My wife's mother's in the hospital with kidney and liver problems.
And she's really afraid. Reminds me of my fear.
Reminds me of Joyce's Giacomo Joyce.
Dreamed of my grandfather last night. He's been dead nearly 20 years.
We were at a school picnic and he wanted to see the headmaster.
Was crying. Shaking.
Teachers walked past us. Some looked at me. Some didn't.
We woke to a short-lived storm. Very windy. Rain blowing in.
This makes my dog, Chuy, very afraid.
The river's huge now. And filled with trash.
The power went out for a few minutes.
My chapbook Ringing is filled with trash.
It too is afraid. It too cries. And shakes.
Cowers under the bed. Like a little bird.
Joyce's Jewish student. And mistress.
Like Dante's Beatrice he says, tying back her hair.
The hits from "Seth Abramson" keep piling up.
One was "Seth Abramson Dick."
Seems pointless-- watching the river.
Seems pointless-- hearing it. Feeling it.
To calm this world my wife massages its feet.
I'm a total atheist but when I dream someone
like my grandfather who's dead
I feel good. As though I've resurrected them
For a few moments even. As though
I am a kind of God. No, a God.
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