Coronary Reflexions 41 to 50
David L. Young
41. The Giving
42. Into the Heart
43. Transplant
44. Impressions of Auld Lang Syne
45. Breakfast in Bed
46. Point of View
47. The Shadows
48. Ahab's Lesson
49. Riding the Commuter Train One Dreary Evening
50. Der Krieg
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February
14, 1989 / New York City
two
hearts battle for precious warm blood,
one
taking, one giving the vital flood;
selfish,
one sucks nutrients at all cost,
secure,
floating in a saltwater bath;
one,
sacrificing to the point of loss
and
exposed, shields the elements' wrath;
neither
cruelty exists nor shame is due,
for
the fight will end in agonizing joy
once
the Knitter is satisfied and through:
four
hearts braided together will rejoice,
Creator,
creation, husband, and wife,
when true Love gives life to true love and life
March
1989 / New York City
raindrops
stick to glass
voiding
vision,
acid
tears from heaven
not
so much crying as adding
to
death. crystal lakes,
placid,
harbor floating fish,
canoes
and wormed hooks -- still
rain
cleaves, obscuring sights
like
the tunnel we just entered,
black
and dismal, nesting more fears
than
a documentary, conjuring more anticipation
than
a gypsy -- the cards are dealt: we've drawn
Death,
the reaper who toils through night
transforming
verdant relief to gray.
what
mischief's framed by statute?
how
many constituents does it take
to
screw a bulb into the mind
of
a corpulent feline puppet dancing
in
the lobby to the beat of currency
rattling
in a piggie? bright idea,
self-preservation.
silly sapiens living
for
today, the executors of our estates
will
pass problems to our progeny;
vampires
suck all day
bleeding
us dry, fangs dripping like daggers,
and
no one's willing to drive home
the stakes to heart
February
1989 / New York City
the
first time i felt it
was
when lauralee left
after
christmas 1968;
if
they'd taken a sonogram
i'm
sure they'd've found a crack --
climbing
in and out of each day,
i
kept an extra pound of lead on each foot...
next
time was when cathy and i said good-bye
under
the hawthorn at ursinus:
guilt
crashed in, hammering away
scarring
beyond recognition;
then
la belle sans merci
bounced
it like a basketball,
tiring
soon enough,
flinging
it out of her court like trash ...
when
daddy died
that
just about finished it off --
poor,
pulpy pump struggled to get the fluid 'round;
that's
when He found it
now
it aches most of the time
not
out of self-pity but concern
for
the multitude
who've yet to get the exchange
December
30, 1988 / Darien, CT
skeleton
trees
make
gaping holes
allowing
glimpses at life
that
hides most year round
behind
the plush
lining
the track;
tomorrow
night
we'll
say "so long"
to
a dying year
and
greet an infant,
full
of bright promise,
with
cat-call choruses
and
lampshade hats,
party
favors and confetti,
hams
and turkeys,
hoppin'
john,
cornbread
and pumpkin pie;
tears
will soak luxurious carpets
and
marble floors
as
resolutions
fill
the air,
with
popping corks,
dirty
jokes,
rattling
aspirin bottles,
sirens,
and
phones
that
summon undertakers
from
festive tables,
a
faint gleam in their eye ...
if
we knew this newborn
would
be so soon so cruel
we'd
likely be content
to
let the old corpse live,
because,
all promises aside,
for
such a happy partymonger
the new year demands a damn heavy toll.
September
1987 / Springdale, PA
there's
crumbs in my bed
and
a soft spot
in
my steel-trap head,
and
tapping like footsteps
in
my raw heart --
all
flared, red, brilliant, like sparks --
satisfied,
i lie still ...
still
alive,
still
breathing,
still
i'd love to love you,
love.
seems
natural.
feels
nice.
sacred.
safe.
February
1989 / Harlem
his
suit is finer
than
mine, skin smoother,
hair
thinner ...
sitting
behind him i see
through
his lens:
things
look smaller,
warped
as in a funhouse mirror;
buildings
rush past
the
distant projects
with
broken windows
like
toothless grins;
freak-people
wait at 125th Street,
billboards
melt --
The
Enchanting 1989 New York Flower Sh --
junkyards,
schoolbuses,
pigeons
flapping, curving,
rusty
death-trap fire escapes --
is
it what he sees, too,
or
is it just my point of view?
refugees
exist in exile
caged
in an animal world,
some
like lions,
in
crackhouses and mansions
all
mushed together in a pasty blur
as
we pass by; has he
given
it any consideration?
one
man's trash
is another man's treasure
January
1989 / New York City
Whence
they come or go i may never know,
Long
or short, shrinking, then stretching to grow,
They
show up to dance when the sun descends;
Like
ballet partners in perfect accord
Sticking
closer than the best of best friends,
Queer
phantoms, they sprawl on my walls at night,
Looming
larger, approaching my headboard
As
I reach to snuff the candle's pale light:
And
just when I think they'll pounce on my bed
They
hide in the dark, passing overhead;
Each
night they're back, prancing there, swirling here,
Keeping
time with an inaudible song;
Soon
I'll be like them, and they'll disappear --
Fading with the tune, fading, fading ... gone.
