My Dharma

When you were young we had adventures.

You bit the ocean, and dug at the lake like a surface of glass.

We hiked for miles and found new things.

I remembered the joy the first time I let you run, after only a few days together.

You flew and I giggled.

You were beautiful and free.

At times, I couldn't see you at all, only weeds moving.

The beach, the woods, overgrown fields and reeds, you tore through them all,

like they were nothing.

You were speed and joy.

You came back to me.

A playful spirit even in the house. 

You'd only play with another person, never a dog, never alone.

It's a myth dogs don't think we're weird.

I mean, it has to be, right?

I could see it on your face at times.

But, still, you always came back to me.

Because you were weird too.

You didn't bark and you disdained the noise of those that did.

You peed on too many of our neighbor dogs heads for me to suspect otherwise.

Your long suffering sighs spoke volumes as did your manners.

You nudged a hand, or a bowl just enough to make a clinking sound.

Sometimes a little cough or grunt, if we really didn't notice.

And once, you picked up an empty fiji water bottle and dropped it on my head to wake me.

But, you only barked if you really had something to say. 

A rare surprise visitor or joy these were your only occasions to be marked with sound.

You stole from me. I didn't mind.

Even those nights I woke up cold without blankets, I could only smile.

I caught you red handed once, my covers in your mouth, your sheepish expression.

You hoarded odds and ends like a magpie.

You never chewed, never destroyed, only tucked things away under your bed.

I'll never figure out how you got my debit card.

But, I'm glad it was under your bed along with seven pairs of tweezers.

I never knew what to expect from you.

I was impressed upon waking finding you wearing my exercise bra.  You almost had it on correctly.  

I put it on you properly and let you wear it for a few days just to try it out until we both tired of the attention.

You typically didn't like your own kind. 

You preferred humans, I preferred dogs, together it worked.

You had your moments of tolerance and your outgoing days.

We understood each other that way.

You loved food.  And well...eating poop but let's not mention that.

One of your few flaws.

You lit up when you found some new flavor you liked.

Any new experience required contemplation though.

The question evident on your face, "Did I like that?" 

Car rides were like running, while not having to run.

You backseat drove, grunting noises of disapproval at every long stoplight.

If you drove, we'd drive through every red light.

You were not always the cuddliest. 

A little Aspie yourself, at times you needed space.

But, if you ever heard me cry you were there, always there, nose a few inches from my own to ask me why. 

You came back to me.

In snow, in rain, on sunny days.  You always came back.

Until you couldn't.

You fought it, but I knew, you wouldn't come back this time.

Signs screamed at me, and I walked with a no, no, no, no, no running through my head.

I poured my heart out like I do now. My favorite memories with my face in your fur.

I sang to you a little, one of my weird songs, the one to the tune of Peter Cottontail, I sang sometimes.

Even though it was inappropriate to sing, it was ours.

And I told you how much I loved you and hoped you could feel it.

I stayed with you and watched you eclipse.

At the end, I'll be alone but I made sure you'd never be.

 I hugged you one last time, knowing you couldn't come back to me.

I call for you inside. Sometimes, it's a scream. I fight reality like the tides.

I can't help it.

I miss you.

There's been no friend so tangible and real as you.

No loss as great til now.  I could do them all in my sleep.

They all seem so paltry and merely dust in comparison.

I'd drain their collected life force in exchange for one more day with you, if I could.

But, in this weighted sadness there's also peace.

In a dream state you told me you have friends. 

I've had to try to remember who Ralph Waldo Emerson is as I struggled to wake.

Others I had to look up.

You can't come back to me.

But, I know you are somewhere else because you were always so much more than anyone would ever guess. 

I have to believe, the world is too.

And so I dream of you, in all the places I'd rather you be.

The Tub Pervert

(Based on one of my weird dreams.  Not that I have normal dreams, but this one stuck with me.)

