"Kitsch is a form of art that is considered an inferior, tasteless copy of an extant style of art or a worthless imitation of art of recognized value."
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Mesothelioma and I Don't Want to Go
And dying quickly.
Doctors say there is
No cure
Nothing will fix him.
The fibers rooted
Decades ago
And now are shredding his system
Apart.
Mercilessly.
Organ by organ.
All at once.
I could go visit him.
I should go visit him.
Mom says he always liked me,
always asks about me,
Even from the young, lost,
Ambitious graduate I was then.
But he has mesothelioma
And I don't want to go.
I'm afraid to look him in the eye
and know it will be the last time.
I don't wan't to ask dumb, polite, habitual questions ---
"Hi! How are you, Rich?!"
knowing full-well how dry poor he is.
I don't want to pretend hope and
Insult him even further.
And the sickest part of this sick sickness is
He spent his entire life devoted to
medical texts.
He had never married.
Had no children.
His singular ambition was to teach others to heal.
So he knows
exactly, really
How
Hopeless
Is his
Health.
How do you look that in the eye
and smile?
Monday, December 2, 2013
An "Occupational Hazard": Rape in the Military
Stories from Third Med: Surviving a Jungle ER
The Invisible: Children without Homes
Saturday, February 23, 2013
The clouds above are weak
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Roughed-up lips
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
##demolition##
Our big square kitchen with
two sinks
three doorways
spins
on my head
like a top and the
plates and glasses
fly,
while mom
sits in the den in
the fat leather recliner where
she has been curled up for
three days
crying
since dad told her in front of the
: I don’t love you.
and I haven’t loved you
for years.
He slithers down the back steps, going to
the barn where
his bloodline is
held captive-
stalled up with his stallion and mares and
unbroken baby foals.
The stinking rockdust and manure
attract him
more than mom’s
Estee lauder perfume.
I watch from the steps -- old enough to
wear a bra but
too young to run -- and
I feel the weight of our old house
crack to
pieces
just above my forehead, where my bangs,
sprayed and teased
will do nothing
to cushion the
crash and shock
of splintered wood and
china
family atop my
young
screaming
body.














































