An often wish, that time were stored somewhere,
Accessible to all, yet more to me,
A day relivable in all its flair,
To hear, to feel, to taste, to smell, to see.

Full sense-infused, the recreation'd be,
As real as present moment ever would,
A place and time to any time I'd flee,
To when and where I'd flee if flee I could.

If possible the question would be, should?
Should I relive a scene that's long since past,
Whose ground is gone upon which once I stood,
Whose sky has fled and clouds have long since cast?

Our memories whose present time has left,
Are lessons learned when of them we're bereft.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

you tell yourself
the smaller they are…

you see a cloud, a hospital
for a bird…

but then you’re six
and your sister’s boyfriend
is ripping out your hair
in clumps.

your brother is the storm before the storm.

your father doesn’t have cancer
your father is ******
during a longer period
of being
left alone.

pain is your mother in labor.
a time machine that only goes to the present.

most days your son can’t move a muscle.
looks bored to life.

I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than thy first love,
But now lies under boards.

Wilson and Pilcer and Snack stood before the zoo elephant.

     Wilson said, "What is its name? Is it from Asia or Africa? Who feeds
it? Is it a he or a she? How old is it? Do they have twins? How much does
it cost to feed? How much does it weigh? If it dies, how much will another
one cost? If it dies, what will they use the bones, the fat, and the hide
for? What use is it besides to look at?"

     Pilcer didn't have any questions; he was murmering to himself, "It's
a house by itself, walls and windows, the ears came from tall cornfields,
by God; the architect of those legs was a workman, by God; he stands like
a bridge out across the deep water; the face is sad and the eyes are kind;
I know elephants are good to babies."

     Snack looked up and down and at last said to himself, "He's a tough
son-of-a-gun outside and I'll bet he's got a strong heart, I'll bet he's
strong as a copper-riveted boiler inside."

     They didn't put up any arguments.
     They didn't throw anything in each other's faces.
     Three men saw the elephant three ways
     And let it go at that.
     They didn't spoil a sunny Sunday afternoon;

"Sunday comes only once a week," they told each other.

we stomp the child monster.  my blood goes so far as to break its promise to leave my body.  a dog with a broken jaw whimpers beside the unthawed baby of the odd seamstress whose love of bubble wrap is genuine.  god says in the same voice step away from the vehicle as a boy close to his attacker touches himself under his breath.  The Jesus

can’t hear in the dark.  the last thing I see is making this up.

It's hard letting go.
I'm finally at peace, but it feels wrong.
Slow, I'm getting up.
My hands and feet are weaker than before.

And you are folded on the bed,
Where I rest my head.
There's nothing I can see,
Darkness becomes me.

But I'm already there.
I'm already there.
Wherever there is you,
I will be there too.

There's nothing that I'd take back.
But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret.

Cause when I sing, you shout.
I breathe out loud.
You bleed, we crawl like animals.
But when it's over, I'm still awake.

A thousand silhouettes,
dancing on my chest.
No matter where I sleep,
you are haunting me.

But I'm already there,
I'm already there.
Wherever there is you,
I will be there too.
But I'm already there,
I'm already there.
Wherever there is you,
I will be there too.

Cause I'm already there,
I'm already there,
Wherever there is you,
I will be there too.

exactness
is a terrible thing
to impress.

in only words, I am sorry
your mind
works.

the image is not enough.
the image must already
contain
additional
deformities.

both hands curl
but also
turn the wheel
and thus
the whole of the car
into a dog
trying to use
a spoon.

when you are gone
you depart
the impartial
witness
and enter
witness
abuse.

I refuse to compete for those we’ve lost.

if god existed
writing about him
wouldn’t.

I want to tell you, but can’t, how obsessed god is with me

-

hears the whole
of the devil’s apology
does the man
with one ear

-

when nothing
was on fire

nothing was proudly
orchestrating
itself

based on the church fire
famously started
by two pieces     of convenience store     bread

-

I am going to zip
the tent
now

-

a chalkboard eraser
still strikes me
as useless-

a boat
in the hand
of god

-

poor speech

imperceptible narrator
of the wound
my mouth
endured