literature

Submersible

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The SONAR tone bounded aimlessly through the massive expanse all around us, but all signs said “nothing to write home about.”

The captain sighed softly while everyone else tried to bury their loneliness in productivity.

The disparity between the nuclear-capable, inescapable, matte-black shell that shielded us was somehow more obvious with a glance through the periscope.

Even if you’re neither agoraphobic nor claustrophobic, being packed sardine-like at the bottom of the ocean can coax both out in short notice.

Ping… ping… ping…

“I see a huge object at 8 o’clock, sir” said the navigator.

So many bloodshot eyes stared in his direction at once.

“Properties,” the captain asked.

“30 feet long, moving toward hostile waters,” the navigator listed.

“Let’s investigate,” said the captain.

The vessel turned slowly, deliberately, to find the object.

“It appears to be diving,” said the navigator.

 The captain commanded coldly “Arm the torpedos,”

We all looked at each other at once itching for something to do, not forgetting that a hole in the hull the size of a quarter would let in a jet of water that could slice a man in two.

Ping… ping… ping… ping…

We were approaching now.

The captain pulled the periscope down.

“On my command,” he said holding his arm up.

Just enough light filtered through from the surface,

To show a sperm whale corpse slowly falling.

“Captain Ishmael?”

“Don’t call me that.” 

The navigator apologized profusely, and asked for information,

“Our worst enemy, another false positive,” the captain said dejectedly.

Each bloodshot eye fell back to its station,

In silent disappointment.

Fault Lines 

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Sudden unbelievable stress,

Has proven too much,

For two-halves,

Of a whole.

“I-I thought I had it,”

The subsided end stammered,

Visibly panicking.

“Look at this mess you’ve made,”

Said the hanging wall,

Haranguing,

His peer.

There was much tension,

So aftershocks,

Seemed likely.

“That’s easy for you to say,”

Said the footwall,

“You’re in no position to judge,”

Feeling their grip,

Slightly budge.

“This is aggravating,”

Said the risen end,

“This is strenuous,”

Their continued harmony,

Seemed tenuous.

They continued,

To point fingers,

As one side fled,

To bury it’s head,

And the other,

Bottled it up,

For a future,

Outburst.

I Just Woke up

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3:18 A.M.,

And the conditioned air,

Is frigid,

To the inside,

Of my nose.

But it’s sweltering,

Underneath,

This duvet,

And I can’t find,

The right position,

To be in.

I lie on my back,

Then turn my head,

And face the wall.

Every time,

I close my eyes,

I can hear the wind blow,

Every few seconds or so.

I stand up,

Throwing off my covers,

To put on,

A sweatshirt.

I sit on the green lawn chair,

On the porch,

Feeling,

The calming breezes,

Come by.

I blink,

Between breaths,

And awaken at,

5:41 in the morning.

You Will get Away With it

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Every so often,

I hear the doorbell ring,

When I’m not expecting company.

Sometimes,

I look through the peep hole,

And see nothing at all,

“Damn kids,”

I’ll say,

Presumptively.

Sometimes,

It’s just the mailman,

So I sign for something,

Then he’s on his merry way.

But once in a while,

It’s you,

“Come on in,”

I say.

“Take a seat,”

I’ll go get some drinks,

And snacks.

We relax,

Tell some stories,

To fill in the gaps,

“It’s been too long,” you say.

I know it has,

“But I cannot stay,”

I also know that,

“Take your time,”

Glad I could give you,

Some of mine.

When you stand up, 

With your arm,

Half in your jacket,

I ask nothing more of you.

When there’s nothing left to say,

All I want,

Is to be sure,

For now,

That you’re doing okay.

Duos

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If it takes two to tango,

Then I must be the hammer to your anvil,

The apple to your mango,

The pan to your handle.

You’re the pictures on my mantle,

The flaming wick in a candle,

The bones in my ankle.

The Vandals,

Have returned to wrangle,

And some things are scrambled,

Dismantled,

And trampled.

But let’s not untangle,

Over just one scandal,

We’re not in shambles,

And  it would ruin the preamble.

Muddled Puddles

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Depressions,

Tend to accrue,

Collections,

And internalize them,

Creating literal,

Littoral gray areas.

Still still,

In the sunlight-

It’s dappled surface,

Slightly evaporated.

It has no mind,

To receive,

What it holds,

But it still becomes,

A pastiche.

Upon inspection,

The surface of the murk,

Projects lurid reflections,

Where not enshrouded,

By leaves,

Or speckled,

By pebbles. 

Mellow Drama

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Little things mean a lot,

Especially when they happen,

But sometimes it means more,

When they don’t.

The taste,

Of the empty space,

Where the once-whole,

Chocolate ice-cream scoop was.

The faint, jolting pangs of pain,

You feel,

A few seconds after,

The impact,

Of your pinky toe,

With a table leg.

When you find out,

That anticipated plans,

Made four days in advance,

To do nothing at all,

Are cancelled now.

You don’t live in fear,

Of good things gone bad,

Normally,

Because it should be no big deal,

Until it’s nothing at all,

Then it is.

A Proxy

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I once opened an antique drawer,

And found covered in dust,

A tiny burlap doll,

With black buttons for eyes,

Yellow yarn for golden locks,

And a sewed-up mouth,

That stood at about 1/15th my size.

A stand-in,

For me,

Though I was unconvinced,

And didn’t see the resemblance.

I hope there was no malice in this,

It was kind of cute,

In an unsettling way,

Besides,

I get pins and needles enough as it is.

I pinched him,

Just to make sure,

I wasn’t dreaming,

And wasn’t pleased,

With the results.