the entirity of your life

have you ever cocooned so deeply
that you no longer notice the weight of the laptop
or that the room has gone dark all around you?

have you ever postponed going to bathroom
until you are hungry or need to plug in your phone
so as not to waste the effort of the cold walk to the next room?

has pain and discomfort slowed time to the point
that you regret each day you have to bear, each meal you're forced to
feed the body that is perpetually betraying you?

have you ever thought you were depressed only to discover
that your life is simply depressing right now and the only peace
you find is in giving up, surrendering to the dark inevitable?

have you ever surmised the entirity of your life
by looking at the wrappers, bloody gauze, drooping flowers, unfinished books, half empty ginger ale bottles, tea cups loaded with a used yogurt spoon and tissues, pill bottles and the water glass you keep refilling
that comprise your complete lack of activity in the past week?

hot tea

i always burn my lips on boiling hot tea
it's my ritual
i know it's not steeped properly
i know it's too hot
but it's worth it

the fleeting moment of perfect tea haunts me
it's the wet chase
i need to taste that blissful sip
i sacrifice
but it's worth it

any fool can negligently gulp down cold tea
mindlessly partaking
likewise, any fool could write this poem
and yet, i needed to talk about tea today
today, however, i'm drinking coffee

This Year's Valentine

by Philip Appleman

They could
pump frenzy into air ducts
and rage into reservoirs,
dynamite dams
and drown cities,
cry fire in theaters
as the victims are burning,
but
I will find my way through blackened streets
and kneel down at your side.

They could
jump the median, head-on,
and obliterate the future,
fit .45's to the hands of kids
and skate them off to school,
flip live butts into tinderbox forests
and hellfire half the heavens,
but
in the rubble of smoking cottages
I will hold you in my arms.

They could
send kidnappers to kindergartens
and pedophiles to playgrounds,
wrap themselves in Old Glory
and gut the Bill of Rights,
pound the door with holy screed
and put an end to reason,
but
I will cut through their curtains of cunning
and find you somewhere in the moonlight.



Whatever they do with their anthrax or chainsaws,
however they strip-search or brainwash or blackmail,
they cannot prevent me from sending you robins,
all of them singing: I'll be there.

where is health?

if my health is entangled in my soul
and the interminable list of extraordinary ailments
perpetually expands
what does this tell of my soul?

am i enduring the trials of job
not according to my sin
or under the unjust scrutiny of god
but, a reprehensible test of faith?

or is this the work of empathy
that great tug of war betwixt the bleeding hearts
and my own anxious circle of life
which manifests as pestering illness?

could it be that a life of self-neglect
lobotomized from any real body presence
has finally caught up with me
and demands to be heard through painful means?

wherefore is my body riddled with
vertigo, migraines, uterine charlie horses, tendinitis, arthritis,
tmj, inflammation, fatigue, insomnia, palpitations, deviated septum,
thyroid nodules, autoimmune malfunction and pain, so much pain?

do i really want to know the state of my soul?
are these afflictions the abject denial of my soul's true state?
do i have a soul?
where is health?

if you wonder where i am

if you wonder where i am
ask the postman
he'll tell you my mail has piled up
packed and bursting into my sad copper bin
sitting in a row with all the other apartment boxes
210, 405, 108, that one's mine
"not sure where she's got off to," he'd say
"by the looks of this, she sure ain't here."
stuff, stuff, cram and shut.

if you haven't found me yet
ask the grocer
he runs the little market
next to the taco joint and the dry cleaner
he's seen me walk in with cloth bags
and walk out with wine, carrots and goat cheese.
"oh the red head with the taste for cheap red wine," he'd say,
all sure and unconcerned.
"haven't seen her in weeks."
brrrring, brrrring goes the door and the register.

if i'm still wandering about
ask the holy father
no doubt, he keeps tabs on me
he squelches my silly whims
he unveils my secrets and shouts them to the world
no dignity, nowhere to hide
"not for that sad little girl," he says.
"i'll tell you where she is, but first
love me as i love you."
for there is always a condition.

