Drinking Proximo

I could tell you

what is waiting in the doorway

of concupiscence

but the answer is simple:

nothing.

My body is passing

away into the creak and fall

of pain--

the part where numbness sets in.

I can't feel alive.

The doorway is old

wood has been shaved off

paint peels in splinters

and the texture is rubbing away.

I placed a curtain of black over it today.

A shower of disgrace.

Partly Wired

He didn't know if it was

red or white or yellow

that got the lights working again

that would put the flicker back into her face.

Twisting and stripping wire

so that the current can carry

through walls and into outlets

isn't his day job.

Isn't really

his job at all.

The radio dims in sound

the lights waver

and he jumps back.

Once bitten, twice shy.

Takes the time

to make sure his feet

are firmly planted-

left hand takes blue

right hand takes red

heels seized in boot sole

and go.

Cheryl Dumesnil Poem

This is the poem I received in my email box today from poets.org. I love the meshing of a vulture and mitochondria.

Prayer for Sleep
by Cheryl Dumesnil

The chiropractor sent me home
with my left ankle taped, my neck
cracked, and instructions not to sleep

on my belly, so when it came time
for bed, I dropped a tequila shot,
laid back and closed my lids, entrails

exposed to vultures of bad dreams.
From the neighboring pillow,
my love whispered theories

of meditation, biofeedback, post-
traumatic stress, and prayer. When
she asked, "If a divine creator

made the universe, who made
the divine creator?" I mumbled,
"Are you trying to talk me to sleep?"

She smiled, then babbled
past midnight, contemplating out loud
the metaphysics of leaf production,

the wonder of molecules
that make up our bed, the web
of my cell structure connected

to hers, until I fell asleep,
imagining the mitochondria
of words, thinking, if god is

love, let me sleep to this sound of her voice.