After a life in apartments, it seemed unimaginable that such a large house could be had for so little.  The only caveat was that all of it's eccentric charms were to be accepted sight unseen.  Acceptance meaning they were to remain unchanged.  Seven rooms, for the obscene rental price of $150 a month in an area brimming with job opportunity, who wouldn't sign such a lease?  It seemed a trivial matter that the homes garden tub existed in a room the landlord intended to continue using for personal storage.  One could easily survive a bit of hoarders glory in exchange for a lovely old cottage.

Thus, I charged into this undiscovered country, books and action figures in tow.  Sparse furnishings and troves of empty shelves greeted me upon incursion into my new dusty wonderland.  The bathroom was a vast savanna plain compared to tiny apartment bathrooms of the past, housing a shower, a sink and two toilets. No, not a toilet, but a bidet!  What a delightful surprise and a new experience I was very much looking forward to.  No more OCD backside cleaning!

It was only entering the next adjoining room that gave me pause.  It wasn't the heaps of boxes, the piles of newspapers, the lonely baseball bat or the rack of stale clothes that bothered me.  It was the man in the crisp white shirt, black tie, and red nylon sleeping bag lying on his side on the ledge of my new garden tub.  I had to call the landlord.

"Hello, this your new tenant.."

"Ah, yes, how are you finding the place?  I'm afraid it's been vacant for a while now."

"Oh, it's lovely.  The shelves are great!  I have so many books and the bidet! I'm so excited about the bidet!" Best to start on a positive note, I decided.

"I"m glad to hear it.  Well, I've got to go..."

"Uhm...but the man?"

A huge sigh on the other end of the receiver and a pause, followed by.  "Just some things I'm storing. Nothing to worry about.  You're welcome to use the tub.  It is your tub, afterall.  Just don't make a lot of eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait, so you're storing that man?"

"Yes."

"So he...what? He just lives on the edge of the tub?"

"Yes."

"And I just take a bath with him there?"

"Yes, well, like I said just don't make eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait. Why can't I make eye contact? Is he dangerous?  Am I living with a dangerous man in my house?"

"No, no, no, nothing to worry about.  He never leaves the edge of the tub, although he is capable of moving about.  He doesn't even eat or use the bathroom."

"What? Seriously..."  I broke in.  My new landlord continued on, hardly pausing a breath.

"Really, I promise, nothing to worry about.  He's just this stray investment banker my wife picked up for some unknown reason when she was out getting aluminum foil. We didn't really know what to do with him.  Putting him out on the lawn with the garden gnomes just seemed weird, so we put him away.  Just pretend he's not there, like an old sock.  It's only the staring has bothered the other tenants. But, like I said if you don't make eye contact then you won't notice him staring. Have a good day!"  

The proceeding dial tone held no further answers.  I listened anyways, collecting my thoughts.  Then, I promptly ignored those thoughts and proceeded with unpacking.  Books arranged by category, action figures arranged by fandom, the mundane activity of organization and cleaning consumed the daylight hours.  By the end I was sweaty, dusty and tired.  Standing in a shower didn't appeal. Upon testing, the lackluster water pressure didn't encourage matters, especially to those of us that had the hair of a small alpaca adorning our heads.  Besides, I had dabbled with a bit of nude modeling.  I was no stranger to uncomfortable, fussy environments, I could bathe in front of a strange banker in a sleeping bag.  Of course, I could!

Green eyes opened as I entered the room.  His perfect, brown, weatherman hair remained unfazed by sleep.  He remained on his side, perched on the generous ledge of the tub.  His eyes closed as I removed my shirt. Was he being gentlemanly this first meeting, I wondered.  It didn't last, his eye lids opened a sneaky crack, as my shorts slipped down.  

"You may as well look." I said, turning on the taps.  Even at invitation, I wasn't prepared for the open staring.  Nudity held no scandal for me but, I could understand the complaints of former occupants.  The intensity was a little unnerving as I stripped.  

