--YOU GOTTA LOVE LIKE THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A BROKEN HEART

…Hey Friday, you sure got here in a hurry.

…Over the week, I kept getting offers to better my life.  The only thing is I don’t think the senders know much about my life.

Here are some actual emails (headers) that came my way:

BECOME PREGNANT WITH OUR SPECIAL CHINESE FORMULA!

BUILD AWESOME FURNITURE YOURSELF!

LEARN THE PIANO IN JUST MINUTES A DAY!

TEACHING YOURSELF THE GUITAR IS AS EASY AS FLOSSING YOUR TEETH!

REGROW YOUR HAIR IN JUST 60 DAYS!

BUILD THE ULTIMATE CHICKEN COOP!

BUILD YOUR OWN MODEL TRAIN SET!

BECOME A SEDUCTION SPECIALIST!  GET WOMEN TO WANT YOU IN THE WINK OF AN EYE!!!

WANT THAT TATTOO GONE?  NO PROBLEM!

LEARN HOW TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR CAT!

THINK YOU’RE FAT?  YOU MIGHT JUST BE BLOATED!  TRY OUR SPECIAL BELLY-FLATTENING REMEDY TODAY!

DISCOVER THE SECRET “CAMP FIRE” EFFECT THAT DRAWS MEN TO YOU!

..Lastly, this was one of the more bizarre news stories I’ve read.  Seems kind of amazing.  Have a wonderful weekend:

        ...A police officer driving near the waterfront in Corpus Christi, Tex., Wednesday afternoon was waved down and given an unusual tip: an ATM was dispensing handwritten notes scribbled with an existential appeal — “please help.”

 It had to be a joke, the responding officers believed. A Bank of America ATM pitting emergency notes with cash and receipts sounded like an absurdly constructed plot of a gotcha live television show. Then the machine starting talking.

“Sure enough, we can hear a little voice coming from the machine,” Corpus Christi police officer Richard Olden said.

The officer kicked down the door to reveal the author of the notes. A man, hidden behind the machine, was locked in the service room that housed the ATM. He began scribbling notes to the outside world in an analog version of The Wizard of Oz bellowing from behind a curtain.

The man was there to repair a door lock, which got the better of him, Corpus Christi police spokesman Lt. Chris Hooper told The Washington Post. The contractor, whose name and company were not released, had left his phone and a device needed to open the door from the inside.

The repairman wrote “several” pleas for help to people using the drive-through ATM, but it’s unknown how many notes were passed on to citizens. One note collected by a local news station read: “Please help. I’m stuck in here, and I don’t have my phone. Please call my boss,” with the number written below.

Police freed the man, but since there was no crime committed, details and records are slim, Hooper said. Officers on the scene said they believed the man was trapped for two hours.

 

 

--WHAT?  WHAT?

 

…This poem was published yesterday:

https://inbetweenhangovers.wordpress.com/2017/07/11/shrink-to-fit-by-len-kuntz/

…And I got seven of the pieces below accepted at Nailpolish Stories.  Can you guess which ones?

 

In Stitches

Her breasts lay in the trash somewhere.  He didn’t care.  It was her heart he wanted.  To prove it, he kissed each stitch with tenderness.

 

Skirting the Issue

The scratch marks resembled a polygraph test and she smelled of her lover again.  In bed she yawned, said, “Love you,” nodding off at once.

 

Trophy Wife

He bought her a new chest, new nose, had her skin pulled taut until she was prettier than the last one, fake but easily adored.

 

Play Date

After the divorce, their sex is better than ever.  The bedroom rumbles.  His Ex showers quickly, says, “I’m so glad we’re not in love anymore.” 

 

Off the Wall

She said, “It’s me, not you.  Besides, we were too young.”  The last photograph you burn is a honeymoon shot, bride and groom on fire.

 

With the Band

They call her Penny Lane, take turns.  One throws up on a guitar, another brakes a snare.  She’s meat but she’s also their biggest fan.

Carnival

His dad is The Strong Man, shocking spectators with his might, having bills tossed his way.  At home, he sharpens his knuckles on each kid.

Secret Stories

Tight as a corset, her wedding dress itched, but they recited vows anyway, one of them lying, the other already looking for a way out.

 

The Girls Are Out

Initiation into Gamma Phi meant a van full of frat boys.  Her sorority sisters said they’d each done it.  They opened the door and watched.

 

Sure Shot

The house sits empty now, so he fondles the pistol the way he once did his Ex, the searing bullet hot as her last kiss. 

 

 

 

 

--I WANT TO GIVE YOU MY PHONE NUMBER, BUT YOU ALREADY HAVE IT

 

…I am as flawed as the next person.  Most likely more so.  In fact, have so many flaws, no one would pluck me off the rack at a thrift store even if my price was FREE!

