He said,
we all wear masks,
and
a taxidermied squirrel was grabbed
and paraded around the room
to demonstrate
appreciation.

It was unsustainable
pushed back
because the lack of that
was interpreted offensively
a naked stand on sacred metaphors
that brought a sermon on the need
for common decency

Heads shaking all around
tut-tuts
and cracks: no sensibility.

The chain-store Santa said
there seems to be a problem:
a sentiment that met a lot of sympathy.

Why aren’t you smiling?

Someone asked.

Eyes are on the scene
And it’s not delivering on the
spoon-fed adaptation we’re supposed to eat

We wear a mask, he said.
If you don’t understand
Then try some meds, he said

It’s metaphorical, you know
Meant as practical
Expected to cover the messes
Of the actual
Take a break – breathe, step back
and understand:
Unmasked is unacceptable

The cracks are seeping
It’s not a path; more an ask
to keep nakedness discrete
Reel it in
Keep it clean
When they ask
Tell them everything is keen

Just like it’s always been

I had a dream, last night – this morning: I arrived at a restaurant and told the host i had a reservation. She said there’s still a wait, so i went back outside and sat on a planter.

I was there a minute, with several others, when a young man exited and said to me, “You’ve been optioned.”

Now, i won’t say he was Tohm Bakelas, but i wouldn’t argue if you told me that he was. And to the probably not Tohm – but very similar – i expressed my confusion. As in, “What does that mean?”

He smiled and cheerfully told me, “You’ve been upgraded.”

Now, I’ve been waiting for upgrades my entire life. I’m waiting for my BrainPal (t), synthetic liver, pneumatic heart, and electronic brain, but in this case, it simply meant i was being led past the main dining area of the restaurant.

We walked to a short hallway that was adjacent an elevator bank, entered through double glass doors into a quiet if lively, small space, with a forward bar and several tables arranged behind; a wall of glass overlooking gardens, beyond.

As probably not Tohm and i passed the bar there was some discussion of drinks. Sadly, in my dreams just like in my life, my brain flatlined in the moment and all that arrived in vision was an old fashioned – imagined a functionally reasonable option that sounds less inappropriate and foolish than, “Hard Shirly Temple,” though i wouldn’t pass if one was offered.

However, also like in conscious life, what followed was a request for type of bourbon that’s preferred. When i’ve been asked that in the past, i’ve often said, i try many kinds because names elude me in the moment. In the dream, that indecision led to the suggestion of a 37-year-old bourbon which i didn’t argue against despite the dollar signs i saw emptying from my account.

I don’t even know if that’s a thing, but since i was upgraded i was willing to try it; unfortunately i never did: The alarm went off and i found i’d been downgraded back to myself.

I got up, let the dogs out, and then i hit the treadmill.

There is an emptiness in the atmosphere
just like that in the dream my father shared
as we were leaving
one enigmatic night where hope still whispered.
The environment disintegrates, just like his dream
and outlined figures gather endless fragments
of a tether that was always colored
by distortion,
but it had always been there
and the break is hollowing:
An emptiness in the atmosphere
that was always outlined.
And in the quiet of the vacuum that’s left behind
hands are powerless
to grasp the fleeting threads of mercury
as they are scattered across the universe by the winds of time.

The look on their faces said it all. The uproarious crowd that’d gathered and cheered their hero on was brought to silence.

Fourteen years crescendo’d to the moment where instead of a reveal and baring truth, the faithful were informed, “You’re part of my experiment. Nothing that I told you was ever true. You can read the details in the paper that I’ve published.”

Mouths gaped. The fabled caped crusader that had prepared to fell forsaken enemies, turned eyes – disgusted – against the one who’d promised their deliverance.

Gasps rose – louder cries then followed: The bat-bedecked had charged the stage – he dove for the visionary man they’d followed.

“What the,” was the sentiment ‘twas shared by everyone that saw. The planned assault, the tackle launched, found – nothing: The cape-shorn one sailed through the vision and landed with a flump upon the surface.

He quickly stood – considered the projection. What was verbalized was the same conclusion that all present and otherwise contrived: “An imposter.” The superhero warned the many gathered, “We’ve been duped. Our guy’s been compromised – it’s a trap.”

The stampede that followed left several injured, but none of it was serious. Despite belief they’d been corralled for apprehension, everyone was allowed to walk away.

Weeks later, in a prison cell beneath a mountain, a journal would land beside a man in shackles. It landed, open to an article entitled, “Cult of personality and population control.”

The feeble words, “You’ll never get away with this,” met return, with, “We did.”

Renovation of the old home on the hill caught lightning in a bottle for another show of many to document the same – if one with compelling personalities. The back story of the home; its lurid past, brought eyes to episodes right from the start, but it was the explosive teaser of the fifth that broadened conversation and held in memory.

The groundwork had been laid: Seedy bar, seeping wall – all the remnants that remained from invasive searches, decades prior – everything was removed, cleaned out, and reframed in preparation for the scene to follow. A basement deconstruction to remove the dark and dirty, to scrub reminders of the history, that had consequently left the home unused for nearly twenty years.

With the basement scrubbed, the teaser for the finale of the premier season was set in place: Six characters that viewers had come to know, ready to air the seedy to open air. Sledgehammers in hand, explosives strategically placed, then, the call for action: Hammers swung, impact was made, and cameras caught a spray of shattered block that exploded from the home into the excavated space that would become a sunken patio. What had been dark and dated – came to be seen, a bit sleezy – would be brightened by a wall of window, with indoor and outdoor spaces that flowed seamlessly.

But that scene: The explosion. It was clearly rigged – so memorable.

The effort to recreate something similar with drywall at another – that didn’t go so well.