January
1989 / New York City
In
the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth
shall
dogs lick your own blood ...
we
chained ourselves arm to arm, leg to leg,
uniformed
thugs rattled clubs on our heads,
like
hell it stung
in
the january numb,
anniversary
of the Decision;
but
time in the cell
was
time spent well,
an
opportunity for reflection:
when
you were young,
you
walked in truth
and
grace fell on thee,
your
fathers ruled
on
bended knees;
but
now your mistress is Convenience
and
your first-born are sacrificed
for
her sake --
nothing
new, maybe, twenty-two million
in
fifteen years isn't a record,
considering
it only took
the
nazi herod
nine
or ten to get twenty ...
funny
how his favorite author
was
sweet margaret:
they
had much in common
planning
people's futures ...
the
scales tipped left,
and
nine men in black robes
lifted
a lid,
"heave
ho, all together,"
what's
that swarming out of the box?
upjohn's
miracle injection,
washington's
d & c,
the
amazing mini-vac
(guaranteed
to clean up accidents and spills),
and
now the new pill,
"just
drop this & you won't even know
what's
been gained or lost ..."
rockabye
baby, life has come to call
promising
safety, happiness, and more
but
when the vow breaks the water will fall
and
down will crash baby, conscience and all --
far
cry from a manger and eyes that adore ...
tiny
hands and feet, tiny heart-like tombs,
abandoned
vagariously, half-baked,
withdraw
to the corners of darkened wombs,
silently
screaming, trying to escape.
out
by the dumpster
somebody
dropped a doggie bag
a
cur's delight --
mmm
... dinner for two
in
the california sun
hey
doc,
what
happened to the Oath --
"i
will administer no potion ..."
medical
ethics, humbug,
how
stupid can you get:
"it's
just tissue ... "
what,
like a snotty kleenex?
pinch
your nose to hide the stench
and
don your suit to ride the flood
ghosts
will rise to greet the reaper
dogs
again will lick kings' blood:
ahab
learned his lesson well,
his
lady fair led him astray,
the
sultry bitch, proud jezebel --
food
for dogs -- convinced him sons
were
good foundations;
and
so they were,
building
blocks for death:
blood
filled his chariot,
splashing
into mutts' mouths ...
she
gave them a taste
after
her first flying lesson ...
now
you, will you learn?
break
off your dance with Baal?
divorce
Convenience
or turn to face the Tutor
Riding the Commuter Train One Dreary Evening
(With fond memories of Robert Frost)
February
1989 / New York City
This
train is shorter than I knew
And
passengers aboard are few;
We
bounce along without a sound,
Each
looking out to judge the view.
I
wonder where we all are bound:
In
what far reach will each be found?
What
station stops wait patiently
For
feet to greet the solid ground?
At
times the train plods lazily,
And
some of us doze sleepily,
Till
suddenly a jolting sway
Disturbs
the dreamy scenery.
The
train stops, but without delay,
And
I continue on my way,
With
farther still to go today
With farther still to go today.
April
1989 / New York City
Graben
zwischen den Linien
("Graves
between the Lines")
dust
rises through sockets,
flowers
bloom from nostrils,
worms
crawl through holes
in
skulls lying face up staring
at
clouds floating over,
formless
shapes changing shape,
surreal
landscapes, castles
in
the atmosphere, fairylike,
dreamy
and convoluted as folding
cream
or a Copland symphony;
one
grins to another across
time,
across space; there's been
no
solid line drawn to mark an end
since
Cain (or was it Adam?)
started
the dominoes;
generation
after generation,
the
same compulsions seem to seize
even
our best --
maybe
it's instinct ...
Nachtliche
Begenung mit einem Irrsinnigen
("Night
Meeting with a Madman")
something
flashes on your left
flank
and a thud confronts
your
right ear as you
bleed
all over the sweater
mother
knitted for christmas;
it
could've been
in
a trench in france
or
a jungle in 'nam,
an
alley in queens,
or
some plush back yard:
strolling
from safety one night
under
starlit skies and a grim-faced
too
full moon to catch a smoke
you
caught a blade instead, sinking deep,
deep
past skin, muscle,
sinew,
and bone, into the heart,
leaving
no time for
reflection
on fears of what awaits
beyond
or terrors and joys met
along
the way ...
Totentanz
("Dance
of Death")
where
are the dead? the skin?
buried
now; or stretched tight
over
incandescent bulbs
lighting
the walls of cancerous
souls
perhaps now lamenting
actions
once fostered by ideals
espoused
as sacred; or
still
decaying in jungle
camps
out of sight nearly out of
mind,
victims of political half-
stepping
-- like the army in the valley
of
dry bones, a prophet could
make
them dance: "Prophesy, son of man"
the
bones shall have their
sinew,
muscle, and skin;
what
a rattling it was in
the
desert sun as four winds
lifted
the slain to tap bony
heels
and clap clacking hands
in
celebration of resurrection ...
softly
the whispers of those left behind
caress
our conscience: windows
shuttered,
doors slammed tight,
even
the strong grow silent with time,
rising
now and then to waltz to
flutters
of swallows' wings or
mournful
drones of widows' songs,
and
waiting for Ezekiel ...
