POEM for the UNBORN by Chuck Richardson Book Preview

7/25/2019 POEM for the UNBORN by Chuck Richardson Book Preview

1/18

POEM FOR THE UNBORNNOTE TO THE GREATEST GENERATION

Chuck Richardson

B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ]Buffalo, New York


2/18

POEM FOR THE UNBORN| NOTES TO THE GREATEST GENERATIONby Chuck Richardson

Copyright 2016

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced withoutthe publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of AmericaInterior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

First EditionISBN: 978-1-60964-237-2Library of Congress Control Number: 2015957471

BlazeVOX [books]

131 Euclid AveKenmore, NY 14217

[email protected]

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3/18

Earths un-bo[r]n[e] opinionhallucinates

Sparkling serenely

Sprouting with gleeproducing

Word animality

Tense densevigorous amusements

Assessing

Personswho buy their dreams

Afflicting tabloids with ruin

Pulverizing human joints into dust

*

Ash heaps smolderingwith refugees

Housing unnoticed flamesblazing

Warfarebeing a Tao of ambiguous deception

*

Maybe usand/orthem

From Grand Island and/or Dubuque


4/18

18

Phoning homewe look like ants

As we must, knowing

WHERE A POEM SEEKS A MIND

An un-bodied tracelessness twainbeing and speech,where silentlanguage rests

Mystic slackersspit words, obscuringher presence with ink, apparentoctopi

Knowingmadness, freelydisintegrating randomimages of Love, rising

Alonewithout flags, onlythe wind and their bearerswith creative actionemptied of everything

Where a poem seeksa mind abstainingits elf fromwaiting

Becoming that dark vacant matter revealing Its insurrection in wordsthat somehow embrace everything needed via some magic reversal

While this resurrection opens your hole for the plug you crave


5/18

Forgetting comfortthat trap they set for you alone

Forsaking their pathos, loosingtheir logical advise,trying your patiencethe way a thorn tries arosebud, producingIts fragrance, animating

Creative prophets who, livingunattended wherethe fires burn out, light

This candle, elsewhereflickering, a now lit refuge

Scattering fine powderover an old plate,knowing

What both worlds offer, seaminga final, mutepoint touchingwhere names feel

Erased by the wormsof language and

No longer ableto pay, play

The

SATURATED TROMBONE

Of word likewound sounding themetaphor a

strange attraction to


6/18

20

wad the literal

Feeling the membrane sweatfrom insidevibrating

Like thissimile

of some black holescattering ashes

As if blowing a saturated trombone

Averting Offspring to Fathersmutating Mother

in two,recursive symmetriesformingyet another

Arabesque on manyscales

Weaving

Patterns oflifeloving

A

MATRIX

Ofsensitivities feeling ourmuddied starlets seeking bedsnot of their own making, buthern who brung us

We cling to her limbs


7/18

2

Arms without a future, evaporating.

Unworried, Matrix smileswide through saloon doorsswinging open, a special delivery

Of that wine moving us like old dogson a hot afternoon

Shaded, digging these dancing particlescoming and going, brewingpeculiar, lust-laden odysseysamid the sun beam in our roomwith the sound of clocks windingdown

A tic toc endingto a day unwound,yet alarming

Wearing facesthat no longer conceal our oceansbut reveal them

SHOWING WHAT WE OBSERVE WHEN WE SEEi

What he ignores:

That she was happy,how she wanted toprove to himhow littleIt matteredthatshe belonged

To him

And thinking toothat he was more


8/18

22

a little nave just to realize

That his mastery of her wasbeyond any proof.

But did he, perhapsrealize Itand want to emphasize Itto derive a queerpleasure from It?

As if It weresomething else ir-relevant to

WHATS GOOD

Possibly waking with the dog and cat curled round my legs.Frankie giving me the slow blink and putting his paw on my face.His nose dripping onto my lips.Purring. Buddha trying to rub the sleep from his eyesscooting up the mattress on his belly for somemorning love.He must get his belly rubbed. Yes,he must. He is a good boy. Mr. Sleepy Head,wheres dat kitty? Wheres your brudder?Taking that first shit after the first cup of coffee.That daybreak buzz.Watching Phish on New Years Eve with Jared and Mollie and her sister-wives:Lucy Lu, Magda, Francine and, yes, now Beatrice, who happily vomits without burpingevery time she sees me.Wherever they live.Dylan cheerfully glued to every move I make, never saying a word, jabbering nonsenselike now, Dylan just as articulate with his facesaying it all.My mother beginning a sentence with This ideaMy sister and nieces living in Kentucky.The first day of spring in the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge.Writing a poem first thing every morning as I embark on this year ofMoving along.


