Science Fiction Saint

I’d like to tell you a little
of journey to and discuss
the diagnosis that we may see
more clearly.

was this: “a precious gem hidden under a thicket.”
a precious gem under a tangle
a marked sensitivity
each failure, each plan gone awry
a simmering, impotent rage
And, not least, substances that made her seem

said the doctor, “She is a good and wonderful person. Of that, you can be certain.”

indisputably at the top a woman who loved
and gatherings and conversation and laughter
see a great mother make, assuage, challenge,
and accord them
refreshingly non-judgmental and open to ideas
friendly and
gregarious and
quickly put
The precious gem is unhidden.

now her legitimate sadness becomes ours.

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

And what was this act of imagination?

Having been abandoned to all your despair you crazy so and so
and I, to all the detritus
of the glass pipe.

I did hold you in
my arms and for those years
in my esteem.

Bilabial

A thin stream of reproach, we are binge and purge, a force
of its own: the evidence of our damage the
ice in your hand, on my tongue, the
doctor’s profile and this
pushing beneath my rib cage, this
shock and this not

Voiceless

Not talking to but ever about
Of course we weren’t good enough

Stop

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

for the glass pipe
and the steel wool
and the abiding nausea
and for the time spent
and the money
and the iago in your soul
and for your body laid out
and the shape of your right ear
and the furrow in your brow even death could not erase
and the wax in your hair
and for what we couldn’t send you with
and for what we did
and for the garden built
and for the false friend
and for the unforgivable dealer
and for our failed experiment
and for the love
and for the given up
and for what we are entitled
and for what we are not
and for what you were thinking
and for how you were claimed
and for whose fault it is
and for the mother of Jesus
and the beach
and the mountain
and the texture of reduction
and to be inconsolable
and for what remains
and for the paper work
and for the Lord (of whom we are dubious)
and for the beautiful girl holding strong in her tree
and for the creek she roamed
and for the circus
and for our grudges
and for our answers
and for this raw calling
and for what we are really worth

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

Filed under: everything else
Posted By: NJ Cullen