Sometimes I get the feeling

That the Bronx is dying

Slowly breathing, chests are heaving, pollution spewing like phlegm and pitched notes on a broken violin

Dying

Violent deaths on sidewalks riddled with bullets and obesity

Bleeding profusely outside the fried chicken shack the smell of freshly charred bananas caressing

your last memories

Dying in vain

Dying in spirit, body, and name

Dying in agonizing pain

Suffocating

The Bronx, South South Bronx is dying – screaming for help silently

Impatiently waiting to be rescued

Fighting in the ER, fighting the streets in the streets

Fighting to balance their own battles that they didn’t have to luxury to pick and choose

Fighting and dying

Like soldiers in a civil war with their own country

Their own city

Their own borough

A bureaucracy that has declared a covert war against them all

The Bronx is dying loudly, sirens and salsa music wailing competing for ears and hearts

The Bronx is hungry for simple things like air and peace

Jobs and good food

More subway stops and taxi cab drivers who aren’t afraid of the thoroughfares

The Bronx is begging the factories by way of prayers and cellphone communication

Begging the factories to stop pumping pollutants into the air and water

Unfortunately the factory owners aren’t listening, because one of them somehow found the frequency that God’s been listening to and is trying to jam it.

Someone a long time ago threw a lever in the gears of democracy

Someone threw us in the gears of decency so they think grinding us up seems to oil everything else decently

Someone sold us some wolf tickets in sheepskin clothing

That’s why they used to use sheepskin condoms and that’s why so many people in the Bronx have AIDS

and are dying

I’ve got blood on my jacket and she is still smiling at me because I look fresh

Not fresh as in dope, but fresh as in alive and the Bronx, since it’s been dying for years, flocks to life wherever it can be found

Downtrodden and sick but vibrant and loud

I’ve never seen so many colors in my life

I’ve never heard so many languages in my time – even though they are all English

The Bronx is dying and I don’t know what to say about it other than

God Rest Your Soul you don’t deserve this.

When We Cry

Disappointed like elbows on concrete
fallen bicycles and tripped up strides
sobbing like three-year olds
living life with the optimism of
invincibility
or ignorant bliss
oversensitive to reality

when we cry
brown eyes gone blue
at the prospect of a fridge with no food
homes with no heat
and a Christmas roast with no real meat
or family buried in the system
walking around waiting for the tags on their feet

when we cry
we feel fallen
trying to pick ourselves up
its’ like the world is laughing at us
kicking rocks that sting our face
left to cough in our dust

when we cry
because our buildings are dirty
homes are smoky
and lives blurry
living paycheck to paycheck

when we cry
tears of joy because
artegus made it back home safely
even though his experiences haunt him

when we cry
because we don’t know how to heal
addictions,  dysfunctions, and the past
that plagues us, spies on us, and
sends our loved ones through
stress related afflictions

when we cry
because it seems God chose us
to be the strongest and we can’t figure
out why…when all we have is
blind faith and momentum

when we cry
because we all feel exactly the same
but yet we feel so different
so alone
so separated
so sad

when we cry
because the reality
is concrete with all of its’ shades of gray

when we cry
we are reminded that we are alive
and that the other side is
a mountain, a sunshine that our darkness causes to rise

Neuroblastoma

I’m only telling you this because you’ve grown so quickly
You are still running through my mind
Wounds in the war you lived through cannot maim your spirit
Or my memories.
They’ve reinforced them much to my
Chagrin

This war that makes me so angry
Angry because you are suffering
Angry because you are growing too quickly
Angry because you are dying so slowly
Angry that my emotions may have side effects on your affect

You’ve exceeded my expectations which both gives me hope for your
Future, and leaves me feeling deprived of you’re here and now
You aren’t supposed to know so much
You are supposed to jump in puddles
You aren’t supposed to see me cry when you feel pain
You are supposed to Sing in the middle of class
And daydream in the middle of church
Not read me like a book
You’re supposed to need my help reading

Your innocence was my tranquility
This war stole that
Your happiness was my heart
And this war deflated me, my spirit flat
But you keep picking me up off of the floor
It’s like you understand so much
I should say understood

I lost you some weeks ago and I’m still angry
Angry that my genes cursed your body to be a battleground
Angry that I couldn’t protect you from yourself
Angry that even though we all expected it, you left so suddenly
And that even as you stopped breathing, stopped hurting, and made the transition from living on earth
To living on in my heart and mind
All I could do was cry
Wail
Scream under my breath
I fell on the floor again, breathless, with the world spinning in different directions, the weight of my grief gently crushing my perfectly healthy body
and no one could pick me up…
I guess that was your job…

