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

CLXXV.

April 5, 2013 § Leave a Comment

To the man saying he does not approve of taxes,

Perhaps, you do not understand how taxes help sustain our infrastructure or how they empower people who, in effect, help build our economy. Maybe you do not see that your taxes provide my father government assistance for food and shelter and his hospital visits for his mental illness and kidney failure. Maybe you do not see how your money helps pave those golden roads you prefer to drive on every day; that money further ensures your tires do not blow out.

In Arizona, where my father sleeps, the streets are cracked, dilapidated due to people refusing to add more taxes. It appears as if a bomb of some substantial size was dropped upon the city.

And the children owning next-to-nothing, family surviving solely off of food stamps—those children need education. Public school offers this opportunity.

Do you recall libraries? Benjamin Franklin founded these because he realized the poorer classes were empowered through knowledge. They accessed books and were self-taught. They started businesses from the ground-up. They established the wealth of this country.

When you call 911 because your grandmother is not breathing—when she has no pulse—when your house is ablaze, your belongings consumed in uncontrollable flames, who is there to protect you? Who paid the servicemen their salaries?

Be you rich, pay your share—pay a percentage equatable to those less fortunate. Be you poor, pay your share—utilize these privileges; empower yourself—your children, your successors.

Maybe you do not see it, but I do. Taxes made my existence possible. They allowed my father and mother to live appropriately so that they could meet and create me.

I am grateful for millions of Americans who worked hard for me. They worked hard for you.

We are all racing toward the same inevitability, regardless of class, stature, creed, or capacity.

Thank you, strangers. I will return the favor.

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

CLXXIII.

March 21, 2013 § Leave a Comment

Horizon
sealed-off surface,
a part

Body firm to carpet
level where
air meets

Withdrawn
uninvolved
son

Soles play here
loosed
earthen materials

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

cell phone

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.

[Read the article by clicking here]

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