"Human Accident"

A human accident is what they
call it. 9 times out of 10,
a human tragedy. Secular martyrdom:
the 8th leading cause of death in the country.

Shedding skins, suitcase smashed to pulp,
orange blossom fissure;
something to scarlet to stained glass. A way
to move on while hampering
countless strangers and their plans.
Lunch dates unmet due to train tracks
fused together with cartilage,
muscle, leather and bone.

Return

What I felt when I
stepped off that plane
was like a wave of cold water,
splashing sand-encrusted cement.

The first of many.

Booming voice, different colors, S'barros, open spaces, different money, bigger cars fatter hips baggy clothes doordiemeandI

Swarms of the other
enveloped my belly
seasickness of the mind
cold pang of recognition

welcome home.

I've taught

teachers and businessmen and
children and old men and young men
and beautiful young ladies and rotten old cadavers
and young things still looking to crawl back into the womb.

I've taught
engineers and astrophysicists and
biotechnicians and professional runners
and singers and dancers and karaoke professionals
and artists and the artless and college students and the jobless.

I've taught
haughty geniuses and kind souls
part-time snowboarders and full-time drinkers
nervous cases and anorexics and obsessives and those
altogether disconnected with the outside world.

I've taught
the sleepless, the sleepy, and the dead asleep
the people bound for Brazil and Italy and Guam
Mothers and daughters and flower-shop owners
taxmen and saleswomen
deskclerks and flight attendants
housewives and gamblers
scientists and hostesses
winners and losers
kappa and cthulu,
and each one takes a chip, chip, chip.