"Well, this is me nude!" I proclaimed doing a turn, arms raised in the air.  My attempt to break the ice was met with silence.  Perhaps, it was better to ignore him as the landlord suggested.  I slipped into the water and kept my eyes averted.  It was okay.  The water temperature wasn't to my liking but it was okay.  I fussed with the taps a bit more.  Old houses tended to have tricky plumbing.  The rush of ice water came to fast with too little of a turn.  I shrieked.

"Here, let me." He said.  

I leaned back and was rewarded with drifts of incoming snuggly warmth. 

"That's so much better!  Thank you!"

My tub pervert seemed a little stunned.  "No one has ever said thank you."

"Well, they should.  Do you have a name?"

His brow contorted.  "I think I used to?  I don't know...  I'm just here now."  He looked around at his garage sale kingdom and then went promptly back to staring at my vagina.  Somehow, his eyes seemed to hold more kindness now.  Kindness and lechery, I could live with this.  

"A little warmer?" He inquired.

"Mm, yes please.  I like it just short of scalding."  

He obliged and I sighed sinking into my steadily warming contained ocean and watched as he picked up my red spiderman body puff.  

"Would you like me to wash your feet?" He offered.

"Oh, that would be lovely!  Thank you so much!"

He smiled.  "You're welcome.  No one's ever been this nice to me.  I'm happy to do it."  

Thus began a beautiful friendship.  It never grew sexual.  There was only innapropriate staring, warm baths, and helpful washing.  He became a ritual at the end of the day to look forward to.   At least, until cops barged in at my suspicious lack of complaining and forced my tub pervert to join society and work at a record store.  If I had complained, or if I had been a liar I could have kept him.  But, because I hadn't, I was consigned to subpar baths for a while and he a life of explaining why The Cure's Disintegration is such a great album.  The fifth assault of glacial rush into lukewarm tub was the straw that caused me to seek him out.  Miserable, surrounded by hipsters, he looked positively wounded in his new role.  It wasn't hard to twist his arm, but, it had to be a secret.  He was part of society now and had a work schedule to keep.  Thus, I reclaimed him on Thursdays. The rest of the time I showered, and worried about the possibility of Norman Bates like shower murder, but on Thursdays I had the best baths ever.    

Majestic as Fuck: The Tale of Reasonably Priced Cheese

It was Tuesday, nothing special.  Just another day of work, gathering shopping carts in stifling humidity, with Carl.  The rainbow, at first, was a welcome break from hour three of Carl's Billy Idol impression. But, then they saw it.  

"Ed, is that...?"

"Can't be..."

"But, it looks like a unicorn." 

"We have heatstroke, Carl. Or we're having a stroke."     

"What..both of us?  At the same time."

"Yes."

"That is a fucking unicorn, Ed.  That is majestic as fuck.  Look at it!  Slowly coming towards us, like a fucking regal biscuit or something coming down an escalator."

"I'm officially changing my answer to delirium now." 

They watched in silence as it slowly descended.  

"Welcome to Trader Joes!" Carl shouted as the Unicorn set hooves on the hard pavement with a determined clack.

"I know we allow service dogs, but this really isn't in the manual."

The unicorn met Edwards blue eyes. 

"Is there anything we can get you?"  He asked baffled.

The creature stared back with a weird sort of indignation, then opened it's mouth wide.  

"Holy fucking shit!" Carl screamed as streams of lemmings jetted from the unicorns open mouth, immediately burying both Carl and Ed in a pile of furry rodents that somehow dissolved human flesh.     

From the half shade drawn windows customers and employees watched in horror as the unicorn approached the automatic doors.  

People scrambled away from the magical being as it walked by the bananas that you buy per banana rather than buy the pound like at most stores.  

One brave, but incredibly stupid, child darted from her mother's grasping hands running full throttle to the unicorn shouting "My little pony!"  Soon after, that child was dissolved in a pile of acidic lemmings.  The mother soon followed, which, the unicorn decided, was her fault. She saw what happened to the child. If she didn't want death by lemmings she would have stayed put.  This was all forgotten, as soon as the unicorn reached the cheese section.  Delighted, it selected a nice chunk of gouda and headed to the register.  

