callas
by David X. Hugo
i watch this charade
i feel the earth’s momentum
with fire in my eyes
when the
airplanes pass
they momentarily
eclipse the sun
casting
shadows and
redirecting
light triggering
memories of
the pacific
at 38,000 feet.
animal fat congealing
forming solid mass on the surface of the
pepper red soup fondue
like feet on a swiss ball
you’d never indulge yourself to eat
and curdled blood served as a delicacy
sometimes you just need
liver diced into meat flowers
a little chicken foot
pig snout
or dog meat in your soup
to brighten your day
or keep you warm in the winter
like feet on a swiss ball
you’d never indulge yourself to eat
until you do
and find what smells like gym socks
tastes like candy
If living is living in the moment
Lord, it is so hard to make a second count,
it is hard to breathe in and [not] let go
There is this pain I can’t suppress or talk about
(you’ve got to mourn quietly after a while),
I’ve let it linger too long.
Maybe it would be better to go the bottom,
slide and disappear.
Gently, without noise
like the dreams that should have remained silent and
hidden in the teeth of the night.