Neue
Sachlichkeit
("New
Objectivity")
but
don't ask for miracles, though
the
boundaries of our potential
almost
make them possible; in the
computer
age and fiber optic web
of
real-time technology we're more
capable
than ever --
light
at our fingertips, answers
in
glowing boxes; the choice of
conception
and "termination" of
conception:
we're just a hair away
from
truly playing God -- all you need
is
an eyedropper, a petri dish, an egg,
and
a few viable sperm; even
so,
wholesale genocide, chemical
or
nuclear, hangs over us like a sword,
and
once we're gone no frankenstein
can
bring us back - yet. no, corpses
lie
still; the former owners
of
grotesque flesh are
spinning
in eternity,
jigging
with ecstasy
or
languishing in misery;
their
bodies won't flinch
but
rot idly under
the
sun, for such is vanity:
dust
from long ago
burned
to ashes in pits
or
crumbled in fields or oceans,
dead
tissue whose graves
were
the wind and sea, perhaps
now
rest as molecules in
some
excitable tulip somewhere...
Appell
der Zuruckgekehrten
("Roll
Call of the Ones Who Came Back")
all
the proud soldiers, purple
hearts
and silver stars pinned to
breasts,
stand at attention, hearty,
some
haughty--as night mares gallop
them
away out of control, the
phantoms
of their torment (those
whose
blood rests on their heads)
rising
up to wail ...
or
stumbling like zombies,
dead
but still on their feet,
heroes
whose legs, once punctured
by
pungi sticks caked with food
processed
through human bowels,
now
pace aimlessly -- thai sticks
hang
from lips under bridges
or
in stations or terminals
or
on heat gratings or anywhere
one
can avoid exposure --
these
veterans of death
administer
slow suicide ...
shuffled
from one front to another,
their
enemy's changed face
but
remains hostile as ever;
some
cyborgs, some sitting
in
posh clubs drowning memories, some
hobbling
on crutches, missing limbs,
lamenting
prizes lost to civilian lovers:
each
must shelve the medals
and
face the foes ...
Die
Trummer
("The
Ruins")
all
around the world we swirl with
starving
skeletons in floods and famines,
and
few quick a hand to lend;
eloquent
entrepreneurs slaughter
rain
forests to raise beef for burgers
and
puppy chow; one by one
humble
peasants vanish,
along
with species,
wraiths
fading into woods
only
to reappear in camouflage
or
disappearing into city streets,
turning
up some days later the latest
victims
of goon squads or a more
"civilized"
fate, hunger; in safe,
"developed"
nations --
jungles
of twisted steel, glass,
concrete,
hollow tunnels,
war
zones -- the superstructures of dying
organisms,
dangerous and deadly, almost
collapse
under the weight of perversion ...
even
sunny Main Street
hometown
neighborhoods are battlefields
where
crack-crazed adolescents patrol and
refugees
of border wars can be
any
john or jane -- foreign
names
aren't the only ones
carved
in stone today ...
Der
Krieg
("War")
what're
the important people doing
on
capital hill? in
paris?
geneva? walden?
what
can they do?
blessed
are those who strive
for
peace -- strive and keep on striving --
scream
and yell and shout, pound their
fists
violently against
expansion,
greed, avarice,
pride,
racism, ethnocentricity,
ignorance,
misunderstanding --
no
one rightfully claims superiority;
there's
no pure strain,
no
soul fit to govern all,
certainly
not sheeted k-men or panthers,
skinheads
or commies,
khmer
rouge or vietcong,
neo-nazis,
zionists, guerillas,
insurgents,
terrorists,
revolutionaries,
or reactionaries ...
there
are no lines drawn
today,
for all the world's a front,
and
we are the warriors;
each
day earth turns
and
morning heralds the perpetual
battle:
in the fight to stay alive
each
man, woman, and child
has
a war of decisions to wage --
to
arm oneself with
the
weapons of love or
grasp
the sword of hate --
it
starts with an attitude
and
ends when soon or late
each
comes face to face with fate:
long
before the band
on
a finger loses its luster or the
architect's
masterpiece crumbles, long
before
the comet streaks across the sky
three
times, long before all aspirations
of
attaining the achievement possible
through
a human life are realized,
dust
returns whence it came
and
spirit rises -- another spark
extinguished,
a shooting star
careening,
a point of light snuffed,
a
domino fallen -- to greet the Judge
whose
sentences are final.
for
now
dust
rises,
flowers
bloom,
worms
crawl,
and
skulls grin,
lying
face up
staring
at clouds
floating
over,
formless
shapes
changing shape ...
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