First Response

The Brewery in Bricktown

     Some Saturday afternoon

     Days after?

     Weeks?

Whenever it was

It was still happening

In walked the firefighters, the EMTs

‘Wearied’ might be a description

     so long as descriptions

     and the grossest of understatements

     can be on mutually inclusive terms

Up to the second floor they immediately proceeded

     Not expecting

     Nor requiring

The standing ovation that erupted

     as they marched

I do not remember a lot of smiles lighting up their faces

But it was a part of them

To serve

To respond

To rescue

And that they wore this as they marched up the stairs

     was visible

I’ll never know how long they’d been toiling that day

     If the human toll

     Blended with the Federal debris

What a toll it ultimately took

Nor if a complimentary burger and beer on the house

     could ever be thanks enough

Nor if our first response as a grateful public

Could ever make theirs worthwhile

This boy, he bleeds

I have taken to metaphor-ing severe depression

     as an open wound with profuse bleeding

     the stopping of which is not necessarily the resolution

          i.e.

               the healing

     of the wound

nor the removal of the injuring agent

but a bandage that might at least help

     stop further loss

     clear up the light-headedness

     prevent infection

     clean you up  for the requisite appearances

          birthdays, high school graduations

          your own wedding

               what have you

And when the dejected 18 year-old

     for whom melancholia is something of a contact sport

 says to me:

“But what if you like the bleeding?”

Which I wasn’t expecting

But am in no way surprised to hear

Well, that’s the thing you see…

     I respond, not missing a beat

     Because I really do know

          the thing

          in question

That would make this

a peculiar

          yet undeniable

form of self-harm

          no?

     As if I myself haven’t engaged in this sweet romance

          Once…

                    Mm, twice, sorry I forgot that one time, nonetheless

Still an affective discomfort

Still a wound

     of the higher order cognition kind

Screaming

          I have been hurt

Not that that’s any of my business ’til you choose to share that

Fortunately for you, I’m patient

     As others were patient with me

I wouldn’t be here playing this game with you if they hadn’t been

Now then

This boy, he bleeds

And I’m really excited because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else

Who could, potentially

     (oh, how he hates that word)

Really make it work for him

          And the 18 year-old he’ll get to meet someday

a bemoaning

That warmth of having a song stuck in your head

     that was some B-side of a single from a few years back

          but only recently have you discovered it

     You find it so infectious, you just want your brain to soak in it

And so soon you can’t get it out

You begin making up words to it that are sort of like the right words

But not exactly

     Those are your lyrics you’re putting to it

If it was that easy to come up with those words

Why couldn’t you have just come up with this melody and instrumental arrangement

     for which you have such a star-crossed affinity?

You could have been the one to record it, and reel in those royalties

God

     damn this retroactive talent

going rate

I think the most surreal revelation

     of working in private practice

     at which my going rate is determined by the higher ups

Is that I don’t really think I could afford myself

And I might be the one who needs me the most.

two things, one not being so much a thing, and another couple things

One thing:

A supernatural occurrence
A confrontation
of otherworldy forces
Bringing quakes and tremors
Volcanic ash
Hellfire
scorching and razing
The Devil rising 
out of a chasm in the earth 
that wasn’t there a moment before
Demanding the unconditional surrender of our head-of-state
and unequivocal submission
an effective refutation of our economic philosophies
and geo-political ranking


-OR- another thing:

the public lynching of an innocent


Which one would it be easier for me to believe happens everyday?

     which would be one thing

Then to die just so the truth of it has the chance to be known?

    which would be another thing all together

tasted

The politics
were really some matter
for me
Like a taste of blood
accidentally got in the way
and I got it in my head
the fruit was supposed to taste like steak
when
in actuality
Probably was the wax stuff supposed to be left on display

Better left in the past
If it was to be anything at all
the wax figure on display
standing in for something

That I could
change?
A puzzle I could
complete?

          Maybe...

But I would live for the politics of the thing
I would pore over it
Learn
Study
Digest
Live
Speculate
Expound upon

And it wasn’t cheap

Bleed
  for
with
and from

For me, it was sport
While for everyone else
a struggle
and blessing
Which is what I hoped for myself too

but for that taste

On it goes without me
And me a bit lost at times without it
I still hear faint echoes sometimes
As if it knows it could draw me back in
Anytime it wanted

Perhaps I run from it
Because it’s a worthwhile thing from which to run
Or a worthwhile thing to run into
once the circle unbreaks

But I’ve still a really bad taste in my mouth until it does

where

Following the Reckoning
once I have renounced all privilege and capital of my social location
be it through coercion of the new order
Or
I’m just that nice of a guy
I will be in the very safest of places:

A dizzying series of panned shots
Portraying scenes of my life
that didn’t…really…happen

But it will be edited and choreographed
as if a music video
to a song by The Killers
inspired visually by Baz Luhrmann
for good effect
And the memories will be
a tad wistful
angst-y, yes, because adolescence was pretty good to me after all
Bittersweet even
but ultimately good


I will have laid down my test kits and scoring templates
I will have critiqued my last empirical study
I will have entered the last bit of raw data
Clicked the mouse for the calculations

The results will be the most significant EVER

And I will be shown the door
Going in
Going out
Either way

The benediction will be something like
“Well done, buddy…
THAT
was impressive.”

Or
Something else
Which I am very happy at present
Not even able to fathom

But you’ll know where to find me