eat my heart

He got into her Turkish tudor foolish fuel efficient machine, slamming her erotic door creating aftershocks in Sichuan and kissed her hard love.

“Wow,” she said, “that was delicious. Tell me more.  I feel insecure and despise all my devious intentions.”

“I am too sad to speak. My verbal actions will tell you a story. I am sad and lonely. I can talk about America and how I lost my chance to be rich and famous. I played college baseball and the coach never let me hit. I sat on the bench getting splinters in my ass. I was always treated with disrespect. I will reap what I sow. I can tell you about people who will cheat you.”

“What kind of story?”

“Drive around. I will concoct a magical musty mysterious tale of woe, conquest and self pity.”

She shifted out of park. Her thin hands gripped life’s wheel.

She remembered wild sex with the tall absent minded angry teacher, speaking of sex, death and Indian food fool foreign language hands, lips, smells, tastes, aromas, a throbbing purple snake and confused groping. She couldn’t sleep, let alone dream, remembering it all. 

“I am a man eater. You are a man. A real man. I will eat your heart. This is our custom. We eat the heart of our lover to give us strength. In exchange, I will give you something to remember me by and by.”

“What happens after you eat my heart?”

burn

the woman at the metro
with a burned leg - you remember her clearly
how she sat after dragging her bad leg
into the car, into the compartment
this image of her
alone
cold
scared
in pain
how did it happen? why is she alone?
on a late night in a flimsy sweater
her skin below the knee
running to her ankle
all burned away
exposing blood red lines
her abstract expression
her sacred scared distracted face
watching night fly past windows
where blue televisions and children kept an eye 
on each other
how the woman kept going
on the metro past a stop
where the expensive private hospital on a Roman
hill gleamed its extensive intensive pensive care
ward and her treatment was delayed,
forgotten, useless
here
because she is poor
so she stayed in her seat
anxious now feeling her pain
wondering where she would go
where she would end up on this night
as a stranger studied her anxious, passive 
expression feeling burns, violent burns
inside sensations fire and heat
nerve impulses darting through, along sensory
channels where signals are blocked by
neurotransmitters shutting down
her chance

beg Blind

“Sorry to bother you. Maybe you’re a little sad, angry or lonely? Maybe I can help you.”

“What! Are you completely crazy as well as blind? I have no wife, no children, no parents, no friends, no home and no job. I live here hoping people will take pity on me.”

“I see. I know the feeling. I’m on my own. Maybe we could work together, be a team.”

The beggar rubbed his stubble. “Hmm. Let me think about it.”

“Take your time. Knowing our destiny there’s no hurry.”

“Really? How can you be so sure?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The beggar laughed. School kids passed them. One dropped a coin into the bowl. “Thanks kid. Good luck on your exams next week.”

“I hate school. Too much homework. It’s so boring.”

“Your attitude sucks. You sound like one of those single pampered kids I see every day. Busy, busy, busy. Get used to it or you’ll be out here with us.”

“A fate worse than death,” said the kid walking away.

“Yeah, begging isn’t a job. It’s an adventure.”

blindness

I stepped outside of myself and saw a blind man going down life’s street. Neither of us had seen each other before. 

Dressed in rags, he stooped under the weight of a torn shouldered bag. His right hand stabbed cracked cement with a crooked staff. He had no left hand. In the middle of the sidewalk he stumbled into a parked motorcycle, adjusting his way around it.

Chinese schoolgirls eating sweet junk food on sharp sticks whispering silent secrets about his stupidity passed me with empty black wide open eyes. They were changed to the earth to pay for the freedom of their eyes.

I remembered, If a man wants to be sure of his road he must close his eyes and walk in the dark, or a blind man crossing a bridge is a good example how we should live our lives, the enlightened mind.

I followed him. I sensed a lesson in existence.

He continued scraping his staff against steps leading to shops and worked his way along a long concrete wall. At the far end sat a beggar in rags made from boiled books.

His skeleton supported a battered dirty greasy cap, threadbare jacket, no socks, broken shoes. He struggled to light a fractured cigarette. His cracked begging bowl was empty.

The blind man ran into him.

“Go around” screamed the beggar. “Can’t you see I’m here you idiot!”

“Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“This is my space! Keep moving you fool. Pay attention.”

bells

A distant bell rang. Another bell answered. 

“What day is it?” asked Raven. 

“Today,” said Orphan, “It is the day of the bells. The Day of The Dead. Celebrate life! It’s the first day of the rest of our lives. Ring low, ring high.” 

“How sweet it is.” 

“Balls of fire!” 

“Why do bells say sing ring a ding dong?” 

“It’s a code. A signal. They are calling us on a quest-ion. A journey. We will engage fear, trauma and imaginary terrorist threats of unknown origins. We will discover trust and love, companionship and community. We will evolve into our real authentic universal being.”

“What kind of journey?”

“Who knows?” said Raven. “We’ll find out. It’s the only way. Step by step. Breath by breath. The road is made by walking. Every heartbeat contains the universe.”

“Is there more than one way?” wondered a child turning a compass without a needle.

Seeing, not watching. Active awareness.