Question:

Where have all the ninjas gone?

Peaceful Night

On a cool evening, I took a shower. The hot water massaged my head and I could feel blood rushing through hands running through my hair. I smiled and I could feel love flowing from my lips down into my chest. I washed. then I rinsed. then I dried.

When I returned the towel to the rack, I noticed a smaller towel hanging there, dirty, and old. I picked it up and went into the kitchen and picked up the another small towel that rested on a tea kettle. It had food stains and I had used it in the afternoon to pick up the hot metal. I turned on a song I wanted to hear earlier.

A piano rippled, a guitar strummed a hollow tune. The song was about feeling lost, but the music meandered gracefully.

I turned on hot water in the bathroom sink and soaked the two towels in with some detergent. I waited for the water to run and then I sunk my two hands in, feeling the warmth, and then pulled out one to turn off the hot, and turn on the cold. The cold fell into the hot pool of soap like a cloud that had been kept in the refridgerator. It wrapped around my fingers as I tightened my hands around the towels. I massaged the thick wet cotten towels, straining my shoulders, my arms, my hands. My fingers were red. Pushing away the shower curtains, I hung the two towels to dry on the rusty bar.

So Much Work to Do

Comfort is the devil, he said.

Finding myself soft, digesting my food well, I realize what I have to do. I've grown too comfortable in this state. I've left the fields of blood to come home and grow old, too soon. My children laugh at me. My wife no longer loves me. The house creaks, and opens its windows, allowing dead leaves to spread through its hallways, bedrooms. Beauty mocks me. Dangles its grace before my atrophied body. I can not even remember what it felt like. We were not invincible when we were young, we were in constant state of pain. Our bones stretched, and our stomachs swallowed with desperation. And now we resign ourselves to wisdom? To experience? to knowledge? Be prepared.

You will be young, whether you're ready or not.

Attempt #5506

I'll take this old receipt
rub away the charcoal
script, watch the white
paper wrinkle between my fingers
flutter away white dove
fingers spread--
I'll lose every coffee
and biscuit we bought
in the web,
fall through like silk scarves
a snake seems forever
consuming my youth
clenched fist--
new evidence like new kiss
printed on dove's feather
death will be quiet
when we are together.