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then he’s gone into some doorway,

probably 76.

not a very prepossessing chap.

lost as a human,

long gone down some

numbing road.

but

he’s healthy

he’s healthy.

HE’S HEALTHY!

the nurses

at the hospital that I have been

going to

the nurses seem

overweight.

they are bulky in their

white dresses

fat above the hips

and down

through the buttocks

to the heavy

legs.

they all appear to be

47 years old,

walk wide-legged

like the old fullbacks

of the

1930s.

they seem distanced

from their profession.

they attend to their duties

but with a

lack of

contact.

I pass them in the

walkways

and in the

corridors.

they never look into

my eyes.

I forgive them their

heavy-shoed

walk,

for the space that they

must forge

between themselves and

each patient.

for these ladies are truly

over-fed:

they have seen

too much

death.

cancer

half-past nowhere

alone

in the crumbling

tower of myself

stumbling in this the

darkest

hour

the last gamble has been

lost

as I

reach

for

bone

silence.

first poem back

64 days and nights in that

place, chemotherapy,

antibiotics, blood running into

the catheter.

leukemia.

who, me?

at age 72 I had this foolish thought that

I’d just die peacefully in my sleep

but

the gods want it their way.

I sit at this machine, shattered,

half alive,

still seeking the Muse,

but I am back for the moment only;

while nothing seems the same.

I am not reborn, only

chasing

a few more days, a few more nights,

like

this

one.

tired in the afterdusk

smoking a cigarette and noting a mosquito who has

flattened out against the wall and

died

as organ music from centuries back plays through

my black radio

as downstairs my wife watches a rented video on

the VCR.

this is the space between spaces, this is when the

ever-war relents for just a moment, this is when

you consider the inconsiderate years:

the fight has been wearing…but, at times,

interesting, such as

resting quietly here in the

afterdusk as the sound of the centuries run

through my body…

this

old dog

resting in the shade

peaceful

but ready.

again

now the territory is taken,

the sacrificial lambs have been slain,

as history is scratched again on the sallow walls,

as the bankers scurry to survive,

as the young girls paint their hungry lips,

as the dogs sleep in temporary peace,

as the shadow gets ready to fall,

as the oceans gobble the poisons of man,

as heaven and hell dance in the anteroom,

it’s begin again and go again,

it’s bake the apple,

buy the car,

mow the lawn,

pay the tax,

hang the toilet paper,

clip the nails,

listen to the crickets,

blow up the balloons,

drink the orange juice,

forget the past,

pass the mustard,

pull down the shades,

take the pills,

check the air in the tires,

lace on the gloves,

the bell is ringing,

the pearl is in the oyster,

the rain falls

as the shadow gets ready to fall again.

so now?

the words have come and gone,

I sit ill.

the phone rings, the cats sleep.

Linda vacuums.

I am waiting to live,

waiting to die.

I wish I could ring in some bravery.

it’s a lousy fix

but the tree outside doesn’t know:

I watch it moving with the wind

in the late afternoon sun.

there’s nothing to declare here,

just a waiting.

each faces it alone.

Oh, I was once young,

Oh, I was once unbelievably

young!

blue

blue fish, the blue night, a blue knife—

everything is blue.

and my cats are blue: blue fur, blue claws,

blue whiskers, blue eyes.

my bed lamp shines

blue.

inside, my blue heart pumps blue blood.

my fingernails, my toenails are

blue

and around my bed floats a

blue ghost.

even the taste inside my mouth is

blue.

and I am alone and dying and

blue.

a summation

more wasted days,

gored days,

evaporated days.

more squandered days,

days pissed away,

days slapped around,

mutilated.

the problem is

that the days add up

to a life,