The sun is a splintered arrow

Lead heavy

Piercing the outmost parts

Eclipsed by wayward dark

And I relent

As my bone scraped frame

Wearies

That this slyly pusillanimous town

Desires to eat me up

For hate pants in want of company

And I say

Leave me be

You prison of flesh and dreams

I’ve rung the toll bell’s toothache heart

That I might bond outward

Where I belong

Far from the miserly lot

And closer to an umbrella of refuge

Spirited to shield my collapsed autistic brain matter stew

Off the headstone parish

And into oblivion’s sinkhole hope

It's a strange impression

Persistence of Memory

makes...

a theme so grande

one would think

it should be

painted across

the ceiling

walls and

floors

even,

but actually

it's very small

not tiny,

just enough

to humor

the cynicism

of the title.

11.15.2024

Pencils don't bend challenge @Last

When words can’t fill the captions

On the screen, I scream to the Heavens

That I’d like to flee.

If this is all that life has for me,

Then could you please be so kind as to

Alleviate the burdens of walking

This world for me.

I see the grass is green in my neighbor’s yard, not knowing what gruesome scenes

They had to partake in;

Look for God to intervene.

Intrinsic motivation doesn’t exist

When you’re pumping out work seemingly

For no rewards and all risks.

This struggle is ongoing,

Rain seems to pour forever like the

H.A.A.R.P. machine malfunctioned

And by accident made Helene then doubled

Back as a new identity, and many

Can’t flee the scene.

I’m sorry, I’m all out of prayers.

The words aren’t connecting to the clouds

When it’s pouring down.

I’m drowning out to sea,

Would swim to shore but I never learned to

Swim amongst the sharks in boiling waters. Remembering all the things I want to be.

So the more I dream, the more reality

Becomes a nightmare for the American

With no need for a wrestling ring.

I polished this old rusty crown they

Handed me and broke it with a hammer

Because I’ve been branded something

I can’t live up to being.

I find it funny that there is a trope representing autistic folk as loners because I am anything but that. I am however, pretty nerdy. I have good scores on tests, but I don't really care about school. I would much rather go learn on my own and I'm getting really tired of math. My special interest is folklore. I could drown you in the cultural significance of a wall, any wall. I could rant to you for ages about the irreversible catastrophe that is colonization (I'm white as fuck by the way). The Aztecs are fascinating and I so want to understand their knot work. A fully knotted laguage as well as numbers, written language, sign language, dialects and so much more. I could asphyxiate from excitement right here and now if literally anyone could teach me anything there is to know.

Sadly, that is not possible and school is a living nightmare; the noise, the confusion of people actually wanting to talk to me and be my friend, the figuring out of teachers and vending machines, the constant misgendering. I have had enough. But everyday, I wake up looking forward to school because I get to see the tisms (autism friends). They have special interests and such a love for life, I can't explain it.

Each of us struggle so much. Yet despite it all, manage to get through a day, play some pokemon, learn a song, do some art, watch my little pony and be queer. It's an accomplishment. One for which we support each other. We each know how hard it is for the other. We know why they suddenly switch to ASL instead of English or why my best friend always brings a teddy bear to school. It is because getting through each day with a genuine smile on your face is an accomplishment, one of the best accomplishments. So, you can call me a weirdo. I know why. I know it's strange to bring a model dragon to school and sneak an extra writing notebook into class instead of drugs but its something that brings me joy and that is way too fucking hard to find.

to become affianced to the grim reaper,

who never promised me a rose garden

nor crystal clear pool of fragrant delight

to accompany last living breath

before succumbing into the Soundgarden

of a black hole sun

re: the void of nothingness

with absolute zero remembrance of things past.

Suicidal ideation in tandem

with purposelessness

(nihilistic existentialism exponentially

increasing since my halflife ago),

and most importantly

cursed with flat limp hair,

which serious crisis undermines reason

to write reasonable poetic expression

spurs the notion to traverse consciousness,

and painlessly segway

into the hereafter

(and maybe reincarnated into a heifer)

on a broken wing and a prayer.

