Memories
In a box in an attic are my memories.
They smell old and are yellowed;
Fragile in aged hands as I hold them.
Distant parts of me come back to life.
I see a boy hitting a baseball in the dirt.
I see awkward dance lessons as a kid.
I smell pizza my sister bought me with
babysitting money. She was my sanctuary.
There are summers at the pool with chlorine
eyes and sexual awakening with Patty 2 piece.
Midwest heat and storms and lazy discovery.
Greenhills, Ohio. The center of my universe.
Categories:
greenhills, memory,
Form: Free verse
' Me & my pal Ginsberg arrive in Poland, now more artisticly able from coffee-blood and sleep deprivation. I hear him say: "If you can speak your heart, speak, but make sure you do it with style; give each word a signature" '
We descend,
the head pressure...
two weeks, two fingers pushing
into the lobe, bent back eyebrows,
head slicked fishlike, tongue numbed,
unable to unfurl, or save brain from
aneurism, burst bloodvessles
over unknown enemy land,
somewhere over graves, cossack soldiers,
dead over stolen hillfronts, battalions,
old anger unsettled on greenhills, wheat fields,
clouds now eye level.
Landed.
Categories:
greenhills, travel,
Form: Free verse