We Melt
We Melt
Without even acknowledging it’s presence/
Of the end, you say “Don’t Worry, years of
religious persecution has/ ensued that
we will come back in one shape or another.”
Fear then pressed down on my eyelids/ I
concentrated on you returning as a scent
familiar of honeycomb and blueberries—
And then firmly in my palm you put the suicide pills;
Mints, actually- You remind “Me everyday life
is suicide/ because these bodies holding us in are
timelessly on someone else’s timetable/
we are just contained/ Jews to Nazi’s—
Everyone to the Europeans/ sluts to money/ even
the Earth orbits the sun/A full life is just
conforming to something that even tho “Those
SOBS & God deny it/ well it is of irrefute—
50 million years of dirt each contain “His” signature;”
Your logic smelled of dew in the morning/ Summer
giving into Fall/the jealousy of fresh felt when pushed
into a newborns flesh/ You will return as Spyware.
The things you speak of living/ and living after are anathema to
living/ most quite would not think funny/ a pulled fire alarm,
a smarting mother, and a boy, 3, gleeful and unknowing.
Most won’t into melt and congeal in the manner of chili—
No beans, please- childhood of that slut, Ken,/Ducktales ooo oo ooo
then crescendo off key into/the melody of Family Matters/
scraped chalk on the board/ failing breaks you can but help
“He belongs” to you still/You decorate your body with his scent.
Freely you, a snowflake, disappear; The wiper blades are
not on/Altho’ other times you are an icy-hot, wet, slush
that can not be molded into/a snowball into an offending face—
Cotton cloth gloves that fail to dry before the next wear.
Your solid form of orange Tic-Tacs/while not safe in your
own hands/is still relief to the tongue— You even excuse their
plastic enclosures since “it’s going to become the stuff of a
1 cc’ syringe of a diabetic or a person who really parties;”
In so few ways and in even less words /I accept we are walking
after Chernobyl’s/ and debris of space shuttles/ that will be
scraped off the ground and move/ the Indian burial ground
underneath my High School memories is becoming un-interred—
His final resting place apparently akin to a McDonalds on the 1-90;
Some day in nice suits/ they and I – I hope- by golden handles/
will carry my Grandfather’s casket towards its designated land/
and one day/ I will aspire to eat spicy chicken wings without hand-wipes.
We take our pills/because they are our way of saying “fuck the bullshit—
I want to have die by how I lived”/My committed duty is the body spray;
We create force fields of ozone/ always aware they oft fail against
rain, sunlight, humidity, humor or the only One other than me who sees.
While in separate homes we all melted into dark/ behind covers/ you admitted
that the you would wash with that ones particular scent/You on
tangent review/”You fell for a bitch’s lies once too—Feet off the ground–
You once hydro-planed into a pileup crash- that you spied coming.”
We melt slowly into silence/ You would never admit that you were
trying to cool slow/ the flesh you configure for your own—While it doesn’t
have the flare of being senseless when being punched like air—
Solid as we are, we secret handshake accepting it’s either
The shaky ground we carry our saga on—The homes we maintain or
the books we flee from- We have seen these things with our
own eyes, and have lived to laugh our self and mutual buffoonery;
I calmly remind you “My life is not to be the air rushing out of clowns mouth.
Some things are sancta-sacred. They were true before the words
had spelling.” And we take our suicide pills unto we die in rocking
chairs at a home/your grandchild smiling as he brings you lemonade—
There ‘s more than one reason why I never liked them;
Unless we become something more than/less than or equal to/us now.
