I've never been good with things.
Electric toothbrushes need a lot of thought,
Some honey jars
need more passion to open then I have.
Putting things together
is not my thing.
I break easy when mending.
I shine at midnight.
My hands
become as flexible as sea anemones.
Words look from my eyes,
or else I tend to fall in love,
with dead dogs, or roadkill.
By morning I am asleep
in my body again.
Skills scream and flee,
as I stumble towards
their small heartbreaking hopefulness.
I am good at twisting things together.
like knotty ropes and thin threads,
people come to me
(mostly the young and naïve),
Arrive riding skateboards through hilly clouds.
They come to admire, my left-handed life,
soon they turn away,
unconvinced
by my slack grasp upon reality,
with the way I insist that their petty wrongs,
are right ways to go.
I try to lead by example - by failing.
Friends let me off easy,
They quietly
cleanup all the odd bits and pieces
that I could not hammer together.
That list keeps getting longer.
Sitting in a coffee shop,
slatted chair back creaking as she chews
on the knock-knock joke of a long ago
eating popsicle.
It’s a hot day.
She says that before the modern
toothbrush, people brushed teeth with boar’s hair brushes,
& before that they chewed on sticks,
& before that even they chewed on fennel stalks
to freshen their breath.
“& before that?” I asked.
Apparently, before that people didn’t eat bread,
or fill their stomachs with refined sugar.
Why she knows the history of toothbrushes
I may never know. Perhaps she wanted
an explanation for why she chewed so long
on knock-knock jokes.
Who’s there?
The cat sat on the footstool.
The curtains hang closed.
The toothbrush holder contains two brushes
The cat stretches, jumps down, miaows at the door.
The moon is full
Bush freshens the air
Cat jumps through the doorway
Streetlight illuminates the pathway
Toothbrushes chatter
Water rushes by
Cat softly taps his paws on the glass door
Runs inside, warmth
Lights out
Moving sleepily
Cats eyes wide awake
Piano plays Chopins Noctourne Opus 27 no 2
Faeries with toothbrushes fly into my dreams
Maybe my mouth is not as fresh as it seems?
Faeries with wide open angry gapping gums on moonbeams.
Dropping ugly impacted wisdom teeth in clean mountain streams.
Faeries making fun of my teeth, laugh from high up sunbeams.
Is my dentist sending me subliminal ideas in my nightmarish dreams?
Poetry contests. How ridiculous. Silly even. It is like comparing:
dogs with underarms,
underarms with toothbrushes,
toothbrushes with giraffes,
giraffes with garden parties,
garden parties with throw pillows,
throw pillows with coffee cups,
coffee cups with light switches,
light switches with spitballs,
spitballs with cinnamon buns,
cinnamon buns with alligators,
alligators with rubies,
rubies with motorcycles,
motorcycles with sumo wrestlers,
sumo wrestlers with bubble gum,
bubble gum with swimming pools,
swimming pools with rabid skunks,
rabid skunks with toothaches,
toothaches with garter belts,
garter belts with police officers,
police officers with dinosaurs,
dinosaurs with sauce pans,
sauce pans with an art show,
an art show with a pumpkin pie,
a pumpkin pie with a speedboat,
a speed boat with a stepmother,
a stepmother with another step mother.
Poetry contests are silly.
backpacks, rugs, shoes, a couch or two, lots of junk from a junk drawer,
what kind of junk?
Just general junk.
Can you itemize it?
pennies,
scissors,
toothbrushes,
matches,
pens,
eyeglasses,
toothpaste,
combs,
dog chews,
nickles,
necklaces,
rings,
thread,
dimes,
a quarter or two,
balloons,
Scotch tape.
Not an off brand? Scotch?
I stare at the imaginary appraiser in my daydream.
What would I do in a fire?
I guess I had better never have one.
Or I might become a murderess as well as an arsonist.