Nick explained, “I saw it in my head. Just like our place. It seemed like it’d work out great.” It worked a mess.

Rather than the release that came with destroying the remains of an unsavory enterprise, instead of the great effect created with the hammer strikes, then, cutaway outside to the explosive result – of that. Instead, the plan to pull the drywall down with many of the same cast, as well as new homeowners, that resulted in an anticlimactic, unsatisfying and incomplete extraction, littering the floor with broken pieces, and fouling the air with blinding dust. Rather than a spectacle, it was water on the embers. The scene was cut before the actors were even visible again.

The mess was cut to clarity, as the same took in the aftermath, as the contractor wondered how he ever thought exploding drywall would make for compelling television.

“Of course,” he said, undoubtedly, “Of course your gonna get dust everywhere. But in my head, I saw all of it comin’ down at once, and all those bare walls in a second. It would have been amazing if we could’ve pulled it off. But, of course we couldn’t – ya can’t. I know that. I just had it in my head.”

The doctor approached him from behind and wrapped his arms around the man; leaned his head against his shoulder. His voice was soft – soothing like it always was – he said, “I saw it, too. And if nothing else, it’s pulling a lot of views. Disasters are equally compelling.”

“I know. I just hate it went the way it went.”

Hands moved from chest up to the shoulders, to momentarily, physically massage away the disenchantment, then disengaged with the assessment, “You’ve boosted ratings and got a ton of online content. We should be so lucky to fail with so much success.”

“Oh yeah: Everyone likes a train wreck.”

“Let’s hit the Loop and grab a beer. You can wallow in your successful misery.”

“I’m just sayin’, ya know? And beer, John?”

The doctor explained, “The fruity ones. Their grapefruit hazy – I could sip those all day long.” He was joined, with an arm around his shoulder, and approval given, “We’ll get ya there. You’re on the right track – we’ll get ya there.”

space
is a place
to accellerate.
Nothing personal.

i dove back into what looked like an oasis
there was a voice that was crying out
saying you don’t remember
it kept calling and trying to remind me
i don’t have anywhere.
i dove in the water
and all that’s left
is a skeleton
a few bones
holding
nothing
at all
no ego
id
et
al
.

Over loudspeakers, the manager insists, “Floors four, five, and six: Come down to the main lobby for your COVID testing.” Announcement made so loudly that all conversation in the present and over phones is temporarily suspended, and he repeats: “Floors four, five, and six: Come down to the main lobby for your COVID testing.” And then, continues, “Floors seven and eight: Be prepared to leave your rooms for COVID testing.”

An intrusion into what is considered home by many, where many have already fallen to the virus and only recently has interest finally turned to slow its spread within the confined population: Residents of little means and often limited mobility, stacked on many floors within a structure. A little space to pass as home where intrusion can arrive at any time, either by person or over speaker.

“It’s a roof over my head,” said the woman. “I’ve never lived someplace that’s based on income,” she explained.

It’s where she’s stayed for several years, and she shared it’s since her only child’s life was taken, executed by a man with whom the woman had dispute: Eviction for being broke. Eternal hope for better days and resolution brought to a violent, eternal end.

“I took an officer,” the woman explained – of when she went to gather the few possessions that remained, of her only daughter. She took an officer because she was “Afraid he’d put his hands on me.” But the rental wasn’t in her name, and so she was denied both entry and collection.

“First time,” she said – of the loud announcements that intrude beneath the roof over her head, “Scared the heck outta me:”

“Floors four, five, and six: Come down to the main lobby for your COVID testing.”

“The sun sets in the west is a fact,” Lester declared – a statement that i find actually hilarious, and a concept that i’ve played against for many years.

I get what he’s saying. i don’t disagree with what he says by any means. We’re on the same page. Except. He says, “Any contrary view does not deserve our time or attention.”

This completely disregards the larger point, but he said it, and it’s something that’s always sat a little wrong.

Turn of phrase. Colloquialism. Figure of speech.

Sunrise, sundown. Up and down, around, and around. Archaic but accepted verbiage that’s used without considering.

You know what i mean.

He is, however, making a point about validity. In that context, he would be using it as an aphorism. A pearl of wisdom – an absolute: Everybody knows that shit.

The sun sets in the west, except – it doesn’t really: The planet turned.

“Never,” was the last word I ever said,
in response to her
saying I was calling her a failure.

I didn’t know.
I hoped I’d hear something in return,
because just like every conversation,
I wanted more.

I wish I’d known.
There’s a lot that wasn’t said
that should have been.

I often said she was an angel.
I often said she not only healed an injured child,
but the rest of us.
I called her magical.

I recognized that she was someone special,
but I never said that to her,
strong enough.
Often enough.
It wasn’t stressed
enough.

Her kindness.
It can’t be stressed enough: irreplaceable.
I wish I’d known and had something more intelligent to say.
Something more.

But maybe that was how she wanted conversation:
On her terms.
Just like she was.
I can’t believe I’ll never see her beautiful smile again.

I was lying on the floor, cutting in the trim along the baseboard, when the dog came down. I’m uncertain how a dog interprets situations, but her response was to lie down right behind me, which was fine. However, as I moved along, I moved away, which incited her to rise and observe the act of running some sort of stick across the wall. Being that she prefers hands to run across her back, she stepped over me, laid down, and rolled over to expose her belly. Fortunately it’s just trim, so the dog’s not a weird shade of blue, and the wall is still primarily not shag.

She was moved along, and shortly thereafter I heard her climb the stairs. Shortly thereafter, I heard a call, “Dad: Dora’s got the stick you stir the paint with.” It was then reported that, “She got it on the carpet.”