9/18

2

Your reading this.Among other thingsEtc.

Feeling

UN-KNUCKLEDii

Look mein mystars. Youcan feel myvoice vibratinginside you, longingto be heard,

Feeling something, should you everneed it. Knowingthis, when you passun-knuckledthrough my door,

Ask yourself ifyour soul, yourbodys scarshealed

Your grieffor a seasonwont respond

To reason,finding outthe price you paidwas pretty high, givingand taking it onlyspun the worldaround, making it


10/18

24

feel prettynormal& all

To

FUR COBRA

In the blue morningIts mother with Buddha spoons!Hood of love, sleeping.

ANTICIPATION

Needing toClean this mess up. Jesus's coming.Jesus is the cleaning "lady."Mom will, of course, say excuse the mess.Jesus will say yours is the cleanest house I do.Ill tell Jesus Mom made me clean before she got here.Shell tell me its a girl thing.No it isnt, Ill say.It is, shell insist.Shes 60 and Moms 87. Girls. Right. Mom pays her to talk not clean.Its like saying boys will be boys when Gus, 85, who lives across the street, shoots crowsand cats with his sons old pellet gun.I hate it when beings of higher intelligence are snuffed out by the stupid.It feels like a conspiracy.Ill remind Jesus who shes working forAnd shell correct me. She works for herselfAnd my mother pays her.I dont like Jesus.I dont like Mom, either. NotAt the moment. It feels likeA conspiracy againstThe Napoleonic Code.


11/18

2

Jesus just called.Stressed about her cancer.Still waiting for test results.Wanting to know if she were still wanted.Call me she says.Thank God my laryngitis prevented me from taking the call.Better Mom hear that one for herself.That way she can hear how Jesus sounded.Im sure its a girl thing.

A MUTUAL YEARNINGiii

To adhere myself to my otherself, which Iseem tove mis

Laid.

How couldshe ever conjugate herself with mine?

They saywere eachherealone, sticksin the mud, thata garden wont growin the flood;

Yet

By merely gazingat the nightsky, she mightsense howdistant, how


12/18

26

perilously

Close

I lie.

*

A contagion,perhaps, inthe

DUST--for Randy

Though we unplugyour body from

the machine, ourmemories live on. Things

were what they were.

We could have been better, butloved each other none

the less.

There are more tearsshed in life

than deathruingour failures more

than ourfacts, which wed own if

we could onlybelieve them.

This sorrowisnt for our sins,but the absence


13/18

2

our memory makes moracute: the sound oyour missing voic

the space oyour emptied bod

As usual, its only ourselvewe can thin

through, as our selveseam everythin

into us, dappearing s

our forms mighappear in the du

while

ENTERING THE LOVE HUT

Buddhas got kidney disease.Forever.He hasnt eaten in two days.Hes hungry but stubborn,Turning his nose upAt the food the vetPrescribed. Lamb flavorArrives Monday.He liked that. It shut my motherUp. Mom really wants toJust feed him whatever.She doesnt care how it makes anyone else feelIf it makes her feel better.Mom always says:The best thing about helping othersIs how it makesyoufeel aboutyourself.Not them. Never.She says so ever feelingly, never thoughtfully.She wouldnt know how. Mindfully.Shes only human. Sort of.Only American. Somewhat.She feels entitled to her feelings. All the time.


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No matter how manipulated they areWhatever. Shes a goodPerson. Never doubts it.Onlyfeelsforever.

Please forgive Mom, she cant help it.

Ive been trying to get the dog to eat all morning.Mom hasnt said anything yet.Shes a bigger problem than he is.A much larger emotional investment.Honestly, Im no longer designed to deal with people.I dont love anybody. I like very few.I just want to be left alone with my dog and cat to finish my work, which is trulyimmense for a slacker like me.For an idiot like me.Ive been to the mountaintop and sawed the Promised Land.I wasnt impressed. Soft wood. But Im an idiot.God lied and thats why I have no faith in Him.But Im a slacker.Gitter done so we can get out of here.But Im a slacker.So says the bodhisattva.I have a moral obligation tojust be it.

Or doI? What would happen if Moses said screw Zion?Im trying to find out.

What would happen if the Romanized authors of the Jesus myth had decided theHorusian crucifixion scenario was a tired, worn out trope and the masses should stoprendering unto Caesar what was Caesars?Id like to find out.