what are those faces

stay in the hall, baby
no, don't you come in here
you hear me, baby girl, i mean it
shh, it's ok
just wait for mommy
i'll be right back
oh god, oh please god no
wake up, goddammit, you hear me
wake the fuck up
don't you leave me, not like this
nothing's the matter, baby
oh god
just stay in the hall like a good girl
that's right, daddy is just sleeping
hello, i have an emergency
my husband is unconscious in our living room
there's blood everywhere and, i...i
i think it's coming from his head
please send an ambulance quickly
don't tell me to calm down, i am calm
i'm sitting in a pool of blood, his blood
the fucking love of my life
so shut the hell up and get here
soon, what the hell is soon, please
no, i can't feel a pulse and he's um, i don't think he's breathing
should i start cpr, oh god, what the hell happened
who did this
what the fuck is happening
yes, i'm still here
i have a towel in the bathroom
ok, i'll put pressure on it just wait, jesus
i can't breathe
ok, ok i'm pressing it on his head where it's bleeding
i don't hear the sirens, where the hell are they
oh, don't cry sweetheart
daddy is going to be ok
the policemen and ambulance are coming to take daddy to the hospital
they can make him better there
i know, honey, i want to hug you too, but i have to be with daddy now
just listen to my voice, honey
we're going to be ok
sing for you, ok baby what should we sing
ariel, of course, help me start it sweetheart
look at this stuff isn't it neat
wouldn't you think my collections complete
wouldn't you think i'm the girl
the girl who has, oh god
it's the sirens, do you hear the sirens baby
oh thank god, oh please god hurry
he has a head wound
there's blood everywhere
i don't know how long, at least 10 minutes
is he going to be ok
come here baby
shhh, just rest your head
i know you're tired, just sleep on mommy
i'm going with you in the ambulance
please put my daughter up front with you
no there's no one, i need her with me
i'm not going anywhere baby, you're staying with me no matter what
sirens
beeps
traffic
creaks
mumbles
the dull piercing drone of a flatline
screaming
do something
cops at the er
my baby girl in my arms
my love in a mess of tubes and blood covered with fumbling emts
don't try to handle me
you don't get to ask me a damn thing until i know my husband is alright
what do you mean i can't go with him
don't ma'am me, that is my heart and soul you are taking with you
they're taking daddy to a special room where the doctors can make him better
i don't know, baby, i don't know
pacing
crying
holding
pleading
the coffee they gave me goes cold, untouched
her head is heavy in my lap, asleep
three of them come out
what are those faces, what do their faces mean
i'm sorry, mrs...
white
black
red
a nurse takes my baby
my knees give way with a snap
the grey sterile carpet tastes like snot, tears and detergent
i need to see him
now, take me to see him
i don't care
i walk into my own death
i've orphaned my daughter
how can i tell her, we were one flesh
grafted into one vine
what will be left of me for her
she will never know me as a living creature
the night is over

Cave des Oubliette, scene 2.

That tight, hollow ache in her chest starting filling with strenuous palpitations. She noticed her fists were clenched. As she loosened her grip and stroked her hot clammy palms, she gave herself a little pep talk.

"You can do this, Cybol," she thought. "You were made for this moment. Don't blow it. Be yourself."

The voice of her mother and father, berating and encouraging.

She fell back into the booth, slinking into the cover of the unlighted boundary. Mindlessly, she raised her hand to her face and cupped her lower jaw, delicately dabbing her cheek. This unconscious habit always followed the sudden anxious flutter that flushed her cheeks and sent a hot chill down her arms.

He hadn't spoken again. How long had they been silent? She turned her faced to the entrance, still cradling her cheek and could just make out the corner of a window to confirm that it was still morning.

He hadn't moved. He watched her shift and relaxed at her subtle self-conscious movements. He knew women. He smiled as her pale, slender fingers passed through the amber light and reach toward her face. When she turned her head, her hair, clumsily pulled into a loose twist flashed from behind the darkness, a crimson, copper red. His dream flooded back into his memory and filled him up.

That red hair. It was loose and fell down her back. Her skin wasn't pale, but iridescent; not reflecting the light, but somehow, emanating it. Though at first her visits were ethereal and filled his mind with a voice that carried wisdom and inspiration, it wasn't long before they became sexual. It didn't take long for anything to become sexual in his life. Women were always drawn to his inner fury, an insatiable, incendiary passion that inevitably destroyed every moth to the flame.

He sat, silent, regretting his last confession. He didn't want to tell her. He watched her sip on her scotch again. He waited for her to speak.

"I hadn't thought of that. It didn't occur to me that you would be told of me as well. Do you know my name?"

"No."

He folded deeper into the memory of those vivid dreams. Had he heard a name? Sigh. He heard himself call out, "Sigh."

Her long fingers coiled around the highball glass and her left forearm stretched over the sticky brown table. With the instinct of a familiar lover, he let his right hand fall over hers, the thick expanse of it covering it completely.

"Sigh?"

She leaned forward. He followed suit. He watched her green eyes flash fiercely with betrayal.

"Only my mother calls me that, Cy. My name is Cybol. And, you're Vincent."