No glorious notion of heaven

(nor belief in some omnipotent supreme creator,

who will be instrumental

uniting those meeting their demise)

with dead souls doth explain

zealousness toward what happens to human body

very soon after they – give up the ghost

(second person singular) and die,

yet intimation fostered

linkedin to dulling senses of mine,

that allow, enable,

and provide means to see or hear,

cuz already at threescore and five

revolutions clocked around the sun

post January thirteenth

two thousand and twenty four

increased insightfulness brings to mind,

a quickening uptick courtesy senescence

whereby aural and visual deterioration occur

at what appear faster clip

than when I happened to be younger

within the lovely bones of this sensate being,

who finds himself sensitive to loud sounds

discovered audiological test administered

hearing loss at extreme high and low ranges

similarly recognizing even the largest sized letters

on the Snellen eye chart

fraught with greater difficulty

particularly without wearing corrective eyewear.

After querying Google concerning a medical term for hearing loss of high and low frequencies, the closest response came back as follows.

While there isn't a single, universally accepted term for hearing loss affecting both high and low frequencies, it would typically be described as a "mixed frequency hearing loss" or "broadband hearing loss" on an audiogram, indicating significant hearing loss across a wide range of frequencies, including both high and low tones.

Before acquiescing to the afterlife,

I bolster maximum body, mind and spirit triage

aware declining senescence

affects physical, mental and spiritual well being

what fluke roll of the genetic dice throw

wrought yours truly (me),

whose latent potential

hijacked (to Cuba) thyself,

an anomaly sexagenarian

forever stunted socially courtesy

courting The Pale Horseman

when just a lad

of approximately a dozen years

of longevity since being born

thirteen days into

the first month of nineteen fifty nine,

when according

to most Western cultural interpretations,

being born on January 13, 1959,

would not be considered

particularly auspicious or unlucky;

it's simply a regular birthdate

with no inherent positive

or negative connotations

associated with it in mainstream beliefs.

Perhaps, cuz I (the male offspring

from both deceased parents,

especially my father –

the renown Chemist B.B. Harris,

and to a slightly lesser extent

the late culinary cuisine queen

Harmit Harms Kuritsky -

the gal whose troth he pledged

while holding some

bubbling sinister looking flask in hand

on their first guinea pig type date

encouraged incurred genetic yen

that burned from without the buns of this son)

possesses a pyromaniacal streak,

no surprise cremation would be my choice

of post life treatment videlicet

mine grateful dead as a doornail

cadaver formerly yours truly.

Believe it or not, a dead doornail is actually a thing. It's a medieval carpentry term for a nail that's been “clinched” — hammered into a door with any protruding part hammered flat. It wasn't going anywhere, making the doornail “dead” and unfit for future use.

“I have wondered if thee will marry,” his father said.

Elnathan looked up from his rabbit stew.

“It is a part of life,” Samuel Holm said, and he ate another bite.

They had built this house together. They had mortared the stones for the foundation, hewn the floor joists, notched the logs they stacked and chinked with rocks and straw and clay. They shared one bed. Through all of it, they had never spoken of marriage, love, or any future beyond tasks to perform. They had left their first farm five years ago, and in that time, Elnathan had heard six directives from his father for every word of conversation.

He studied the older man in the fading dusk, debating whether his father meant to test him. “The Friend says men should live in the Spirit, not in the flesh,” Elnathan said.

Samuel Holm lifted his bowl to his lips. Elnathan noticed his father’s hands trembling again, as they had since his illness the preceding year; Samuel Holm had spent less time carving or whittling since. He wiped his arm across his graying beard to erase the tell-tale drops of broth. He folded his hands on the table and watched them, as though guarding their stillness. “Thee is nineteen. If thee did not shave it, thy beard would be full by this time.”

“Men shave their beards. Thee is the only man I see to wear one.”

“Thee would think of little else beside marriage, if thee lived in any other place,” Samuel Holm continued. He lifted his eyes. “There are things important to a young man.”

