Category: poetry
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Porcelain Years
Our marriage is old enough to vote now and on this our porcelain anniversary I vote “Yes, I do,” over and over again. A score of fine filigree plates I will gift us, two broken to match the fragile times, the eighteen days past the towers fall when we married amidst grief and joy.…
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The Crazy Horse Monument Faces East
Rapid City wears its patriotism like a shroud. Corner streets are populated with less than life-size statues of past presidents squinting at the distant Black Hills where the grandeur of Mt. Rushmore casually crumbles their bronze dreams. Wax settlers, loggers and gold miners stake claims with souvenir hunters touring a mine, panning for fool’s…
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Ad Astra: To the Stars (A Movie Poem)
Each launch begins with a prayer until I have a puncture, a rip, a tear. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! I am always falling either to the earth or to the stars, falling forward to God the Father or father to son. To survive I move in the vacuum between calm heartbeat and silent in-breath, …
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Down Flight
The lightness of paper soft enough to crumble to a chirping palm ball released into the air, an imagined perfect pitch, too gossamer to float to its ultimate arch, unfolding in the web of alluring sunshine aspiring to be in its unfolding angles a thread of silk caught into the patterns of a…
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Death Mask of Ours
I collect the death masks of everyone I see, many ready with their mouths turned to the earth, eyes closed tight in hellish denial. Except for L’Inconnue de la Siene pulled from the river in utter peace, lovely as Ophelia floating in the reeds, the resuci Anne of two centuries of death and resurrected respirations. Her…
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All This Chemo Is Making My Brain So Bright
Death, I notice, often comes with a smile and a kiss, a tender tuck of blanket into legs, a pull to the shoulders making shroud complete, a tender whispered secret. “Good bye” or “Good life”, it might be saying. But so does love. 2 The light of the cancer center is…
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Returning to the Invisible
I watched my house recede to the invisible as the water rises and the slow flat boat ferries me away. My only baggage— the wife in her angels nightgown, my chihuahua, a revolver loaded with dusty bullets— all collapsing in the flow, dissolving into rot and mold, a place not all that comfortable…
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64
Today I’m 64, complete with 64 shades of cancer, a strike, summed together a perfect ten, long as the feet of a bowling alley, gentle and delightful as the 64 centimeters of a lady’s footstep, filled with enough sadness for 64 six word stories about grief, grateful enough for 64 poems of joy and thanks.…
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The Numbers
I can’t walk into Walmart and not scan for shell casings, see the bruises on the fruit and think of those who fell, those now populating its aisles and borders and calculate if it’s a number worth the killing when the man in a heavy jacket with a bulge, ramrod eyes and spine level as…
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Dog Acts
I like America’s Got Talent, especially when they have dog acts. I love dog acts. I cry at dog acts. I wish dog acts would bark and chase those young kids and aspiring adults who sing opera every year and get into the semifinals off the stage; chase the pretentious dance troupes and acrobats;…
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The Port
The port rests on my high right chest, a pink crater, a cleanly folded linen shroud kissed with tears wheeled from operating room to recovery by melting folds of scrub blues with iodoform scents. The fragrance of me is creased into a tucked blanket, monitors on my legs and arm caressing rhythmic, sounds dissolving…
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Everything Is You
Kiss me. Devour me. Press yourself to me until inside and forever let me know you are there. Every breath is you. Every smell is you. Everything I taste has the savor of you. I look around and everything is you. Noise settles into the house with the timber of you. The gentle cloth of…
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A Dying Poet’s Final Sonnet
Bury me not in a high tomb of gloom on days sacred to all your lonely heart nor scatter my ashes in the pale moon on June’s or September’s early-late start. Mix me in with all my good beastlies‘ dust, one third reserved for Elsi’s sweet embrace, two parts crushed into diamonds that not…
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Neil Armstrong Takes Back the Moon
Days before liftoff Neil Armstrong saw Easy Rider in the cool solitude of a dark space 25 miles from the launchpad and Born to Be Wild blasted in his ears as the Saturn V lifted him with the drive of over 400 sky blue corvettes towards a lunar orbit almost four days later. Space was…
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The Nacre of Cancer
I have no taste for whiskey, although it seems over the years I have developed a proclivity for cancer, for building the nacre into pearl. It’s funny how one can live with death scooted to the borders, listening to it rap the door with sub-audible gusts that only your dog hears and barks at.…
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Icarus’ Sister
