wake up and smell the buzzing in-between zone

wake up and smell the buzzing in-between zone


closer to two decades back than one
in a leafless munich mountain suburb
i fell asleep innocently, it seems
midstroke upon a woman who i was loving plenty.
i was in heaven.
sleep and love and sensory contact - imagine the sweetness.
she woke me up angrily.

i yet feel love for elegant sensitive
aesthetic intrinsically spiritual her
in munich still,
and it seems that she
settled in relationship and hous
loves me in her reserved default way.
as i write i long for a few of those moments
of unhinged wildness
sane and on the very edge.



seeing so many varied looking people,
hearing so many stories of life,
sensing so many styles of living and being,
so many working strategies for so many situations,
so many adolescents of sundry strengths and apathies,
mostly so much appreciation that I can be there,
kept inside.



hispanic women in unhappy marriages
come through non-profit doors.
they worry for their children
they worry for themselves
they worry for survival
way less and with more strength than we would
in similar circumstances.

some work so hard cleaning houses
from iffy cars
caregiving the ill and the young
and the relatively rich
to say little about the keeping of home and children
and raided budgets

not infrequently husband does considerably less
has playful dalliances on the side
borracho con amigos
abusive in language and meaty hands
often pleads eloquently once again like a pitiful lost child
when she says and finally means it
i'm leaving.



in bed the impulse arises to write
to share
to speak it out
to broadcast the surprise happening
that i am privy to so much life experience
to imagine and feel reflections that say i'm worthy
and i'm here.
to finish
the mind's busyness and discomforting incessance
perhaps to make meaning of the tumble of life
through this crude being.

the impulse arises a lot to tell my stories
of little things
on ilc
and i don't so much.

many stories of me
and my self-affirming activities.
some stories of others often in connection with me.

the unwritten book
of three distinct and interesting and ordinary men I know.

three vignettes
of three junior high boys
so so different in temperament personality manifestation
out of the nine early teenagers i saw
two days ago.
and the one unusual girl
feisty, bright-eyed
sure and unsure.
and why stop there.



shall i get out of bed
and hurry through my a.m. patterns
to get to the early morning waves?
the body and larger self says 'no',
momentum and push-habit and image
suggest 'yes'.

shall i get in a hot bathtub
with entrainment music bell sounds
rising out of a watery background
and have more fuzzy strangeness
of mind like the in-between zone?

when this weekend
shall i fiberglass the newly rockered nose
on the shortened broken-nose board?



will i live much longer?
shall i prepare for death?



i've made my tea.
i am finishing this riff.
there is more audible quiet than usual.