An Ode to Benadryl

An Ode to Benadryl
or
The Pursuit of a Minor Death of Consciousness



A serotonin dearth will drive
Me stumbling off to raid a hive
Of plastic placed above the sink.
Its swarm is silent, still and pink.

The dissolution of the dose
Prescribed could leave me comatose.
I’ll halve the ration prudently
To clinch my round trip ticketry.

The subway token vial yawns
Above my palm. A new night dawns
As to my hand, the beauties fall.
I pinch just one, but cherish all.

Beloved diphenhydramine!
You tiny, legal, potent bean!
Lethean drops solidified,
Safe opiates, freshly descried.

A slip of matter, barely sensed
Between my thumb and finger, tensed.
Though dryly dropped, it plumbs my throat.
I board the bus, embark the boat.

The pill is popped, the plea is prayed.
I’m biding now to be conveyed
To where one third of life is meant
To be in unawareness spent.

In faith, I sprawl out, prone again
As drowsing syrup dribbles in.
The thickened ooze coats my inside.
Thus slowly, starts the carpet ride.

With faculties in dull retreat
My smile is stupid and replete.
I hum a selfish lullaby.
The monkeys chatter as we fly.

An undulating, gentle sway
Grows stronger as my musings fray.
The thousand summoned servants lift
My litter high…I cross the rift.

July 7th, 2007

The Old Woman

Beyond the gleaming gravestones in her mouth
A pit of inner darkness yawns with lust--
A flock of scheming specters hitch the wind
From the abyss on ev’ry verbal gust

Her exhalation drifts, a toxic mist
And, drawn into my lungs, is rank with rot--
She tells me from plain-speaking glass to turn
When ill is found and not the good I sought

Bright promises like coins slip from her palm
Though just beyond, her coffers belch with ash--
Her charities, when knocked, echo aloud--
Her grins afford a chance for teeth to gnash

The lies she whispers trickle off her tongue
Accusing constantly my ev’ry hope--
She hovers near, examining my hands
Which, underneath her watch, ineptly grope

Oh God, please squelch this looming chaperone
Unpeg the framework of the narcissist
Arrest her domination of my soul

Without her though, I may fail to exist…



December 2009



Romans 7:14-25

Carrying Coffins

Carrying Coffins

For a mere moment, with flesh we’re endowed--
Well-layered we amble to our demise
Carrying coffins among all the crowd--

Pretense presents itself, sure in its shroud--
Death will undo any devised disguise--
Limits there are on the flesh He endowed--

Permanent occupancy’s not allowed--
Matters unmingle as all water dries--
A legion of coffins will lodge the crowd--

No person packed in a casket is proud--
Just as all they are “they”s, all “they”s are “I”s--
For now, with flesh, they and I are endowed--

None are excepted though they keen aloud--
Each body bestowed is thus one that dies--
Clutch at that coffin for thick is the crowd--

Though egos proud, proclamations avowed-
Our own endurance, each grave dug defies--
Reflect intently while flesh is endowed--
Carry your coffin-you’re one of the crowd--
May, 2008




This uplifting tatter is a villanelle written during my "villanelle kick" a year and a half ago.

The One Organic Eye

The other was out long ago-
A cancerous peace offering

It’s dummy has a blue iris
As close a shade as could be found

With that first forfeiture
He waived some periphery
And the third dimension

So much--yet there was no truce

His ravager- unsated at the first feast-
Had dispatched scouts

As elusive as urban rats
They scavenged and found familiar meat
Just across the bridge

Both windows will be glass
Though not to let in light

Now, this second abdication-
Which will cost him
Every sunset and cosmic constellation-
He offers up in an outpatient facility
Where vasa deferens are severed
And resolute moles uprooted

His lone witness
Will be pried out with a pop
And dropped into a bin of waste
Like a cookie crawling with ants
As he agonizes

Let the rogue cells glut themselves
In this bid to keep my brain unrazed



A young boy just lost his second eye to cancer in an attempt to save his life. He chose life over vision which sounds like an obvious choice, but horrifically difficult nonetheless. I hope my poem here upholds the boy's dignity. I tried...

Odd Fruit

Heavy in the hand-
the leathery half-bulb
holds a hundred rubies
in paper chambers--
The intimacy
of the gems’ masonry
could confound the Incas

Young wine suspended
on almost acrid cores
bloodies the hands of
all who rend fine flesh
to glean the fairy hearts

The pluckings of rapt
Persephone slipped
past her teeth and tongue

She licked her blotchy
fingers, pondering
the odd piquancy of
Hades’ entrapment


November, 2009


Yes, yes, just what the world needed, another poem about a pomegranate.