Jacob Peter Gowy’s The Fall of Icarus (1635–1637) Icarus’ sister exists only in living stone, the watchful daughter of the craftsman in the middle of his own labyrinth, once his prized creation, placed in the prime line of his drafts, design, eye of his genius, now a relic existing in a dusty nowhere cobweb corner…
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He Writes, She Dreams Their Sentimental Song
These are the things he scribbles in the little white paper of his brain: catch the movement of passing shadows in a window; search the clouds for the feathers of a robin’s wing; listen in the spaces of music for the laughter of angels in hiding. These are the things she knows today, yesterday…
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Catacombs Know No Smiles
Catacombs are full of bones snuggling in the disgrace of others. Hipbones piled on top of skulls, the absence of lower jaws denying the departed a smile, the eternal existential joke of insulting the living with the knowledge of their ultimate end. Femur, skull, femur skull is the monotonous pattern of the Paris catacombs.…
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Snapshots of New York City in Stride
At lunchtime pigeons and pinstripes dance with Rockette syncopation in front of Radio City following the lead of thirty balloons encased in vinyl tugged down the 50th Street station. A chauffeured limousine pops out a freshly groomed and leashed Pomeranian seeking reunion with her dowager owner getting purple locks and cuticles nearby. At…
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The Fossil Soles of Refugees
A fossil in foam, five toes under a formed sole, preserves the flight of a thousand border treks. A layer of thermite and blood settles the right pad of every hastily fled soul, a rusty preservation of the ash of those who were enflamed. Their left clod is encased with the dirt of…
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Tiananmen Knows No Ghosts Now
Tiananmen Square is a clean place today. Everything is swept before it can dirty in the history of place. No sign exists of the tanks that rolled, the man in front of them, the blood that flowed like red sorghum seeds. The cracked bricks have been replaced with new tera cotta tiles. …
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Teacups Over Yellow Stars
In the stillness of a teacup morning in Amsterdam a crowd with yellow stars query each other, a collapse of suitcases and stuffed pillow cases huddled under a gas lamp at a corner square, while those in the stories above slowly turn away. A few days before the yellow stars were twenty-one children with…
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Last Ride on the Arkansas
On her last ride on the Arkansas river, she watched the world turn crooked, all the hickory shading yellow, their leaf tears forming sunny arrows in the flow, nuts falling in the glide, bringing smoker memories of hams cooked under their roast, red maples tapped for their syrup, the unharvested loblolly pines dropping their branches…
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Rain Dance
The rain creates its own ballet starting with a lone figure on a bridge holding an umbrella in the fog splashing teardrops with his feet, doing jetes over the larger puddles, until the wind inverts his shade, plies turning to pirouettes, approaches cascading to the portal and the head of the street, dancing to a…
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The Mayas of the Old Beehive
The Mayas of Colemnar Viejo for the last twilight hours of early May exist in mature thoughts, statues unable to address the questions designed to unseat their repose from spectators marching into shadows. By night they will know the answers that will secret their lives, grateful for Ermita de Remedios for the revelation and…
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The Walnut Street Bridge Hides Its Sorrows
The Walnut Street pedestrian bridge hides it sorrows in bevies of Instagram brides, cheerleaders, band members wearing their school ts , leashed dogs sniffing the edges of Statue of Liberty green wanting to dive after the slowly moving boats on the Tennessee river below, couples holding hands, wisely staying to the middle away from the…
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The Loneliness of Moving Spaces
To ride the subway clutching half dead roses in a paper bag is to know that shadows have weight, light has gravity and geometry exists in algorithms of pain, that sadness is a reflection of the loneliness of space and time. Even the sisters under the MTA map, one cradled in uneasy sleep in…
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Shadows and Footprints of Everyday Crimes
The shadows of our footprints follow us everywhere from the court, the pavement, the dance, the street, ink stained register of our birth, and the stumble to grave, invisible to us unless in melting snow, bed of dirt. The powder on the factory floor leaves the forensics of our existence. Watch as trees…
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The Sea Grape Remembers
It has been five years since I visited you my old Sea Grape friend, standing proud and wizened in the front yard, unbothered by all the construction behind. Everything is smaller and crowded than I once lived it, except for you— still the right size for a wild girl to climb, providing enough shade for…
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The Plains Weavers
The weavers of the plains are tireless workers poor but honest, always trusting the generosity of an unlocked door to let in a husband working nights at the print and design shop, finishing that last small sign full of eclairs glazed with the most deliciously appealing serif font for the new French bakery off of…
