mist calling

There it was, now that it was quiet with no wind howling, there it was, as always, persistent, constant, it’s call, the horn out at sea wailing off the wall, warning, so easy to ignore in the daylight, like the sound of gulls or breath, now a mournful moaning  deep in the night, heart pounding slow, low, it’s call now beckons and small ships listen while they list in their moorings lining the Embarcadero. 

It’s one AM and a motorbike putters politely through puddles down a street nearby. Late, damp and cold.   I draw the strings to my hood and curl stiff, numb fingers deep into fleece pockets.

As the bike sputters into the distance and diminishes....it is quiet again, silent, except for the barely perceived soft hiss as the fog whispers by my numbing ears.  This is life without you. You are mist.

The horn wails, end of shift, I stay the course, but remain adrift.

est

Stir

koiriot3

grab on

You know, I never wanted to go there in the first place. Never bought a ticket. A fellow bum, some stranger with a friendly face stuck out his arm and yelled grab on so I did and here I landed. Not my plan. I could not tell you in that moment where the train was headed, not even in a general direction of north, east, south, or west…I never knew.

Okay so I landed wrong. I jumped; broke a bone and they nabbed me. Plenty wrong. Hit the switcher and gouged my groin, I was looking back…and I just learned not to.

I landed here yesterday. What is it you want? If it happened before that I wasn’t here, and if it happened after that, I have been in the hospital or incarcerated, since. I have no alibi for ‘what I know not I do’…if some male fitting my description was seen in the area, then you should be looking for him, because that’s a solid lead and I am eliminated! There you go – get on the case. Bring your bloodhounds in here, tell them to take a good look at this face, and send them on their way. Take to the hills! Go get this bastard!

But it’s not me. Not close to being me. I am a convenience that dropped in your lap at the precise and opportunistic moment.

People usually avoid me. I tend not so much to avoid attention, as I think more so, to repulse it. I am making sense to you?

Did you just acknowledge? Did I see a hint of a response? I did!

What was that movie? You know, "I ain't no monster…"or whatever it was he said. Fucking Quasimodo around here…

I am an honorable man. I have had several careers and accomplished some success in each. I am a broken man because of health and misfortune. I blame no one except for the fates and I am no believer there to begin with. It happens. The twist of a knife, the bend of an ear….the slice, the whisper…which one to fear? I was killed with whispers…with promises…mere pouches of dust.

Grab on he yelled, what have you got to lose? And by god in that moment I knew he knew me and all my suffering. I saw my suffering in his eyes and a hint of my hope there too. Desperate times when you see hope in the eyes of a stranger. I do not deny my desperation. But you got to grab on and let it carry you away. What choice is there?

April '57

It was April 17 1957. There were six men. Very large men. A car pulled up. Doors opened and they were in the street. Hulking figures in long dark coats, hands the size of cinderblocks. Menace took possession of the moment. No one ventured a look from the walkups. Some closed curtains or windows, but all diverted their eyes. No one to bear witness. It was Good Friday, but a man screamed, his day shot to hell. Shredding flesh and sensibility, the thunder, the cacophony, then stopped, the sulfurous fog lingering as the big sedan drove ahead. While a crumpled mass bled away. No, not a very good Friday for some, not for the one departed, not for those that stayed.

BC

Becoming Common

High fliers often falter

When the upper winds alter

Catch a gentle updraft

And you might 
just last

A glimmer!

For a moment 
wings shimmer

In the Glory of the sun
At Apex

...but take it not as an omen

That some new life has begun

Your decline,

So Soft 

So delicate

a slow

and

steady

downward

spiral

…until the string snaps

and you tumble 

Preeminently mortal

earth’s core portal

pines for your box

whilst the winds

wish your ashes

instead

Not to feel diminished

Not to feel regret

Your life is where you finished

No One passes the final test