Yet what’s interesting to me as I get older is that the fixation with physical appearance heightens rather than lessens. 

This weekend I was with a few people I hadn’t seen in a while.

A number of them said, “You look really good.”  I know they meant that as a compliment, but later that night I wondered what that really meant.  Like, if I didn’t look good, if I’d put on a few, lost my hair, had gotten into an auto accident where my face got scarred, what would they say then?  And why does it even matter?  Or were they saying, “You look really good,” meaning, “You look really good for someone your age”?  And if that was the case, again, why should it matter?  It’s all subjective anyway.  It’s all comparative.  Is looking really good that important?  Being healthy is, sure.  Maybe if they knew how unhealthy I am they’d take back their compliment.

And I know it was only awkward small talk, but, anyway, it got me thinking, which is something I do far more than I should.

…This weekend I was at a wedding.  It was a beautiful day and took place in a verdant setting on a lawn under a massive pine tree whose trunk was wider than a Volkswagen Beetle parked length-wise.

The couple was young and very much in love.  You could see it in their eyes and faces.  I hadn’t seen another couple that in love in a long time.  It was adorable and inspirational.  I hope they hold onto it.

...I saw some really darling kids.  Some could have been models, others were messy-faced with sticky hands, others couldn’t stop giggling which got me giggling.  I think giggling is one of the cutest things ever.

…I saw scads and scads of hipsters, none over the age of 30.  It’s as if rather than checking I.D. to see if you’re old enough to get in, at the outskirts of the Pearl District in Portland they check I.D. to see if you’re young enough to be allowed in.

These hipsters looked very fresh and clean.  Most had cool hair styles.  90 percent of them had tattoos.  Not a one looked like the depressed Millennial generation I’ve just recently heard about.  Perhaps I got some bad intel.

…I passed a daycare center called Pipster School.  I thought that was pretty darling.  Never heard of a Pipster, but of course that would originate from Portland.

…I saw a lot of homeless people.  Most were talking to themselves animatedly.  Many of them looked quite angry and a tad threatening.

…I saw a building with a colorful heart painted on the door and above it the words LOVE IS HERE along with an arrow painted toward the doorknob.  I wondered if the homeless people knew about this building and what would happen if they walked in.

…There were so many things to see my neck got a little sore from constantly turning and tilting.  It was wonderful.

I hope your weekend was as well.

Thanks so much for being here.  Truly.

 

 

--IF I CAN’T FEEL YOUR PRESENCE, LET ME FEEL THE LACK

  

No One Tells the Truth Anymore

There are roads here that lead to cliffs

and people know things they will never share
even if threatened at gun point.

Someone told me white is no longer a color,

but how about black?
I know what became of Pluto,
stripped of its rank after so many flat-lined years.

I can’t be bothered by any of that.

I’m busy crushing daisies,
counting the creases in my skin,
jailhouse hash marks of the days
I’ve been
without you.

 

Everyone Knows You’re Famous

All my friends are talking about leaving,

yet you’re sitting pretty in a pool of pancake syrup. 
I never understood why you were such a glutton.
Guardian angels hike up their skirts.
Little girls give each other identical war wounds.
Billboards and pool boys have each taken turns with your face
while I wear my broken bone structure
like ragged skeins of wool.

You needn’t worry so much.  People have comebacks all the time

and grace is gotten cheap these days.
Just look at your last man who
hung himself from that tree.
 

 

Nobody Wins

Across state they are shooting at the moon.

I’m never sure who is right and who is wrong
because I tend to crumple when unfairly ambushed.

My Dad’s clan were strong people.

Calluses like mitts.  Eyes that could cut cords of wood.

When I fell in love the first time

my sister said, “I should slap your face.”

All my choices have come with warning labels lately.

There could be a refuge for people who dance hard,
but I’ll never know.

In some countries monkey brain is a delicacy.

Here, we stiff arm cows while
hillbillies shoot down the moon
just to see whose side it’s on.

 

--I HAVE NO INTEREST IN CORNERING THE MARKET ON SADNESS

 

…It’s hard to overstate how relentless and massive the fireworks are on the lake the night of July 4^th.  It’s shock and awe, very much like warfare.  Cannons going off, kites of bright lights shimmering, smoke genies wafting away.  It’s difficult not to appreciate it, but I like fireworks only slightly more than I like guns.  And while my dog is fine with them, I know most animals are terrified by fireworks.  I guess if you want to spend $3,000 blowing things up, that’s your prerogative.  I just don’t get why people buy the type that only makes a terrific booming sound that has me jerking every time.  What’s the point of that?  One house across the lake must have set off over fifty of them.

What was nice was the boat parade where every vessel has a flag and they make the loop waving and cheering.  This year was the most boats I’ve ever seen.

Anyway, Happy belated Independence Day to you.  I hope it was terrific.

