Mystery

Her gazing eyes and my choir of echoes. My voice floats the hollowed hallways, always. Yet, I still wont stop till its heard solidly in the ear. Salacious and obliterated from what I once was, firm and real. I never sleep, awake at night looking for your eyes, removed away. I hear you speak. And then I run.

The stairs that you walk, erect and tall, I watch you. I want to follow but I’m not allowed to go up there, remember? Always held in the hallway. Often, you feel my hand on your shoulder but you just adjust your blouse and don’t think twice when you really should. You touch your thighs. I’m transfixed, caught, and time doesn’t exist.

The sun has faded. I’m the mist in the hallway, the shadow you seldom see. I’m the choir that reminds you of me. Downstairs, your eyes move and adjust to the light and you can’t see me anymore. Turn on the bright lights. Sublimated from the hall. I have eternity and nothing at all.

Streetlight

Howling, howling, through the trees and into the street. The moon was full. It had to be children. Howling and screaming, through the trees and into the street. It had to be the couple downstairs. Howling and crying through the trees and into the street but closer to my window. This had to be a joke. What was that I saw crawling through the dark street that night last year?  I saw its hairy body crawl into the forest. Just it’s hind legs, nothing else. I thought I was crazy. It was real and now it was crying across the street. And it was not alone.

Zeus.

Standing, trapped in a corner and tremendously high above the crashing waves. They’re colliding with thick brown towers of granite that have snapped like branches. They’ve fallen into the water from the sky. The sky is raining immense columns of stone. I can feel them crack as they hit the round boulders that scatter among the shallow water and crashing waves. I can’t jump from here.

How did he get here? He’s angry again for what I’ve done but I can’t remember why. Did I cross him? Did I take from him? I still can’t recall. He pointed his gun in my face. I’m staring down the barrel and I can see the tip of the bullet resting. It has a silver point and that’s all I can recollect. I grab my musket and point it at him. We’re both on a ledge now, trapped in a corner. I hope, I pray, that my gun is loaded. He shouts again and communicates to me that he can see the inside my gun bullets. No matter, I know they are there. Because, I can feel them resting inside.

I begin to cry. I’m scared beyond reason. I should be scared but this is not why I cry. It’s for something else I can’t explain. I call out to my father. I look up at the sky and look for him in the clouds. I scream again for my father and still he does not answer. I shout once more to the sky for my father but he is quiet. He will not answer me. He doesn’t help me when I need him. I let go and fall into the water and crushed granite. Zeus.

My Desko

Poetic Fragments of objects within reach.

Keyboard ticking away at the my recognition

sitting Sharpie so pink and kinked to my position.

Thick Vaseline to heal my lips

Red fettuccine cords of the ear buds tips.

Thin black pencil I'm ready to throw

the bonsai tree filled is something to show.

I Remember sits on the glass

book to be read because its past.

Broken iPhone falls to the floor

Piece of junk from that damn store.

I'm done with this writing

scratch the beard I'm done fighting.

Super Sound of the 70's

My uncle crashed his metallic blue Corvette into a TV while All in the Family was on.

The chrome bumper wrapped itself around the rotten brown husk of the set.

We had to grip a thick crowbar and peel the metal backward. Carefully, we poured hot wax into the TV to keep slivers of glass from penetrating our thin skin.

We all combined our complete strength to remove my uncle’s flimsy body from the Corvette. We tugged, and tugged his red bellbottoms from the bucket seat. We could not unclip him from his fragile station. With a twist a tiny person touched the radio. What a Fool Believes blasted form the fragile side speakers twisting with the flames and glass. The Doobie Brothers poured all over the ground and stained my last M.A.S.H t-shirt.

Fire Bad!

            I worked at a hospital. I enjoyed staying to myself and leaving others alone. Most people knew that except one guy. He was tall, maybe 6’3. He was big, maybe 250. To me, he resembled an ogre or Frankenstein’s monster. Not kind on the eyes, this man.  He walked with a slumped posture. His eyes were blue that sat in deep eye sockets. His face seemed calm but you could sense his anxiety through his eyes. Nevertheless, it was his mind that bothered me. You could never tell if he was happy or sad. He must’ve been bipolar.

If you are transferring a patient you have to be calm with them. I witnessed him push people in wheelchairs or beds at incredible speeds. I saw him slam a bed into wall with patient in it! Carelessness at work is not a good quality I’d say. But it was his demeanor that was more off putting. Once, I got trapped in an elevator with him. Granted, it was only going two floors up but I was nervous being in there with the wretch. “Felipe, what time did you wake up today,” he  asked my cryptically. That was the only thing he said to me in there. I ran out of the elevator as soon as I could.

Another day I walked into our department office and I saw him with his shirt off. He had  blood pouring down his back. I stopped in my tracks when I saw this horrible sight. He looked at me harshly and then chased me out of the room. Later, I had heard that he shaved his back at work for some mysterious reason. Yet, there were days when he was so peaceful. He would greet me with enthusiasm and ask how I was doing. But later he’d follow that up by telling me what I should eat for lunch. I’m glad I don’t work with him anymore. Goodbye, Frankenstein.

The Boxing Kid

I don’t know this kid personally. Actually, I was more of an observer to this kid’s actions. Still, I hadn’t seen anything like this happen in my entire life. I was taking a table tennis class and we were in our tournament stage at that point. So the last reaming students were playing a few matches before class ended. Just then we could hear music emanating from the hallway. We all stopped and looked around as the heavy guitar riff from Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger came closer to our classroom.

It looked as if a heavy weight fight was about to take place. This other student had an entourage surrounding him. There was one person who had raised a boom box above his head blasting this kid’s theme song. This kid was in the center of his entourage with a boxing robe on. They moved as a unit and the kid in the center was shadow boxing fiercely.

One of the members of his group slowly removed the robe fro the boxing kid. The kid looked directly at me and shouted, “Are you the best in this class?” I looked at him sideways and directed him to the opponent that would give him the satisfaction he desired. So class stopped and we all watched the table tennis match. The boxing kid got his ass handed to him. Still, “A” for effort.