of socializing with others. His cell phone was a pre-paid gift from distant relatives.
Perhaps a little bit of critical thinking would best serve Mr. Blankenship. It is not difficult to realize that an individual lacking a home still remains irrevocably human. Or maybe that does not occur to the casual passerby whose “common luxuries” are taken for granted.
Many of our homeless suffer debilitating mental illnesses. A simple acknowledgment of their existence can do wonders for their esteem. Oftentimes, my own father raves over the kind gestures of strangers, remarking that God is indeed responsible.
Despite my own reprehensive nature toward a Christian deity, I can admire my father’s faith. He calls me some nights just to celebrate having sold $20 worth of newspapers. Another day survived; that is an achievable dream.
If this response does not seem sufficient enough, allow me to refer you to my novel “Rabbit” written on this very subject: a son accepting his suffering father.