…If you live on a lake, you have to get used to spiders.  Usually it’s mid-August where the pesky buggers show up everywhere.  For the last two days a very spry and very fast moving black spider, smaller than an eraser head, has been roaming my desk.  I just tried to catch him, but he must have known and scooted under my screen stand before I had the chance.

…Yesterday, running on The Centennial Trail, I saw lots of snakes, most of them dead.  Today I only saw butterflies.  I think that’s a good sign.  On the way back, there two of the smallest and cutest does standing stock still in the middle of Storm Lake Road, me on one side, another car on the opposite side.  They looked sort of confused, but not scared.  After they trotted off, I noticed one had a blanket of white dots in its fur.  I think that’s also a good sign, or it should be.

…It’s another beautiful day here, payback from three months of historic rainfall earlier in the year.  I hope the sun is shining where you are and that you’re enjoying it.

…Here are a few things I like mid-week….

-“Everything you can imagine is real.” ― Pablo Picasso

-“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ― Gilda Radner

-“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.” ― Isaac Asimov

-“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life.” ― John Lennon

-“People aren’t either wicked or noble. They’re like chef’s salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.” ― Lemony Snicket

-“Too many people spend money they earned..to buy things they don’t want..to impress people that they don’t like.” ― Will Rogers

-“A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.” ― George Bernard Shaw

-“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.” ― Arundhati Roy

--I JUST SHIVER AND SHAKE

 

It’s Not Too Late

It’s not too late

The moon and the clouds and
The bees have told me this
Time and time again
Swirling heady and drunk
Amongst the bright pink buds
And floral mist
Yesterday a baby took its first breath
With heavy-hooded eyes and yet
There was joy all around
It’s a crocked child
But it’s ours
Thank God
Yesterday a couple held
Hands making bold promises
With no thoughts at all of a pre-nup
Believing that love can
Fulfill its promise
Oh and just yesterday a
Zebra barely escaped
The fierce flight of a lion
A heron stood proud
In a pool without knowing it
And a hippopotamus snorted out Nile water
In a raucous plume
Life has an undertow
A way about it
As most things do
Stuffed with complex riddles
Of course
And foibles a plenty
But if I know anything at all
I know that it’s not too late
To find a field of clover
Lay down in it
Tilt my head toward
The shaggy clouds
And wait for you
To arrive

 

--OKAY, BUT WHERE ARE YOU?

 

Frayed and Worn

But here we are

Ten breaths older
Bloated moon in the window
Sky black as onyx
Stars too shy to stare
As we raid the inventories
Of all our old wounds
And you sort through the album
Saying this one
This is the one that did it
Holding up a picture of two
Twenty-four year olds
The frayed and worn photo
Of us on our wedding day
A couple of cubs
Not yet turned into bears
Not having become cannibals

 

Somewhere In Senegal

We are running on broken glass

Past startled zebras and giraffes
Baobab trees shaking from mortar fire
Would-be assassins gaining on us
With their jeeps and armored cars
We only ever wanted clean water to drink
Shoes or shelter were luxuries we couldn’t afford
We have nothing to offer but bones and bodies
And still the marauders advance with weapons firing
As the yellow parrot flies by like a hoax
Saying This way
Go this way
Here

 

Of My Father

The hands of my father could crush things

His stare lit forest fires and raised whole buildings
If he laughed you felt safe the way hunted deer do in the brush
I remember his breath smelling of motor oil and Old Milwaukee
His mouth a trapdoor or chimney
The heavy footfalls that meant emergency and danger
Being flung down a flight of stairs
Slapped on the thighs by black leather belts
In the photo I find of him he is younger than I am now
Holding a long-handled axe across his chest while smiling
When my daughter asks who he is I tell her
It’s nobody I ever knew

 

Paroled

Tonight I am searching for that boy again,

Age nine,
On the edge of everything—
A cliff, a catwalk, a firewall, puberty.
In this old photo he looks like someone with promise,
A would be astronaut or comedian
There is no car wreck yet
No dead girl
Or prison sentence
Simply ripe youth
I tuck the picture into my shirt pocket
Get out of the car
And as I make my way across the lot to be checked in
I tell myself that there’s
Still time for him to save himself
When my son is finally paroled

 

Your Spot On The Mattress

The bed moves on its own volition

Like a slain elephant squirming away from poachers
Sometimes its sheets try to strangle
Pillows want to smother
Coiled springs search for a jugular
But there is no light in here
And the moon outside the window is shy
Or too embarrassed by my foibles
It’s been sixteen nights
A friend has recommended therapy
The neighbors cower and look away
My son says it’s not healthy it’s sick it’s not right
Yet I cling to the sheet anyway
The part with the large crimson stain
Where you once lay
I keep my voice soft and steady
Asking was it me
Tell me please
Was I the reason you did it