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Passion’s Cursive Highway
P It starts with the line, an upwards curlicue, the noose flapping rightwards in the wind, at the top of the curl, an afterthought, because every line needs a curve and a loop to follow the road set to the next ones beginning, less it turn in on itself, circle about, or start and end…
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The Forgetting
a black cowl is over her deliberately shuttered in an unlit windowless room so when I open my eyes she is invisible, a lemon whiff peeling away, a piano c note on a whole beat struck three times, to tingle skin, ping the tuning ear, enough to know-now-ow-w the first great rain of her, the…
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The Poppy Influencers in Flanders Fields
In Elsinore the poppies grow Despite the constant selfies show That stake their place in yellow high, No birds photo bomb their big I Show not seen by same throngs below. We are the influencers you know. We shine, svelte pose, for good ad flow, Post for your…
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The Orangutang Falls
The Sumatran orangutan, gardening her spot comfortable in the canopy and lush tree top, nursing her young month-old, fell fiery below, seventy-four holes in her when the shooting stopped. – Four air gun pellets pierced her left eye, two her right, leaving her darkly blind, a howling Homer, Milton in orange pain, bereaved, childless, now…
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Border Crossing
There is no sky or earth in the white van that crosses me over, nor in the drywall coop painted red where white men with tattooed arms stood up and sit down, up and down, unleashed erections pivoting and searching for the best angle to penetrate my forever painful ass. – I am called “pollo”,…
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Grief Is Everything and All
My grief is stillborn, not consoled by the hope of replacement of another good little boy or girl with brown paws and a gentle lick, another Anne or Tom with eyes that cry of heaven and a bright mind that can write lines of cerulean clarity or calculate pi to the twentieth decimal, a wife…
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The 67th, 68th, 69th Blow
He could only understand her with his blows, grabbing her by the throat strangling the last words out of her, hitting her on the top of her head trying to knock any idea of her making him a better man, like his father tried 136 times before. – Yes, he remembered every blow he received…
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Black in Japan
Being black in Japan means you have more white spaces on the day-night trains. – The darkness of U.S. allows yellow jaundice to shine its rising sun. – Empty seats allow black thoughts to make room for small breezes of knowledge. – That Ainu minstrels shouldn’t be doing Doo-Wop on Nippon TV. – That the…
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Red Cup Youths Know No History
In a well educated town, in a highly educated school they thought nothing of red cups turned swastika for that perfect Instagram shot. – A Nazi salute, a hearty “Heil Hitler” made it a meme that only needed little fingers under noses to stick it in the dah viewers face. – They knew the joke…
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Black as Pepto Bismol
When you’re young, desperate for fame and black you’ll play diarrhea in a Pepto Bismol commercial. Don’t do that black face, boy. – When you have Michael Jackson fame You’ll fly in a plane filled with little boys and toys. Don’t do that black face, nigga. – When you’re rich and black living the R.…
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Migrant Daughter
The picker’s daughter will not meet her husband on a tobacco farm, will not have her hands stained yellow from the recycling rain and sun, nor will serrated leaves scar her mixing nicotine into blood and bone. – She will pick and bail knowledge. She will listen and not marry seasons after her first spotting,…
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Ode to Stacey Abrams, Star Trek Politician
It’s the Trek and not the Star that keeps her moving. She is a Voyager suspended in the temporal rift of campaigning. – Inside she is Spock. Politics makes her Kirk. On committees she is all Janeway. – The world sees her as Lahura, the com officer trying to interpret and relay messages back and…
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Excavation of a Young T. Rex
The king dies with the child when the fearsome T. Rex becomes a cultivated chicken, a plush to hold when boy and family dog cower from lightning and thunder and the blows of life. – Beyond the fear is science, the dive into bones, dusty history, to determine whether this fossilized thigh was mommy’s and…
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South Beach Daze
South Beach before the hurricane was an old man in oversize shorts that dangled below his knees and protruded an obscene wangle when he walked. – A Brooklyn or Queens refugee with a scent of ovens baked in. He smelled of bagels after breakfast, Wolfie’s cheese cake in the afternoon, cholent for an observant dinner…
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Fairhope: A Poet’s Dream
Born of progress and poverty they took root in the pines along Mobile Bay shedding a beneficent light to all the world, knowing they might have a fair hope of succeeding. – They owned the land, they shared the land and everyone paid a single tax. – The poets came first, slides, tourists and Shakespeareans…