Caesar is not a slacker. Caesar is smart. Caesar would have butchered them.

Will the black iron prisongo the way of the Bastille?

Rome goes as Gitmo goes. Caesars no slacker. And Hes smartbeing The Man.


15/18

2

What wouldve happened if everything had just chilled out because people realized howcatastrophically silly theyd beenthat their futile facts were worse than hopelessThatnothing ever belonged to Caesar...and given him dust, taking their world back?

And given him dust. Im hoping to imagine It.

In the process, maybe Ill outlive Buddha, Mom and Frankie.If one went now, it would make myjobeasier.If I went now, Holy Shit! Id be done!With this. For now.

*

Im off to the love hut.I have no time for emotions.Im off to the love hut.I have no desire to be human.Im off to the love hut.I mustbe a monster.Im off to the love hut.And like most monsters Im an unhappy creation,An autopoiesis seeking revenge against all my facilitating generators.Fuckem all. Ream the meme. Masturbate to death.Im off to the love hut.I truly doubt Ill ever reach the acceptance stage of grief.Im a jerk, jerking.In the love hut

And everyThing's stickingTo[o]

My touching comments

Meant for

DECAY

As whenYou asked me


16/18

30

Twice this morningIf today was Thursday.

You worry too much if Buddhas been eating.

Were not all attracted by the same Immensity.

Death spells itself differently everywhere It goesCausing indefinable anguish in those who would apprehend It,Charge It with somethingmurder, perhaps.

To flip the switch and see the sparkEnlighten Death in Its darknessIn the chair now feelingIts weight, steel bravery fighting Life,An effulgence screaming your Sun aint yeller Hes chicken!

What we were dying from now seems moot amid the chaos.Everyones dying from the same thing.What was It again?

Was today Thursday?

OR ARE WE ALL JUST MAD?

He was devastated after all.He resolved not to participate in the insanity.It wasnt until years later,trying to make sense of what happenedthat he realizedthis relatively obscure incident was considered by many to bethe closest they ever came[since the 1979 New Years Eve Party Massacre][or maybe it was the 2003 Chemlawn Over My Dead Body Ultimatum]to mutually assured derangement.Each incident still hovers in the air of their kitchen like a stagnant fart.And like most people, each had a deep appreciation for their own scentSniffing the air with pleasure over every flatulent waft.Erupting with bile, however, should they sniff the others gizzard juice...


17/18

3

MAKING DTENTE DIFFICULT

As if

Thursday hasnt been forgotten about, she said.It was a holiday weekend so I didnt do anything.But somethings going to happen.Its got to be done.

He said nothing.She was eating lunch.He fixed his cereal and grabbed a yogurt, joining her at the table.

I only get $820 a month.Ive already decided to leave once I figure something out.This isnt good.Youre killing me.Youre not good for me.And Im not good for you.Im sorry about Thursday, its always wrong to get that angry, but from my perspectiveyoure trying to kill the dog.I killed Leo.Im going to do everything I can to make Buddha live as long and as well as possible.Nothings going to stop me.If anything, you should apologize for making me have to do that to get anything into youskull.

Im not going to live in fear.

Youre not living in fear.

I wasnt afraid.Did you see that?Im not afraid, and I wont be afraid.If youre going to kill me, kill me quick.Thats all I ask.Its too bad youll have to go down for it.

I saw you werent afraid.


18/18

Your herpes or scabies oryour shingles I mean, didnt even act up.I was hoping theyd flare up if I scared you.

They didnt.

I know they didnt.

I told Lindahis heart skipped a beat, Lindas his sistershe told Linda?I told Linda and other people that I dont want you as my caretaker.

I couldnt be. Opportunities drove me nuts. Youre driving me nuts the same way.

Im not like those people.

Not the residents, Mom.Jesus.Like the management.Buddhas those people.I care for him and Im trying to make sure hes got a good life, but you like they controlthe purse strings and do great damage because you dont know what you think youdoyou operate from a different calculus.If you try to kill my dog, Im going to stop you dead in your tracks.

She retrieved a yogurt from the fridge.It was one of his.

Do you mind? She asked.

Of course not.

I shouldnt have to ask.

It doesnt hurt you to ask.

I wont be afraid.

Its not being afraid, just respectful and considerate of your boundaries.

Not under my roof.Are you on your meds?Are you really going to kill your mother over the dog?

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POEM for the UNBORN by Chuck Richardson Book Preview