Tag Archives: stories

From the left seat I can see that you were right

11 Nov

I reside in heavens

when we fly it’s very clear

the bigger organism we

are apart of/from up

here/now vision clouded

with/by ether, our lives below

the bible thumping belt, so rare

did you think I wasn’t looking when you quietly ordered

yourself back into submission from the menu

or was that for those to whom you say life is good like comfort food for breakfast

on saturday just before noon in our pajamas with the radio playing/the smell of grease

and gasoline in your hair, citrus on the wind

real maple syrup and bacon/your favorite

race on television. We did things

on that leather couch that would embarrass the children if they existed

we spooned entire days into a bowling ball bag

you won/lost, as if we had nothing

more important to do than touch each other until we did

or maybe we only manufactured that/you

came down from your mountain-top to pull me up

and I was so grateful I gave you things

to desire instead

of me/but when I called down to you from mine

you couldn’t hear me any more

than when I used to tell you

I had a dream

in the night/you reached

out for me from your

fear of light/sleepers

women pilots

weak people

distrust

and we would fly

blindly, madly

in love with passenger seats, advanced

stall warning recovery

whether predictions

down-shifting, flights planned

restricted/visual ceiling fan rules

taking precedence under the covers

your feet my pedals

clutching, crabbing

our forte

negative g-forced

free fall

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Chapter 3 – The Silver Flute, Pt. 3

28 Sep

The confrontation. In her breathless trance I feel that I am becoming a shadow on the wall. I am volumizing – my insides fading out, while my body remains solid and a melody still flowing from her fingers. I open my eyes and exclaim, I felt myself disappearing! The person at my side laughs as if I am making a joke. She recites this poem to me:

The ceremony

Begins

As I gather supplies

For my journey

Over my shoulder

A flute made of silver

To guide me

And serve as protector

Led by the moon

Are my feet marching on

My eyes absorb her brightness

Mindless

Of my destination

Once there

We have a seat and play

The walls surround

Catch sound

Sending it every way and upward

Lovers swoon

At my sorrowful tune

While still others seem disturbed

Until finally I am desserted

Left alone to play a wind song for the birds of

Night and you

Have come to join me

I found her in a pool of her own blood. A bullet through her brain. Another drive-by shooting? Perhaps. Kids these days are so paranoid they probably thought she was planning to open fire with a small silver cannon. Anyway, no one saw the tire tracks inside the court until Dawn arrived and pointed them out to us. She had a special interest in the case. We at the precinct found her forte in seemingly meaningless crimes and especially murder, well – exploitable. I had to grin when I realized the pun I’d made in connection with the blood spattered sheet music spread all around the girl. It seemed she wouldn’t be around for a second refrain. I was just trying to make out some notes when Dawn explained the tracks were that of a motorcycle driven by a heavy set man in his early thirties. She had determined all of this from the width and pattern of the tire tracks – nothing more. It was the conservative, yet seasoned way he made his way around the small court that had her convinced the man who murdered this small, now silent angel was no kid.

Chapter 3 – The Silver Flute, Pt. 1

26 Sep

This is the story of a young woman who discovers that the mystery of life lies not in death but in the desire to live.

Like most people her age, she is deeply depressed by the current standard of living ie. those established by mainstream society to achieve the “American Dream”. Or maybe she is just the laziest sun ever risen. She feels the nineties have nothing offer. Money means debt in her middle class world of woe. She sighs, thinking of time past and wishes for a more romantic age. In these pages you will travel with her on her quest for a reason to exist, however far from suicidal she believes herself to be.

Life is a series of ironic jokes and disappointments to her. It is difficult to decide whether she should laugh or cry most of the time. Death is the worst joke of them all. Hell is reserved for people stuck on earth and heaven is what you make it. This is a mystery.

The Silver flute gave her confidence and put a song on her lips and she strode toward her favorite midnight meeting place. The neighborhood was not such that young women like her should feel secure, but she did. In fact, she felt safest in the middle of the road because if it was anybody’s territory – it was hers. Besides, a good solid silver flute hung over her right shoulder to be wielded as a weapon if ever she came upon trouble.

Not many things in her life gave her such a feeling of self-possession. At the age of 21, she was constantly reminding herself of reality. In high school she thought herself a loner in the midst of the popular crowd. An entire existence was birthed for her then, along with its twin—a passionate nature that would cause her much grief. She led her life as an Miller-Burroughs inspired adventure of the seediest kind. Her classmates were often under the impression she was stoned and she did nothing to disway them. Perhaps she felt her cover was better kept under a cloak of narcotic bliss otherwise known as sheer stupidity.

Furthest from the truth is what she shared with those she thought to be below her because the truth is we come from people much, much better than we are now. Or so her devastatingly shameful parents explained to her when she came home high again on their example, but all parents are equally disappointing to their teenage children. It wasn’t that her mother and father weren’t good to her. They gave her everything she ever asked for.  She was the only girl in her class with both of her original parents which has to count for something. The house was nice and mom always kept a beautiful garden in the front yard perfect for picking flowers for the teacher on the way to school.

It must have been a stigma – too much television and not enough veggies. She once smashed a roach on the forest green and gold shag carpet in her room and before she could find the nerve to pick it up and throw it away there were a thousand-trillion baby roaches feasting away on their own mother. Soon after, she packed up her Barbies and decided to move.

Her flute had been a gift from a friend of the family. Upon hearing her play he told her he could not keep such a fine, expensive instrument for himself – a mere novice. Yeah, he talked like that. But he was cool and he rode a Harley so it wasn’t like he was gay or anything and even if he was, well hell that would be cool too because he was big. Like, I’ll kick your ass just for looking at me sideways big thought I’m certain he never had to raise a hand because one look would have been enough.

To be continued…

Chapter 3 – Yes

26 Sep

We have kissed

Connected, killed

Affectionately

Dowsed and drown

Suspicion

A scorpion underfoot

Chapter 3 – Superfluous Superman

15 Sep

We need you

In these violent times

It seems there is no crime

We won’t do

All the pushers in their prison cells

Are doing business on the phone

Mail order clerks get busy with the works

And mother is crying herself to sleep at home

Out tee-vees show us real life scenes

Of death at dinner time

Slop in the trough for cops and

Robbers for dessert

How fine

Come quickly

For summer season comes early

To our city and the best prime

Time slots go almost as fast

As the redhead on the corner

Chapter 3 – Hero

15 Sep

Interference

Clearance

Atop a sky rise

We were blind to his demise

Leaping toward a concrete grave

From a certain mortal disappearance

No citizen could save

Until he came along

Tall and strong

In birdlike flight

He swooped the man up

As we cried with delight

Then horror again

As the shouts out

Just let me die!

Our hero drops him

Chapter 2 – The Market Place

12 Sep

Strawberry stained

Summer rain

A gypsy woman asks my name

“your future” she says

“for a fee”

All I have is the twenty marks

She asks of me

Wearing her wealth in fine and weighty

Layers

She never minded that I could not speak

Her language

In her dark hands she held mine and

Read the story on my palm

My destiny

“Autumn approaches and soon

Her leaves will cover the ground

From this land, you must be gone

For what I say is true –

If you stay in one place too long

Autumn’s leaves will cover you!”

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