Coughing Ivy

she couldn’t breathe
because her body betrayed her
and the bank situation delayed her
visit to the medicine man
he practiced the ritual
she pledged fifty head of cattle on a credit card
she felt so weak
but her parents kept smoking the peace pipe
because they disliked the shaman
he only brought bad news
meanwhile her fingers were blue
a bad sign
she may have been cursed with too much voodoo
the medicine man kept trying but this
was a bad hex
his preparations seemed weak
against this magic
she needed a prayer
and possibly a geneticist
but not another test
so much pain consumed her breath
and her smile was bright even though her spirit felt so broken and bereft
her family wondered if the shamans magic
had given her hope
or rest from her worries
she was trying to work so hard
promised another shaman a herd of buffalo
when he pulled the curse out of her insides in a hurry
Miracle her fever broke
and she could finally eat
although the thought of fried foods made her shudder
she still remembers him reaching under her ribs while she inhaled her shriek
as she vomited from the pain
keeping her word and working two jobs
instead of healing her hex
the traders at the market she worked
stressed her with sickeningly small checks
no way she could buy those cattle
so forget the hex, just keeping her spirit alive was a battle
and therein was the curse
the voodoo wasn’t in her lungs or screaming innards
the voodoo was in her belief that those shamans were just greedy wizards
that if she went to see them, they could curse her
and after that only her indebtedness to them would serve to nurse her
but they could only help her heal herself
and the true malpractice
was that they
forgot to tell her
to help herself

Pi – Just a Draft

Pi : Draft

On a quest to shed the disheveled robes of reality
Sun light rippling through my speakers
Fiona is modulating my circadian rhythms
Encouraging wakefulness in the dawn
Holy days
Roller coasters of soul and thanks
Giving life with my trillions of deaths
Overwhelming, overwhelmed, smoothed and flattened
By the burden of living
Sleep the relief framed by hard work
And focused by sacrifice
We feel happy when we get our way
But not as happy as possible
So you call it sadist but I could call it a bitter pill
So swallow happily like the swallows sing among the fall leaves
I wish the pen inspired like the keys
Electronic streams of consciousness and a manifold
Set of matrices – dueling calculations
Numbers are pistols and equalities the bullets
Exploding in a world full of limited singularities
But this orphaned language prelude to cures, destruction,
Microwaves, research, degrees, and plasma television screens
Generations of creative capital riding on the legacy of its’ beams
Blurred spectra of light, packets of fringes, illuminating the seams
Of the world
Words and fictions
Priceless artifacts with unintelligible inscriptions
Needles and clay paints rock and packets of fungus
Inscriptions in ink among us
Points and products
Lives and deaths
Deaths framing the life like the husband frames his wife
Or like the concept of there is no third without there being a twice
So since we all strive for paradise
We wonder why the cold bites us so much
Why the sadness is so cold
Why the blues are so sad
And why the sea and sky are so blue
Cycle of sensation
Cycle of stimuli
There is no boredom just failed attempts at appreciation
Failed demonstrations of gratefulhoodedness
We feel the suns beams the same as we feel the wind seams
Nature isn’t about suffering
Rather it is concerned with survival
At all costs
Surcharges, fees, and at disappointingly low and high interest rates
Depending on what side of the vault you dwell
Dancing near the capital your consciousness affords you
Synapses developed into liquid expressions of repetition
Nature Sacrificed for those connections
The connections like spaceships in the alternate universe that is yourself
Emergent properties of bacteria and viruses
We need to survive and die
One collective organism – the greatest ever born
Greatest ever attempted
So I will apoptose when it is appropriate – allowing another colony
To thrive
Survive
Create and generate
And finally die
Amongst the square roots, plus and minus signs and the symbols for pi.

To Go To War With Wolves

Standing in life

Exhausted breath boiling
from nostrils
flared with anticipation

pious eyes strained in a rage
features of hard intent
softened by dim light

it makes the knowing that much harder
the sentient that much shiftier

spears carried as if they were light as wounds
sinew and gristle refusing to
indicate the depth of his pain

her heart racing
palms sweaty
yet their grip sure

muscles configured in a relaxed tense
head forward
eyes ablaze with

the only option
victory
back to back
i see them snarling

certain of a meal
certain of a fight
bloodthirsty instinct mounting pressure on their souls

crouched with excitement
these dogs wild
with excitement

all low growls and snarls
furious maws ready to snap
claws and powerful necks ready

this is an unfair fight
their cowardice never failed them
until now

such a furious onslaught
stilled by skill
their greedy bloodlust
thwarted

and they lie licking their wounds
realizing the farce of it all
the desperation
the ease of necessity

this is afterall
life

I, Me, Triumvirate

Diana Ross’ doppelganger crooning
Over electropop synthesized
Slopes of merriment

And sipping on citrus soup while exhaling
The fog just siphoned through nostrils
Thick with africanness

Eyes widened by the porridge of neighborhood
The miasma of sound reflecting off of
Laboratories
Horns and sirens a symphony of
Signals

Strained attempts to communicate on the run
On the roll
As the concrete we’re swaddled in disappears

Underfoot
And I, a triumvirate
A statistically significant sample unto myself
Step gingerly

Over cracked sidewalks
Happy to to sip fresh air
After plodding quickly down
Painted steel and concrete steps
Lined with an institutionally colored corridor

Me, a happy triplicate experience
Worthy of publication
Based on my deep scientific experience

I, me, myself – a seminal trifecta
Of brilliant opine
A finer mind may have never

Been sluiced
As effectively by one
Well a few

And these feelings,
Assertively persisting their dominion
Leaving me awashed

Smugly distended face
Lightly strummed nerves
Demeanor no longer aflame with

Doubt
As I carried off to the store
For quesadillas

Cheese and vegetables
A sign of my connections
My own moral morale metric

Tortillas supporting my soul
And ego as I vainly seek
Self-approval

For my feats of discipline and productivity
Behaviors worn into my consciousness
As positive

Causing me to fear my losses
And smell my potential
Toying with my heaven and hell
Simultaneously

Locked in my purgatory
But scarring the walls in calm desperation
Eroding the foundation

Much as a lumberjack notching
The trunk
Systematically

My limitations
inciting me to gently blur the boundaries
Of the express line

By sheer force of will alone
Is it 14 items?
Or maybe 17?

