Mudsie

Mudsie

To Rosemary Pujals,
Midnight, December 4th, 2006

The son called the son
Who sat quietly,
Waiting.

Whose life was in a holding pattern;
Whose womb was fading in Florida,
Waiting for all the flock.

Talking Hurts
Because it helps
This time around

She told him it was okay
The medicine was helping
Only two hours before-

The summoning-
Down to Florida
Down to Florida
Beside the bed

The eye-vee

The sister-nurse.

Next to the last smoke,

That claimed the father.

On top of her, Chains
Over tumors and Pains.
While gate twelve to Lauderdale,
The fortress-condo abysmal,
Yawned.

No goods, he was first on board
He requested a seat by the door.

Ascension, a tragic transit.
Passing-
Before the descent
As this is written he still does not know.

My thoughts are rushed.
“Imagine there’s no heaven.”
My epileptic wrists,
“It’s easy if you try.”
Cannot cooperate.
“No Hell below us.”
And I suspect
“Above us only sky.”
The timing means something.
Something special.
Is coming.
Something liberating.
Is coming.

But it is mine and I
Wish to keep it
For myself.

Everyone gets theirs
Which is why I do not feel
Badly.

It’s a voodoo deal.

That I hope you do not waste
Like I am.

Dragging my soles
To my station.
Lacking direction.
What a pitiful display.

My anger is quelled now
For a night.
Convieniently.
“My weariness amazes me.”

The Luftwaffe is soaring south for the horizon
And my factory smolders under my golden shoes,
Caked with tar.

Against everything I’ve learned
Everything I’ve preached
I neglect the rational
And keep my face close to the source

Until the son lands.

I don’t even find it hard
To unlearn everything
I am deeply sorry.

I am burning my notes.
This work, this station.
My tidbits, my glimmers of wisdom.
My thoughts reset now, and I doubt if they live to thirty days.
They help me lend strength to the mourning
Of the passing
Of the loved.
And I will live-
Forever-
In anticipation.

Things are easier now
In the end.
Ask me if it hurts.
Or if it’s below expectations.
It can’t be! More!
More!
My heart should ache!
Enough of the universe’s balancing act.
It’s cruel jokes.
Sunny in the distance,
Shriveled and bitter at the feet.