Couple nights ago I dreamed Rhonda came home with about 100 toothbrushes of all sizes small to large, all colors, each one wrapped in clear plastic. She held them out to me like a bouquet of flowers and said to take the one I liked the best. I chose the smallest.
In the dream I did not question or wonder why she got so many toothbrushes, though I did wonder about that when I woke up. Art project maybe. And why did I want the smallest one? To get between the cracks?
Oooh look. Oh wow. Correlating jumping twists and combinations of bunnies,irons,toothbrushes and eye lash curlers. Turn then a stick. Rotational gravitation and melodically performed interludes. Such magnifications of a single note. Kissing a kindling to produce an even steady glow. Epitomising myth,fables and heavily guarded secrets. Yet seconds are counted by a tick tick tick. And if a lion says hello then one should not discuss crochet with a snooker cue. Balls then in many halls. Darkly dimming daring done. A persnickety perennial pineal gland. Hahahaha and the forts. Hahahaha and a day is one hour 9 minutes. Hahahaha cubes cantering. Xxxx zoologist zones. *** meteorological *** clapflap xx
.
If someone asked me if I were crazy I’d say yes.
And if they asked me why did I think so, I’d say
“because I feel sorry for non existing characters and toothbrushes.
Is that enough or should I continue ?”
Enough.
Funny thing about that word,
it’s like if it didn’t exist for them.
They never have enough.
They’re like vampires.
Never suck out all your blood,
just leave you in agony.
Conscious, with your hungry eyes wide open,
fully aware that they have taken all you had,
found every dark secret, every little glimpse of happiness you tried to protect.
Now you’re not crazy anymore, now you’re just a wrack.
And when your loud death rattle will fall silent,
when your soul will leave your empty, drugged body,
they’ll proudly say you’re cured.
It was a day or two before the smells came
Silent moments of déjà vu
In which the walls whitened in sympathy
The tiles laughing their cracked guilt
How did they find me here? Stowaways
In bottles of surgical spirits
Their cold indifference stifling
They watched me from the bathroom cupboard
Gripping this last vestige of panic
Its clinical stench the smell of God
I list the words for fear in lines of nines
Our toothbrushes lying side by side
Hurricane BP is coming, I don't see a fitting name(alternative)-
but to dub it such, the company that destroyed a coastal vista;
the hurricane will ravage the coastal towns and cities.
Then the gulf coast states will be renamed the black mess-
and I don't have a mop big enough to clean it.
I will however mail a package to the C.E.Os abroad and their faithful moochers.
A package filled with toothbrushes and a sponge, a certificate of incompetence-
and a badge of failure. Let them spend their last days scrubbing, let them give the stones-
a shine; I don't want to see a spot of black leftover, nor a single feather stained with oil.
Retribution is a cruel one but responsibility's divine.
The spoiled five year old in an old man's shell will be disciplined at last.
. (A GROSS POEM ABOUT TOOTHBRUSHES AND WHITENERS)
W* T*** R** WHITE TEETH THE ROMAN WAY. THEY HAD BRUSHES MADE FROM BONES.
H * E* T* O*W WORSE THAN THAT IS A FACT LITTLE KNOWN THEIR WHITENER WAS URINE.
I * E* H* M*A * urine. Yuck
T* T* E* A*Y * urine. Yuck
E* H*** N** * urine. Yuck
Whitener was urine. Yuck!!!!
lives were ended-- toothbrushes won't be used again,
families will cry over the shampoo left in bottles
that will never wash the sweet hair they once combed,
the leftover gas in the car tanks of the deceased
will burn out into the air like the spreading of ashes.
Tonight I'll clean my room for those who won't again,
for the families who will have to decide whether to wash
their loved ones laundry or spread it around the house,
one article per room for the wedding pictures that will never be.
Today lives were stolen
and Right now I'm trying to commemorate that
but Tonight I'll fall asleep thinking about the holes
that will be in this paper
when the weight of my loneliness
sinks in