SHALOM
NO SHALAM NO SHALOM
Sunlight so pristine turning tops of trees into burnished
gold in late autumn breeze Leaves scattered on shitty
sidewalks (guess you thought poet going soft-filter maudlin
well guess again) Come back long suffering reader Dive into
this bardo where words slice you open +words glue you back
together Where hope is a relative term And no I did not buy
the mug that said: Fuck Death! ($15 @ Red Pegasus)
So many distractions for the living: sugar sex methamphetamine
tequila For those of you over that bad trip back in 76 when you guzzled
the cheapstuff +in an agaved frenzy slept with 10 engineers consensually
3 of them women 2 satyrs +5 run of the mill guys:
can I see you again? No
can I get yer number? No
can I stay over? No
can I get a reach-around? No
can I get a raincheck? Sure
But I digress George Saunders Lincoln in The Bardo writes of the dead
with such uncanny knowing he must be or is soon to be He tells of near
ghosts waiting by their sick-boxes Apparently there is a period or bardo-
state when one might return home Willie Lincoln 10yrs. old waits for his
father who comes nightly (historically true) +lifts the boy out of his box!
The nearby dead are filled with shock +envy so deep they begin to gather
+self-flagellate in wormy shame For not one has been touched after that day
(Oh they’d touch you alright. They’d wrangle you into your sick-box. Dress
you how they wanted you. Stitch and paint you as necessary. But never touch
you again. Lincoln in The Bardo George Saunders)
Why is this so rare an act? Biological imperative? Bacteria? Disease? Or some
other reason In Judaism they want you in the land of the living prohibited to
even visit the new grave for 30 days By then you’re back at the mill But certainly
if death by quadruple by-pass no germs remain? Heartworms? Angina droplets
inhaled? Root word of Angina is: RAGE Yes RAGE at the separation
Why not ignore the exhortation? Return that night +lift your father out Talk +
laugh until early birds catch the fucking worms RETURN! RETURN! Re-write
the arcane rituals +the concept of eternity will be ripped open by bored hellhounds
And you +your dearly departed will alchemically worm your way back into each
other’s psyches Only Believe
__
Uneraseable because already erased
Everything finally of course is metaphysical
Frank Bidart Metaphysical Dog Poems 2013
Fall 2017
