High-lighted Pages.

Americana Injustica

Okay, then –
fine;
in the spirit,
of saving time:
allow me,
please,
to admit,
whatever deeds,
that you need,
to claim,
as being mine,
well, Hell,
oh damn…
it’s all my fault,
somehow,
once again;
see my arm up,
see it waving,
see how much,
bigger I am?
Gods’ damn,
“Little Man” –
who designed
your B Plan…
as it was,
just because,
so stupidly,
you now stand;
all alone,
left to hold,
a Mystery Bag;
no trigger piece,
left on your hip,
and suddenly,
that tongue of yours,
doesn’t seem to slip…
maybe you,
don’t really know,
how serious,
how deep this goes,
the importance of,
your admitted love:
for being in control,
Red Flag,
hash-tag,
highlighted pages,
deciphered by:
all the ages,
with the exceptions,
in each generation,
of the ugliest spirits,
with the prettiest faces.

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Blown-Out Knees.

It’s been:
the ugliest,
of epiphanies;
it’s been:
hard as Hell,
to swallow,
such realities;
it’s been:
likened to both,
blown-out knees;
it’s been:
anything but,
thoughts of,
a recovery;
I am:
overwhelmed,
by the notions,
I’ve denied,
admittedly;
I am:
undertaken,
by the actions,
others aim,
at me;
I am:
what I am,
just a woman,
no hidden,
secrecy;
I am:
out of the race,
came in last place;
I am done:
now,
out they come,
to bury,
such burden as me.

“People Like Me”.

Americana Injustica

It’s quite apparent

to someone like me

how someone like you

might come to be;

Your parents protected

your eyes from the truth

you came into yourself

without having a clue;

you are highly offensive

through all you presume

a clean, handsome face

with a weasel’s perfume

your life has consisted

of skies, only blue

a brat on a cushion

trust-fund ever renewed;

So now you’re a grown up

everything handed to you

your jack-ass behavior

is nothing that’s new;

there’s something important

that I’ve longed to tell you

if you choose to listen

I hope it gets through:

know that people like me

just as worthy as you

however odd that may be

to people such as you;

you can’t understand

a typically higher IQ

in the people like me

compared to idiots like you;

I’ve spent every day of my life

feeling the contrast seep through

while you…

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Slippery Stone.

Americana Injustica

Like a slippery stone
skipping carelessly
across a placid pond
see the ripples I cast
as I pitch quickly along
too fast to perceive
before I sink and am gone
to the darkness below
right where I belong
the only comfort I know
amid a world not my own
the only place I can go
the only place I feel calm
emotionally drifting and numb
like a military drone
a familiarity akin to me
feeling close to home
a pressure’s slow release
until my breath is gone
from my lungs down deep
exhales an ancient song
of the stars and moon
mother earth and the sun
A fabled melody
with a tragic undertone
and when I hit the bottom
the silt’s within my palm
I see the bubbles rising
to the surface, boiling long
up to the stillness settling
the very spot I dropped in from
I know then that…

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Banshee.

Americana Injustica

Awake with a kick-start,

I clutch my broken heart,

an intravenous infusion,

of adrenalized confusion,

hardly sure of my own name,

my nightmares got me good again,

saturated in sweaty evidence,

invalidated by benevolence,

through tear-filled eyes,

I slowly come to realize,

it’s the morning-time routine,

I am alive and my heart’s beating,

I’ve made it through another night,

to flood my heart with pure sunlight,

and use the sunshine to melt away,

the panic that’s hardly kept at bay.

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The End.

My mom seemed a little “off” on Thanksgiving…maybe a little more tired than most other times I’d seen her recently. She’d been doing the withdrawal thing for some time leading up to that night…resigning herself to the death that has been chasing her since this time last year. Her spark had been low and she didn’t eat much on Turkey Day. That was the last time I saw my mom.

She must’ve had the stroke sometime after we all left her for the night…
Now, she just lays in her bed at the hospital, no signs of life besides her breathing. She sometimes responds to a question or comment, but mostly, she just lies there starring at a spot on the ceiling.

She has a low-grade fever every night, further damaging what brain cells that have managed to spare themselves from destruction throughout everything. The doctors say that the stroke was caused by her brain mets (her most recent PET scan showed several very small tumors in the frontal lobe above her eyes); they say that is the root cause of the lasting delirium and confusion also.

The full sentences that she manages to get out make no sense at all and range from topics like horse racing to stigmata (not a single topic being anything familiar or realistic). Sometime during the first week of this hospitalization, she blurted out pretty loudly and clearly

“I don’t wanna be part of this two-bit town!”

She also has a recurring theme of horses and sweeping out the garbage into a trash bag or sometimes into a pile, depending on who she is talking to. My Grandma Joey is “visiting her” regularly, despite the fact that my Grandma has been dead for almost 6 years now. My great grandma T left the reservation to come lay hands on my mom (an ominous act if ever there was one), but my mother didn’t recognize her and became agitated and uncomfortable with the presence of my Uncle Horse.

This goes on since the morning  after Turkey Day…no change for better or worse although I can read between the lines that this is likely the wrap up for the bitter end of my mom’s fight with Cancer.