"Just take it!" The clerk shouted, terrified.

Tempted, the unicorn considered, but conscience won out.  Taking the cheese would be stealing and stealing is wrong. The unicorn locked eyes with the amoral demon whore and began to open it's mouth.

"Shit! $2.95 then!" she corrected.

Smart girl, that was indeed the exact price marked on the selected cheese.  The unicorn was pleased, and stamped it hooves.  Through the power of childrens laughter, love and sunshine $2.95 magically appeared on the counter.  

"I'm going green!" The unicorn announced, to the bewildered clerk.  

"Shit, it can talk!" One man shouted. Naturally, that man was promptly dissolved by lemmings. The unicorn proudly took it's wedge cheese without a shopping bag like a good environmentalist, and returned to it's rainbow.   Even terrified, despite the sizable wedge of cheese in it's mouth, everyone had to agree, it looked majestic as fuck.  

  

Denial

Pupils blown, breath hitching,  you are glass, wrapped in a red towel, in my arms.

You can let go...please let go.

I stroke the bones of your neck feigning comfort, because I am lost.

Will she ever come for you?

Or should I simply move my hand and slam the gates to your air?

The mercy of a monster, five more minutes I would have faced who I really am.

Terror masquerades in the hope of others.  

That I would close my eyes and in a flash of light be trapped in my past.

Caged eternal with them, with her, by immobile bars of pearl.

I wish for you to go like a painless dream, forgotten upon waking.

The relieved ennui of stars consumed by a black hole.

I wish for an end to your pain, and for me to have better wishes.  

Post-its

"Corine" he said, "It's after ten already, what are you still doing in bed?"

"I'm focusing all my mental energy on killing the sun, of course!"

"What? Why?" Mark was clearly alarmed.

"It's for you darling, it's all for you.  It's our anniversary after all!  The first year it's traditional to die in a horrible fiery collision with the sun, I think?"

"No, honey, I think it's paper.."

"Paper? Really? Paper burning in a horrible fiery collision with the sun?"

"Uhm...no."

"Oh, are you quite sure?"

"Yes, for fucks sake! I'm sure!"

"You don't have to shout." Corine pulled the covers up to her neck and thought.  "Well, you do like post-it notes, I suppose I can get you that."

"Post-its will be fine, dear.  Come out when you're ready."

"Mark? Will you make me some bacon?  I'd like five large plates, piled high with life draining bacon."

Mark blinked in incomprehension.  "I think we're out of bacon, there's some cereal in the cabinet when you're ready to get up."

Corrine sighed, "I suppose that will do."

Corrinne watched Marks quickly retreating form feeling relief wash over her when she was finally alone.   With a smile she closed her eyes and muttered.  "Post-its it is my love, post-its burning in a fiery collision with the sun!"

Citalopram

50 milligrams, to hone that which is not precise.

I am left twisted, reveling in my own strangeness.

It is a relief.

The desired effect was not that I leave society behind.

But, I am good at keeping secrets.

I claim this silence as mine.

You gift me digital parchments of your words.

I hum their rhythm,  feel your typos etched like scars.

They jangle nerve endings and make me smile.

Ricochet, images sent next in concerted resolve.

You've taken the queen too early, any master knows.

In this patchwork of obvious realization I only find tedium.

All I need is a precipice and the ability to jump.

I run back to that which is really me.  

I'll always be the exception to your spectre of normalcy.

You'll never know.

Biological (Panic Attack Poetry Theater Pt. 2)

I watch them fill their parchment full.

Lines and breath made of concentric circles.

I drift in void space.

I want to hear the echo that resounds in their ears.

Mute sound to reanimate their limbs.

I know what you want. 

But, I can't lead this jagged shadow army. 

Pain is the ultimate excuse.

Can I disengage this frayed cord and let it fall?

I'm so tired. 

There was once more than this.

Once...

Those screams, that's your real mother.

Biological warfare is pretty.

Shiny.

Sleep now.  Panic will sing to you.