Science Fiction Saint

How little alone
It’s true each other took
Poverty from our mouths and
Quickly we were left from a safer refuge
Fighting possibility

A dog day
Eats escape
The only thing ever trusted
I know this dream
I suppose I just think
That maybe this anger
This anger would keep better in a jar
This anger followed by ellipses
This moment of longing
This moment of wanting to believe in the resurrection

I wonder about you &
What you think I should do next
Might the frame of a house
Might the young garden
Might the mountain picnic
Illuminate the distance that swiftly goes?

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

I suppose that for you my questions are simply an issue of chemistry and biology. Possibly physics given the force with which she tried either to avoid or to find feeling.

Virginia is famous for insisting that we must strain off the personal and accidental to reach the essential oil of truth and as certain as I am of this logic I must ask; what wasn’t personal? Even if accidental.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

The kids have become cluster bomblets
unpredictable love and shrapnel, bicycles and fists
and I am no goddamned help

I don’t want to give you the blame
but I don’t want to take it away

Our son is a ball of more than he can manage
I can’t bear that you could make him love you so
then leave him dazed in the irreversible rubble
ears ringing and heart pounding at ten decibels

I will use words like disorder as a way of explaining such nonfunctionality
Our daughter will cling to the idea of the sweet bye and bye
where all those letters she burned to you are taped on your celestial fridge
I mean really, after all our effort, after all our progress, real and imagined
why weren’t you good enough for this world?

Our days now bear witness to your disarray
We speak of the fun and talk circles around what broke you
avert our eyes from the hospital, hold our breath past your new street
And the word bomblet, how it makes the damage sound modest
but look (if you will) at our children now so tiny in your resounding absence

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

As sure as you lick the sense of love and wild sadness
kick and tug the illuminating ass
to imitate an attempt at explanation
and evade the pangs of guilt (ineffably effing up)
I will tell you what our memory suffers

The spotty sheets of wonder when love was believed redemptive
Oh fuck your sorry tales of ruin
my undying self pity, our paranoid breakfasts
and our cut off hands
We gallop toward calamity

A feckless remedy cut quick
finally ruined, running the nerve
We did not intend just to get busy images
of how much flowed out in all the directions
our fingertips got up to

Hey, a good time was had by all

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen

Oh us before our tabloid days,
driving along back roads
all trees and expectation
hard drinking and happy
pretty as a country song
falling but never touching the earth

Tonight I am too weary for anger
or this sickening death for which there is no editorializing
just trying to find my breath
thinking maybe you sent the eagle

I guess we’re all looking for a little make-believe
looking to rub our shoulders with grace
so the bird in the suburban sky becomes
omen or beacon for both savage and sensitive ladies

As for heaven, you never thought much of it
why should you call to tell me you’re okay
and why should I ask?
don’t forget we were at war
this is not the time or place to remember
summer’s back roads when we shared goodwill and kisses

Filed under: Poesy
Posted By: NJ Cullen