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Wildfires: California, Paradise
Nature always wanted to burn Paradise down, a swailing to its Indian, Spanish calling, a burn-off to its mandrake roots, enflamed with its third day existence, stuck between the iteration of water and light, heaven and earth, day and night, the animal hordes, the existence before the existence of man for which it sacrificed dust…
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The Parisian Chimney Sweep Knows the Night
1. They are ash. They are soot . They are silhouettes against the Paris sky. – The chimney sweeps of Paris dirty themselves into a clean extinction. – Coal, fire and wood are easy to digitalize in a fireplace generating no warmth, embers and smoke that blackens brick. 2. Jean fell off the roof and…
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The Love Stories and Tragedies of Trash
Swept up in the last row of the balcony of an old movie palace with crushed red velvet chairs: • one crumbled ticket for Gone in 60 Seconds, • a golden tub with unspoken kernels and a hole big enough for the popcorn trick, • three invisible blonde hairs from a future wife. – Thrown…
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Sharma Climbs the Stairs
The tiniest dog Won’t climb the tallest of steps Without big courage.
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Why I Hate Facebook Potato Salad Polls
Why have this poll if your husband is never going to eat your damn potato salad! I hate cheese-s cake but I adore yours. Make me this damn potato salad so I can love you even more!
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Epitaph to a Stone
Every thing has a history: a beginning and a death, everything in between is a memory, not life, just a record of its existence, an acknowledgement of its being there until it is there and there and there and way over there. – A stone is a stone until light kisses it and it becomes…
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Nun Sense
Sister Dorothea would whack my knuckles with the flat edge of a desk ruler trying to knock some nun sense into me every five times I messed up on fractions. She had that well lived-in roundness the faithful get after hard years of serving Christ in the smallest crosses of existence. From the back she…
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the rapist god
How does the world forgive a rapist god? By creating many more murdering ones until there is just one murderer proclaiming himself King of the Universe. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, Gandhi said, creating an offense to severed eyes, ears, tongues, limbs, the impaled world. Numbers move…
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Film Course 101
Film is fluid, ink, light, meter an illusion of light that completes the rhyme, a gleaming that is one right word away from the essential one, that one weak word that shows up at the top of the auto-rank, a repetition, variation, at 24 frames per second, two dozen light words away from the right…
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Death Is Like No Movie I Have Ever Seen: The Trailers
At the Miracle my young brother saw death for the first time in a shark called Bruce, Jaws swallowing the onscreen boy on the raft in a chum wave that rippled from the light, a death that drenched every body in the shock of a nature devouring everything it sees; in an illusion real enough…
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She rise
He didn’t want her to go into triteness until he get to the other side of her memory floating away like a balloon, an ordinary thing, an ordinary word, in a world full of the weight of ordinary things. – She was floating away word by word, a balloon on a string with a heart…
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An Elegy and a Kaddish for Parkland: Activism of Blood and Parkland Sighs Seven Times
Elegy: Activism of Blood They never expected to be claimed in the activism of blood, the March for Lives, the tour across the country filling in for the senior trip for some; the pledge of voter registration for others, replacing the animal house of SATs, admission essays regulated to vague because the personal is too…
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Core Curriculum
The core curriculum downplays music, the arts, how to read and feel a poem, stresses STEM and how to zigzag to avoid a bullet, basic life survival skills. – Wouldn’t it better be for them to experience an Ode to Joy, the Magic Flute, know they share the same darkness in Hamlet’s heart, and the…
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Napalm Girl
Little did they know little Napalm Girl that while your skin seared and your cry became the shriek of war that in fiery, fiery Dresden would you find your finest burst after 50 years of dropping peace bombs. – The genuine scream of a child will change the world. – Note: A poem based on…
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Gynandromorph
The gynandromorph exists in its own perfection in the middle of the branch, the center of all birdsong— two parted whistles ending in a slow trill; the right mixing of cardinal ZZ and ZW, brother and sister; enough inheritance to be rightly hued, but not enough to be brightly sung and thus forever mute. –…
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The Love Candle
They both saw the ad for the new Valentine candle. She imagined it smelled of rose petals and chocolate. He knew it would stink of pussy and cock. True love, we all have a fragrance for that.
