Saturday, February 5, 2011


Morphine thick nearly passes
for existence this morning
I escape to the 'serenity porch'
to smoke a cigarette
sip a flask
renounce the supposition
of well meaning friends and experts.
A luna moth lands on my shoe
reveals brown eyed wings.
The perfect specimen
for my son's eighth grade bug project.
I try to catch it, but cannot
your brown eyes slide
sideways for Celina
deaf caregiver
the one
you cry for when touched
whose name you know by heart
whose history you lament.
She holds out a blue bottle
raises eyebrows to ask  may I
from the chair I watch
her anoint
hair. shine
eyelids. crack
nose. expel
mouth. chase
breasts. they served you well
you said. loins
loom. The sweetness of cloves
becomes your skin.
Outside I climb the tree
with an empty pickle jar
capture the moth
and wait for the end of breathing.

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