harmless
is a kind
of snake
on a child’s
backyard
slide.

a warped
sports card
is a stretcher
cigarettes
slip from.

***
is a nightlight, well,

go on…  

-

     I single out my only son for pretending to have one arm
when what I’ve said

is make sadness
from what you have.

Through purple-greyish smoke billowed from lips both mine and yours,
our eyes glazed, blacklight seen reflecting on our silver ores.

Dark purple painted walls with red designs keep calm the folks
on leather couches billowing with eyes like silver ores.

Oh you and I, the strangers here, all have our many reasons,
some came with them, some made them here, eyes glazed like silver ores.

An Artificial Reason calms our minds in this Mad Season,
crucified on G-clef staff, eyes glazed like silver ores.

This sanctuary, whispered 'round, and found through word of mouth,
somewhere, we've all forgotten in the glaze of silver ores.

Our therapy, if long or short, time counted by the songs,
recovery is measured by the glaze of silver ores.

As one leaves so another comes, replacing on the couch,
the glaze of one with glaze of other's eyes like silver ores.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

a costume party in my father’s house.

     my mother
in her Sunday best.

little old
hermetic
me.

loudest brother
in the attic
with a stick.
in his mouth.

     my most housebroken
sister?

basement, on a stack of bibles.

other siblings, non locals, dogs, my father…

all in the mind
of your private

nudist.

I see so much of myself
in my son
it is no wonder
he

is where I go
to sleep.  

-

his wakefulness
is a gift
handed down
by a sister

     he had to stop
making up.

-

(as I once thought to save my mother)

in fifth grade, the boy submits a report on being stuck with his unborn brother’s teeth.  the boy’s intent is to set himself apart and perhaps place a hard comma after the crush he has on his teacher.  as the teacher reads the report she dreads that by its end she will become convinced and so stops halfway.  she brings the report home and instead of grading it she daydreams about the sister she never had, that she surely ruined.  by sixth grade, the boy lowers his blood at will into that handheld thing where resides his anger’s only foe.

Presumptuous to speak the obvious?
If only what we see is not as such.
Then all presumptions truly weigh not much.
Investigations make demands of us.

With every word the world is on to us.
Their weight of stares requires of us a crutch,
analysis of meanings and of such,
until of reasonings they empty us.

No man lies naked splayed before strange eyes.
He wears the clothing made in current style,
to give illusion pleasing to the world.

And so the world peels back the layered lies,
and lays them in a neatly gentle pile,
until the truth of man is full unfurled.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos

naked, the father
pours two cups
of coffee
in the kitchen-

     lowers one
into the cupped hands
of a statue, and takes the other
to the equally
bare
woman
coming to
on the lawn.

similar persons
of colder weather
gather elsewhere
and disrobe.

all await
the dog of evening.

its blindfolded boy.

It is a door,
And you inside
It is a door
That opens from the outside.
You are waiting,
Maybe down and out
What is coming?
What is waiting out?
You cannot have a go,
It is too rude,
As all humans know
From their childhood.
And you are afraid,
What is coming next!

'Sweet dreams!' they said
'Yes, you can sleep,
Darling, rest your little head.
The world's a scary, scary place
That's sometimes filled with dread.'
Sweet dreams I dreamt
With pretty homes
And people seem so happy
The smiles bright
And no more tears
Had it really looked so sadly?
But when I woke
I woke to find
The people all too shabby
Such little smiles, all the tears
It never looked so sadly.
'Sweet dreams!' they sang
'Oh, you'll be fine,
The sounds will ring out loud
And in those dreams that you can hear
The voices will be proud.'
Sweet dreams I dreamt
Of voices clear
And angels singing high
They sat above the treetops
On white clouds in the sky.
But when I woke
I woke to find
The voices all too scary
The singing gone, the chorus lost
And sounds no longer merry.
'Sweet dreams!' They showed
'No need to fear!
The pictures, how they move!
Look at all the gorgeous light,
It's coming from the moon.'
Sweet dreams I dreamt
Of shining clouds
And stars above my head
The angels sleep, they doze and gaze
And sleep on angel beds.
But when I woke
I woke to find
The moon no longer there
All the angels couldn't sleep
And people didn't care.
Sweet dreams I dreamt
I heard and saw
The people all so clear
Turns out some dreams are really not
What they should be here.