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Sometimes Love Can Stand No Other: The Love Story of Asim and Melati
She was everybody’s hope. He was his own. – He had been caged for 224 years, a fearsome symmetrical number, 71 free to roam the mirror forest night canopy, a tyger yearning to be a true tiger and not a Tigger, a lonely pacing streak of orange and black hungering to be proudly the last…
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I am deaf and not your simile
I am deaf not deaf, not small d death as some people like to say, but little d as in leaf, as in small l life, even though, you have to drop the l and add the d, for all of us to get and end there, although neither is usually capitalized unless it refers…
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Bloody Disgusting, Absolutely Horrifying
Every death is disgusting. Every death is not horrifying. – The odor of death makes everyone turn away and is thus disgusting to the core. – The important deaths turn the body back to the fatal beauty, the deadly stillness, – that was once the most important human thing of their life, – their death…
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My Wife Is Cooking Hot
My wife is cooking hot, a chef’s delight, a beautiful spicy confection, that nourishes me with her love every day. – I am a lousy cook, who can only follow the recipe, and improvise a dish when it comes from the oven of my heart. – So I write a poem, so she can eat…
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A bird flew out of my mouth.
“A bird flew out of my mouth”, my wife said, when I busped (half burp/half sigh), an exaltation of larks, a pause, stop, dash; a murder of crows, (probably chihuahan raven, the way my dog barked at me and questioned mark her body, maybe reading herself in the onomatopoeia of unknown syllables); a dole of…
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Death is like no movie I have ever seen: the commercials
The movie of my death has not been made but it will suck, get O stars, a thumbs down, the bad final review no one will ever see or care about, not because the life wasn’t glorious- it was- but because death robs life of glory and action, and movies are called motion pictures for…
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God Reads The NY Times and Comments
“ A preacher who doesn’t believe in God”, The NY Times headline proclaimed. – God read it, laughed and commented, “I knew that. What the Times doesn’t know – is that half of Catholic priest do it for the boys,” he said, blaspheming the church but not himself. – God turned the page looking for…
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No Good God Knows No
God is wise enough to know that there is no god. – At least in the idea of it, it seems good, even grand. – He gives extra credit for the man who thought that up, – knowing that his heart knew loss, and also knew HIM once, – seeing loss as forever negation and…
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The Donkey Braying in the Manger of the Lord or How the Jerusalem Donkey Got Its Mark
I am a prideful, stubborn, stiff-necked beast unbroken, redeemed by lamb sacrifice, who took the lash three times yet stayed unmoved, seeing the sin before the sinner until Balaam could confess to the Lord’s Angel blocking his path in that narrowing space. – Thirty-five years yon I will bear you to beyond the wide gates…
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And the 2019 Best Picture Oscar Goes to…
Wakanda it wonderful that this year a black panther, a blackKklansman, a black concert pianist, a Mexican maid, Dick Cheney and H.R.M. Anne can all be in the same car driven by a racist Italian chauffeur as they go to a Queen concert using the Green Book, as map and GPS, and toss KFC bones,…
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Census of the Living and the Dead
Census of the Living and the Dead The sum total of all human existence is 108.2 billion: 100.8 billion dead. – Subtract existence from death and we are the small living, sometimes believing rest. – War dead from 150 million to 1 billion: in active conflicts that kill over 1,000. – Subtract the casualties from…
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Ice
Ice – The ice in the gully flowed over the leafs boundaries – as clear and as unconfined as light and the water it always was, – a lick for a thirsty dear if not miles away, – ice almost alone melting naturally in the sun, – until a man waking his dog on a…
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The Butterfly Effect
The Butterfly Effect – The last Monarch Will still Flap its wings Aware of the Miracle Of the butterfly effect- – Knowing that The Greatest Sentence And worst sentence Is “I am.”
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Body Language
Body Language I can remember All the times My mother Watched me Silently, Listening, Her feet Pointed Towards me – And all The times My father Impatiently Shifted Them Away from My sight. – How She Posed Her Neck To My Full sight – A pose Of love Visible Only To Her Lonely, Hurting Little…
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The Only Needed Wall
The Only Needed Wall The wall of my soul, rebuilt brick by brick and without a gap holds against the five assaults of idleness that falsely claims me for its kingdom. You strengthen me, Lord. Sin slips into hopelessness and the great project is completed.