I didn’t bother to count the last few
As I didn’t feel it truly mattered
I was close enough

And entitled
And while a short blonde
Eyed me skeptically

A drug-fogged checker
Named Carmen
Slipped my items

Grown and flown
Picked and packaged
Past a scanner

The total items amount to an underbudget excursion
And two below limit
Added a weighted spring to my soon to be well fed step

See, I was within rights
Absolutely ecstatic with life
Excited to lift weights

But first feeling poetic
Or more accurately verbose
Sat down to construct a tome

A thorough recollection
Of an extremely positive afternoon
Napped, west rested, vitamin C induced
Euphoria and megalomania

Neslted within a demeanor that
Longs to scream for attention
Via calm understatement

A disciple
Of discipline
Follower of my own lead

And full circle
We realized in the singular
That I am a triumvirate

I am the triumvirate
And am capable of no less than that.
Donna Ross herself just finished singing to me

That’s how important we are.

My Brain on School

Words seep through my eyes

out my ears

in my mouth

are ingested

osmosis triggers saturation

letters bounce

sentences unintelligible as if

typewriter keys were placed

on the keyboard incorrectly

a jigsaw puzzle

words confuse my intelligence

my intelligence confuses brilliance with self doubt

My girlfriend wrote that – it’s genius really…dark, tortured genius…

bravo girfriend!!!

Larger Than Life

Thank You for your gift
Sorry I have to do this
I appreciate your time

I appreciate your sacrifice
I’m so sorry
We met like this

Under these circumstances
This is bittersweet
You gifted us your last words

Words in the form of organs
Sentences in the form of body systems
Punctuated with fascia
Narratives of a life

But Clark really thank you
Thank you for everything you’ve done for us
It means the world to us
It means the world to our patients

Your perfect example
Arms heaped with sinew
Muscle and tendon
Hands – enormous

Your large tendons and thick muscle bellies
Prominent liver
Huge heart

Midway through the first week while having difficulty
You showed us just how strong you are
We completed your name for you
Clark Kent

You see Clark
You sir are Superman
At least to us

You sir must have done something for a living
Something big
Something requiring strength

Your largesse evident in every phrase
Every lab
Every lesson

Thank you sir
Thank you for your perfect example
It means the world to us
It means the world to our patients

The four of us will see hundreds each year
The four of us will practice for decades
The four of us will think back to you

Your perfect example
And thus you gave of yourself a second time
And that is why you loom
Larger than life

Immaculate Distraction

Sweet sounds of construction
Thoughts stacking – racing to erect themselves

In fractal patterns colliding
With interests
Wide eyed amazement as a common theme

Laughter amongst a god
Self-sufficient wondering
And immaculate distraction

Melodies of praise
Chanting admirations of ethic

And ethos of battle
Invincibility and tenacity
Barrels trained on a miniscule

Area of flesh
Area of spirit
Area of the world

Focus and discipline
Cool calculations amongst mathematical minds
This one is not – art and wild buffalo

Reining in the economy and medicine
Struggling to swing from one vine at a time
Gorillas in a mist

Tasting the humid fog
Snorting the evervescent jungle quality
And wincing under the strain of identifying each

Scent
Each tiny molecule
A separate excursion of imagination

Too much to swim through
Too much to wade through
Too much brush to bushwhack

Wait – is this font okay?
Sized adequately?
I can change it

Narrative interrupting exposition
1st tense jumping over second tense
and third person squirming in between the two

these rules
these constructs – so intricate
honesty so textured

like the tongue of a kitten with steel claws
and an angry mother bear
ripping

does this belong before the honesty?
Poems are made to be written on a computer
Not a typewriter

Mistakes like pimples
Prepubescent prose prone
To misunderstandings and misinterpretations

These lines of thought
Grandiose and bombastic
Struggling to make their own difference

Praying to gods and devils alike asking the liars
To reveal themselves truthfully
Wishing the world wasn’t swimming

With transmogrifications
Words used as intimate daggers
Lives feeling so bombarded and interposed

Tasked like tased with missiles
Projectiles vomited onto the sense
Of well-being

Sense of accomplishment
I sir
Cannot think straight

Rather I am a spider
Weaving tangled dusty Technicolor webs
Under the influence of hallucinogenic
Herbs, berries, and plants

I strain to relive my exodus
Strain to relive my disciplined months
I can do it if I’m forced
I sir
Cannot force myself to think straight
And there

Sir is my greatest friend
Greatest foe
My broadsword