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I’m not flashy
I’m broken in pieces
Buried and lost
Buried and found
By the softbodied me
On a crowded beach
With no relevance
Aside from being a part of my whole life

My words are not flashy.
They are broken
but they are mine.

His passing meant he had the last word
And I fire on my tongue,
Love and resentment’s frazzled flavor
Offering more sizzle than succulence.

It was a dish best served cold.

There were words to say or salvage
I’m almost positive
I would have said them already
I truly hated you
In silence


The diagnosis is raspberries

or blueberries

or mulberries

berries of the brain

harmless nothings

sweet somethings

berries bleeding dusk

and then

dirt in your eyes

dirt in your lungs

dirt from above

homegrown berries reborn

in a field shared by your kin and country

“It’s not like I’m going to die,” said no hypochondriac ever in the history of the world. I am an expert hypochondriac, or so I say. I make a good game of diagnosing people with random, non-fatal ailments as a way to produce more good humor in the world. I would never tell you that you have a lung cancer or heart defect sure to kill you; I might, however, tell you that tiny tinny red spot probably means you’re now the home and host to a rare African parasite. You might protest, saying you haven’t been to Africa. I would nod grimly, knowing you’re future is going to be wrapping a worm around a toothpick and gently putting it out over several months’ time because the damn thing will regenerate if you rip its tail off. But I mean, you’re not going to die from that.

If you have a cold, I will likely diagnose you correctly with a virus, a bacterial infection and/or pleurisy. Or the plague. Whichever seems most appropriate.

So, on Wednesday, I wasn’t expecting a call from a neurologist indicating that a MRI of my brain showed an abnormality. The MRI was supposed to be for fun. It wasn’t supposed to come up with anything of interest. I’ve been dizzy and my balance is shot to hell but what amounts to a vascular tumor? Fuck me, check that shit again.

Cavernoma: a cluster of poorly formed blood vessels that can leak both from the inside and outside. Leak as in brain hemorrhage.

Okay, it’s not that dramatic. Here are the facts. It may or may not bleed. It’s not an aneurysm or brain cancer. It may or may not cause symptoms such as dizziness and unsteadiness. It might or might not cause migraines like the one I had in 2011 that was so severe I knew I was going to die in my apartment and my dogs would eat what’s left of me.

Yes, let’s not be dramatic. It looks like a raspberry, a mulberry, or a blackberry. It’s hard to think of berries in a negative way. They’re delicious.

Bryan says as these things go, mine is pretty mild.

He’s right. They’re not life threatening, except when they are.

As I sit and write this, I’m not worried. I have to see yet another specialist later in the month (17 days from today) who will give me the real information I need–location, size, bleeding risk. He will give me options. Mainly, I’m already bored of the whole thing.
There’s not even a little whisper of a barely-there voice that says I’m clusterfucked beyond the defective veins in my head.

Postscript 5/7: brain lesion (cavernoma) has been ruled not a big deal by neurosurgeon.

Pretty ye gleam, hard diamond
I smile at you
Bitterly aware
That my awareness is irrelevant
And unnecessary
Prettiness hardly matters when you shine.

Can you, dear readers, give me some suggestions for sending my stuff for consideration in journals, ‘zines…wherever?

I need to try to prove I’m good enough to be published somewheres.

The sky is congested
No remedy, no over-the-counter
The salt of my tears will have to do

Don’t look up, yonder sky
Toward the horizon, aye, flegm of ice and rain do form
The salt of my tears will have to do

The light upon us o’er
We lie beneath the no-shelter tree, dead and sagging tree
As if the salt of my tears could ever make do

We’ve got babies dying
Thwack Thwack thwack

We’ve got babies dying
Mamas too–
Pancreas exploding
Aortas imploding

We’ve got a one-eyed Sally Baby
Where’d her other eye go?
What’s happened to you, Sally Baby?
Thwack Thwack

Our babies are dying!
No natural cause
There’s no death in their sleep at 89
No cancer at 64
No car accident at 70
No natural order

Our Babies Dead
In their classrooms
Tombs of the known dead except one
No jaw or foreheads for Bullet Hole in the Face Babies
No heart beats or sounds from the Closet Babies
No blood clots from the Bled Out Babies
A lullaby of bullets dreamt them to terrible sleep
What’s happened to you, Babies?
What’s happened?

I dated a guy who defined his religious beliefs as apathetic; he thought the search for God/gods and spirituality such a bore. I liked his stance because it gets too big and my answers more cynical to bother with it. So I became agnostic on a decisive day and simply silent or confused the rest of the time.

As people die and other loved ones (our pets, for example), I am forced to admit that I’m not apathetic. I don’t see to find gods/God in churches. That part of it isn’t gods/God; that’s decorum and fellowship and cult and restraint. Those are the my concerns.

Something that has always come into place is the idea of fate. If God/gods exist, do they control the course of your life? Does the universe create “ka” (Stephen King’s concerpt of fate in the gunslinger series).
Do the God/gods have control or does fate? This a part that’s confusing because I don’t know the true nature of fate or aforementioned entities.

There are very few true things I believe in. Premonition is one of them. People sense things are off, they see visions right before something happens. So this is a big step in my journey to meet God/gods.

The morning my precious Poppy died, I saw a strange flash of a vision. Poppy was right behind me waiting for me to pet her. I reached back and it was not her. She died about 15 minutes later right behind me.

I don’t know where the vision came from; I’d never had any other visions. It doesn’t matter if it was sent or why then. But I believe visions. Real visions.

SOB with me

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