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Ode to Revelation 8
Ode to Revelation 8: Another angel broke the calm of the seventh seal’s opening Bringing a censer mixed with incense and every Godly prayer The smoke drifting up a pleasing aroma to the Lord Once spent filled with a rumbling, flashing, quaking Fire hurled on the earth. – The first trumpet brought hail and fire…
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The Lord’s Palace Is Us
The Lord’s Palace Is Us The Lord establishes a palace in the hearts of those he loves. – He delivers victory into the hands of those who earnestly entreat him. – The flood that breaks out drowns the idols of the heart. – The top of poplars echo the command of the Lord And sin…
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How Jesus Wants You to Love
How Jesus Wants You to Love Love one another as if angels were in your midst. – Love what you have knowing Jesus loves all – and provides for all, even forgiving the mind’s – struggle to understand the bottomless unchanging – equality of his love and grace– A grace that strengthens – us in…
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New Bethany
New Bethany Be sworn and baptized by John on the Jordan, Jesus’ ministry Embarked, unsaintly leper Only to the Roman mean The fig tree cursed, fanes Now scourged to Na Holy oil anointing feet of a Sinless new Birth. A gift of a lady now devout Once possessed by the worst New start for a…
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Leaving Florida
The first sign of change was a house redo— Wood floors laid, countertops set, kitchen new, The first echo of Florida adieu To Tennessee Mountains that called me true. – My heart died in the heat of that summer In an oppressive puddle dried away That made bad water for a rat’s slumber And parched…
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Our Very Good Year 2002
Our Very Good Year 2002 Disney was still our home and vacation, Still a shining castle in our new life, Until the work became aggravation And forced us to refocus all our pride. – Shakespeare was a dog enjoying the sun, Catching its warm rays on the landing steps Waiting for us to return and…
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Our 18 Day Post 9/11 Marriage
Our 18 Day Post 9/11 Marriage In a world crumbling in fear of towers We started our brand new life together. In a D. C. rich of men of powers We started our brand new life forever. – While the people walked with ash in their lungs And a holocaust of five thousand dead, Couples…
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Our Seven Year Sonnet
Seven years married yet eight sonnets come In this strange arithmetic God gives more Than the eight minus one in man’s kingdom. Seven heaven is plus more in His Swore. – It is not necessary to believe in me And me to believe in you true and just, But if we are to really truly…
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The Serpent in the Manger Straw
The Serpent in the Manger Straw I spit on thee Oh Son of God and Man who tries to wash clean my dark throne. – I caused man to fall, with the bite of a simple fruit, the core decaying every soul. – Think You can save them from ME? – The world was…
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Sonnet For My Two Good Little Boys Passed On
Marvin was a scruffy ball of black puff With two beady eyes that cried out for love. Even when he bit, he wasn’t that rough All he wanted was to play and be shoved. – Shakey and he would play for hours all day For months two frenzied puppies on a crush Until Shakey grew…
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The New Flood: A Poem
Only snakes never cry when the old skin dies and falls away So cry, cry until the pain, the anger and all the misery is shed In the baptism— – Cry until there is nothing left but hope and love, Because they are anchored in the heart and soul And thus beyond the flood. –…
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The Gift: A Poem
THE GIFT On the last day before the flight I kissed you softly, Made love to you gently. – The whole world seemed Such a fragile thing And I didn’t want it to break. – The air was crystal, the earth clay My heart was Diamonds and dust. – On the Sunday of the flight …
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Father’s Day: A Poem
Birthdays are the only holidays where everyone celebrates the one thing that your mother got right and your father half right. Fathers spend the rest of their days trying to catch up with that perfection mothers achieved on the day of your birth. They manage to get it sort of perfect towards the last quarter…
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Moms Save: A Poem
When Jesus won’t Moms save. When Jesus won’t Moms forgive. When Jesus won’t Moms will walk through hell For their children. When you make It to heaven, Don’t thank Jesus, Thank your mom.
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Unbearable Pains: A Prose Poem
Anesthesiologists and neurologists acknowledge five kinds of unbearable pains: Trigeminal neuralgia is the facial pain that comes with toothaches, The accumulated trauma of grinding on lost hopes turned to bone, The horror of a bullet in the eye, An unremovable moat floating beyond the grasp of forceps and forgiveness, The tingle of skin at the…