Elnathan laughed. “Thee think me a young boy indeed, if thee think to explain such things.”

Samuel Holm returned his eyes to his hands. One of their cows lowed nearby.

“Thee was not so old when my mother left time,” Elnathan said, “and thee never thought to remarry.”

“That I did not discuss the matter with my son does not mean I did not of think it.”

Elnathan watched his father, awaiting further words, some sign. Samuel Holm sat quietly with hands folded on the table he had made.

though he played only a cameo role

helping me secure corrective eyewear I sport

mucho gratitude to all parties involved

including the missus,

cuz she needed to shuttle me

to and from hither and yon,

wherever I needed to go,

cuz entire bill paid

(including thorough examinations and lenses -

the frames repurposed

from one used many moons ago)

courtesy AETNA Medicare Advantra

in tandem with superb

ocular optometrist Doctor Paul Halpern,

that would be an unpaid for plug

touting outstanding kickass knowhow

insync with his offbeat good humor

without making a spectacle of himself.

Many insightful revolutionary breakthroughs

linkedin to gamut of intelligent people,

whose exhaustive mental,

physical and spiritual efforts

witnessed visually impaired

(shortsightedness affected wordsmith

since he entered second grade

at Eagleville Elementary School

circa approximately mid nineteen sixties)

and anticipated him being called

mildly derogatory name four eyes,

thus withheld donning glasses

at the expense of lackluster marks

for that half year, cuz parents moved

to 324 Level Road

initially R(oute) D(elivery)

until Donald Neilson

(if memory serves me

more correctly than spelling

of his surname, and "The Idler Wheel

Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw

and Whipping Cords Will Serve You

More Than Ropes Will Ever Do" by Fiona Apple),

and yesterday November 12th, 2024

happily, proudly, and zealously wears glasses

to see the webbed wide world crystal clear.

Post cataract surgery,

about couple months

after consultation at Kremer Eye Center

and finally came to figurative juncture

whereat (drum roll please...)

prescription adjusted eyeglasses

now sit squarely on my button nose -

as long as I hold them there with a finger

until cosmetic surgeon affixes a bump

on the bridge of said nose

analogous to the song titled

I can see clearly now the rain is gone

I can see all obstacles in my way

(courtesy Johnny Nash,

who raked in quite a bit of cash)

to drive our 2020 Hyundai Elantra

after dark shadows slink and slither

along the edge of night

encompassing an ever widening berth,

where the outer limits

meld with swathes of the twilight zone.

Despite being a nineteen year old bride

she wed Boyce Brandon Harris

half a decade her senior,

(where I ranked less than a twinkle in their eyes)

during the month of June 1955,

not quite half a century later ~ May 4th, 2005

death severed the pledge she did troth

linkedin wifely role,

cuz against her will she died

at most four weeks to be more exact

golden wedding anniversary never witnessed

raging against accursed grim reaper

countenance succumbed into collective sorrow

life force forever absent snatched away,

yet magically transformed

into the breathing edenic idyll

courtesy green thumb of eldest sister of mine

once livingsocial mother of ours

invoking trademark contagious l'chaim

flickering aura, charisma, instant karma

persona could not hide mommy dearest

physically eclipsed after

rigor mortis displayed deathly pallor

bonafide grateful dead

signed, sealed and delivered

human cargo into crematorium.

Born November 13th,1935,

the presence of long since deceased mother

her absence acutely recounted on said date,

no matter familial relationship between us,

who begat yours truly (me)

fraught with antipathy,

especially when writer of these words

felt he long overstayed his welcome

as I racked up living with parents

while being a long haired

pencil neck baby boomer geek

experiencing dating women for the first time

courtesy thursday night contra dance.

