Familiar with the feeling

of floors, and walls,

their endless textures,

of things I’ve run my fingers over,

busying them, grounding myself,

proving somehow that I’m still here.

Textures, sharp and dull and falling away,

crumbling on a microscopic level,

lodging between the lines,

of fingers’ grooves,

permanently part of me,

as real as can be,

within the facade,

within the ghost,

taking residence,

in place of me.


Note: this is a revision of my previous poem, 2 weeks in Mourning:

My dad died two weeks ago.

When I felt years younger.

Simply alive, then not alive. 

Both of us, in a way.


Alone in the ward, his final breath,

shared only with strangers,

joined in whispering ether,

of others, lost in sojourn.


A nightmare had me parked down below,

on the street, clawing at doors,

clamoring at bricks,

to climb to him.


My memories have changed

Each now newly stamped,

One by one,

A bloody red burn, smoking parchment,

a reaper’s hand, diligently thumbing through,

smashing that mark down,

each and every one of them, redefined,

Re.           Filed.


Soot in the fine grains of a thumbprint,

Like evidence,

A feeling that someone has tampered


Redefining each memory,

as they burn, and burn again,  

burn Me away, 

the Me you may have known,

now another to mourn,

in a tidy clasp of ashes,

like my father’s remains.




Different now,


Different now,

Hollow… no, not quite,

Every memory polluted,

Now I, Me/Re.           Filed. 

/ compromised / I’m


Stuttering, hunched, mumbling,

Half of me gone

A bitten tongue

No, I mean that, science means that

Half of who would be me

is gone.


Sullen, sallow, hollow boy,

Carved out and cut away,

Like shredded remains 

of placenta,

malformed clusters, clumps of flesh-food

Human remains fed upon by something

that devours without teeth.

Scraped away, viciously pulled.

cut into ribbons.

The womb now



Blood for life, tossed aside,

thrown in the trash.

Cells once ripe,

nourishment syphoned,

from its writhing mass,

now still, now



And yet,

a fetus, 


lives on—








to grow, to thrive,

to flee, eyes forward,

with fresh feet and strong legs,

to forget about this        

            repulsive         mass

writhing and boneless,

no more than a sack of flesh,

trembling with anxiety,

its services complete.


Twitching within the debris

ichor of life, sucked dry,

this sullen boy stirs once more,

to form soft bones,

and calloused feet,

from companion trash-things,

and buzzing masses,

likewise tossed aside, 

by a cannibal of trust,

reborn from the lifeblood,

of death after death after death.


Neighbors to the left were Jones.

The right, maybe closer to us,

Paulette, and mother Pearl Hicks.

Some cannibal of kindness,

An oyster’s prize plucked away.

devourer of minds,

Me and you and she astray,

Maybe some don’t know or feel

But I think about her, in my way.

Lost and alone, but found her way home.

sign in the yard, for sale, she sees,

but no but no but no

pleading, softly, until it speaks…

Oh hun, the past is passed,

and this time, we’re playing for keeps.

Pulling of hair, snapping of sticks

They carted her back, poor Pearl Hicks

Like blinking lights

I still see her there

See you all, still there

Hold you in my arms

Hold all of you near

my family, like families before

and families since

Cursed with nostalgia, or blessed

I’m constantly paused, transfixed.

Forever, I will see you there

Carrying us Into the ether…





two weeks

My dad died two weeks ago.

When I was younger. 

And he was just alive.

My memories have changed

Each now re-filed, newly stamped,

One by one

A little red burn, smoking parchment

Brain diligently checking them all

Smash that mark down 

each and every one of them

Redefining it as it burns into me. Burns me away

Except every memory     different this time

Now I’m different too / compromised

Half of me gone.

No, I mean that, science means that

Half of who would be me

is gone.