and shades of gray

from our plates

nighttime swooped

my belated

guest

As winter expired

I thought

the seasons

four

and of what should have

come next

I say,

"We keep repeating the same cycle:

Spring

to Summer

Falls

Winter

and in the release of death

Winter returns us

back to birth

and Spring

24 hours a day

Seven days a week

with a return trip to Monday"

looking up from

my dark dish

empty

but a stain of moisture

I ask,

"Have you ever wondered what month, and day falls beyond

February and Sunday?"

"March and Monday,"

she says dryly.

"I was hoping..."

I looked up

and her face sank

in the shadow of

overhead light

and weary re-telling

of time-worn projection

"...I was looking forward to something entirely aberrant

for those untried months,

implausible days,

and unknown seasons

still wrapped

airless in cellophane

that were meant to

fall beyond

don’t you think there’s something wrong

with a CD playing the same piece of music

the same way

over and over again?

Shouldn’t it be evolving subtlety with every listen?

It’s like we continue to replay the same game

are perpetually penalized

forever sent back to

start."

Her fork

halting before

it entered

her mouth

tumbles rice

falling

upon her dish

And

with

eye contact

freshly unwrapped plastic

a spark of blue light

and smile

"there’s always death"

she says

This weeks artistic need

I need a firearm

just a pain loaded 45

I’m building this

glass faced medicine cabinet

peroxide in tall blue bottle

labeled peroxide

rubbing alcohol in an old corked bottle

a straight razor

cough drops

band aids

q-tips

and a simple 45 labeled

loaded gun

all of our simple daily needs

idealized in antique

close your eyes and

imagine here

a track

and a relay race

and your very youth

is the baton being passed

Your great grandmother runs

like the wind

as fast as she can

at the beginning

graceful long strides

rounding the stretch

and in great pain

she births the banner

cedes it

to your grandmother

who with a strong

head start

now runs like hell

entrust it

to your mother

who blooms

in flounce

in stride

she bursts

unto this world

as grace

a burst enlightened

enlivened in fervent motion

arized light

arized youth

enflowered

heightened

enhightened

god

oh god

that’s where she’s

and

while collapsing

in stride

but in pain

holding her side

You mother runs

runs

runs

entired

enspent

enspelled

enstumbled

and with an unholy cheer

she bestows the baton unto yourself

as plunging bloody

face first in gravel

and with your fresh young

hard and

sexy thighs

You’re running

running

gasping

running

striding

hard

Your maternal line stands

cheering you on

go!

go!

trade!

trade!

Relent!

Relinquish!

Pass it on!

This is where a kind of runners high

kicks in

You have this dream

this vision

actually it’s a short story outline of mine

where your youth is a little girl

in a pink dress

running, playing, laughing

in this large and empty house

one day she falls down

bruising

deeply

her fresh young thigh

and a woman

her visionary mother

is born to protect her

to comfort her

Another day the girl is playing out front

when this man comes down the road

she had never seen a man before

so she’s naturally intrigued

Stopping she

cocks her head

peering up

with a hint of awe

at this tower of strength

His rough hand

cups her chin between his fingers

he looks into her eyes

cradles her softness

and the back of her neck

and with one swift stroke

he slaps her hard

across the face

sending her tumbling

across the road

So your

this little girl’s

the visionary mother

runs out to protect

her visionary daughter

The mother and man

make a deal

he’ll keep coming back

and as long as she sleeps him

he’ll ignore you

the little girl

Eventually it turns out that the mother

begins to enjoy this sex

this arrangement

locking her in a pink room

this hapless running

and before she dies

before the little girl

withers within this empty house

she must pull open a window

painted shut

and escape

or be born again

you’re running

running

you’re running

births the dream

of a sweaty man

pushing into your weary thighs

Delirious

you weaken

in fear

a vision

a fresh young fem

a safe

strong young tight legs

a manifestation

your daughter waits

hand extended

for a gift

for your only meaningful prize

Youth is a capitalist plot

like buying a new car every three years

You know how much an average child will cost

raised from birth to adult?

A cold million.

As your mother

grand mother

and great grandmother

scrub their knuckles bare

supporting the child that you carry

and pull in the effort

for you to