Books ravenously digested

and female protagonists he brood

as an illusory substitute for this dude

whose retreat into his bedroom

kindled like tinder unidirectional family feud

and donned Samson guise as a protective hood,

whereby Beatle browed,

foo fighting literate philosophical thinker

envied groovy hippies of the late nineteen sixties

riffing lyrics of fab four

fabled melody of Hey Jude,

where testosterone laden fantasies

triggered whet dreams housed lewd

seminal urges pestering spouse,

who offtimes rarely in the mood

for a quickie with the dickie.

Mein kampf as a thirty plus year old groom

test teasing prophylactics embarrassing

purchase never made at local drugstore

unsurprisingly, obviously, invariably...

birth control taboo subject, best to ignore

subsequently intercourse awkwardly coordinated,

consummated, completed extempore

synonymous with phallic fulfillment

gonadal hormonal secretion

on par with the mythic sheet with a hole

through which prude and archaic

as modus operandi methodology

maternal grandparents supposedly copulated,

hence bun in the oven between self

and future missus Matthew Harris

wrought premarital sex bon jure.

I trot out essential tidbits of poem

acknowledging birthday of dear ole mom,

who succumbed to deadly terminal illness,

she lost lease on life, and met her demise

sooner than indomitable will clamored to live

approximately nineteen and a half years ago

from May 2024, who frequently asked me,

but never received acknowledgement

during her livingsocial years did abjure

(as the sole son)

communicating HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Impossible aery mission

to pinpoint when advent of zygote

triggering miraculous bitta bing bitta bang,

whence deoxyribonucleic acid wrote

legacy of mortal maternal demise

only a hunch backed up

that mystery to unleash

feral fiendish fornication once smote

yielded unicellular spore

while in utero ~ early/mid

February I ain't exactly sure

nineteen hundred thirty five - dirt poor

Harriet Harris, fourth, last born

(interesting enough shared same birthdate

with eldest sister twelve years her senior)

fetched vicinity Coney Island offshore

by stork, became favorite progeny begat

courtesy Morris, and then swore

celibacy forever more

Rebeckah Kuritsky heretofore

harbored inchoate genetic fore

boded, encoded, inscribed

deadly mutations housed,

fetched, dispatched and bore

flawed BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes sketched

affecting circumscribing her allotted mortality

orbitz equaling about six months shy

of three and a half score

unknowingly, unsuspectingly, unwittingly,

her biologic fatal demise indelibly etched.

Breast cancer first brush

sounded death knell

Harriet clocked approximately

six months shy of being a septuagenarian

orbitz around the sun,

she underwent grueling radiation

plus chemotherapy

carcinoma eradicated allowed,

enabled, provided breathing spell

reprieve accentuated, galvanized, punctuated...

newfound zealous zest almost

nothing could quell

significance pray tell

new lease on life to sell

lib berate cherish, relish, whish

each precious moment

thwarting pell mell

adversity with bon vivant elan

and gusto to issue rebel yell

kickstarting, making breast

livingsocial aye bell,

especially after despite... er... well

her double mastectomy,

she looked fabulously swell

courtesy silicon implants

slight downside reconstituted

racked busty bosom

susceptible to ooze gel.

Many years post remission telltale

diagnosis, viz ovarian,

despite requisite hysterectomy

emotionally did impale,

she instinctually, intuitively,

invariably, yet quiver and quail

against impending demise 24/7 did assail

guardian angel(s) of no avail,

nor did yours truly proffer nurturance

resentment smoldering within this male

red hot poker anger lambasting me

peppered with ultimatums to vamoose,

never got resolved ensuing estrangement

deterred reaching out to embrace,

hearing raspy fading breaths exhale,

miserably tethered with tubes

when she did severely pine ail

and grievously bewail

corporeal essence ashen pale

awkwardly, helplessly, stupidly... I stood

formidable grim reaper foe whisked mother

to Elysian fielded dale.

It's the weight of words left unspoken,

the ache of reaching across miles that swallow sound.

Every night, I send pieces of myself

quiet confessions, invisible threads

hoping they find you whole.

But distance is a thief,

a silent cut I can't name,

and though I hold you close in the hollow of my chest,

I'm haunted by how far love can stretch

before it breaks.