...Stench of airwaves...

Vapid Air Wave (the stench can kill....)
Vapid Air Wave
Karen Hallenbeck-Sikorsky-George BS,RN
June 15th, 2006


Somewhere a cocker spaniel slobbered, and the drool caused me to vomit
Thinking he might lick my hand, leaving behind a trail of ooze that I might
Recall even after scrubbing my hands vigorously, and treading away into the
Dead of night alone, for isolation is my play mate, and the children in your
Sandbox destroyed the mood by their garish cries, muffled by their mother's
Disciplining them with verbal assault, that little boy escaped and ran away
He is now grown, hanging on a street corner, acting as if
The sunlight does not fade his shirt, unwashed face, a stubble
Growing on his chin, and the youth of this generation lacks
Dexterity to read the book written upon the clouds, and say
"I am back to do this right" who cares, it becomes clear, and loud that the
Greatest waste of mankind is concern over the end result of the means, and
Giving birth is a physical act of violence, the train stops here, and if you sneak
In the toilet, and the bell clangs, and the conductor is short staffed, you might
Ride for free, and end up in another town, where your face and presence
Might give you away, and when you lose that last job, and the flop house
Door slams behind you, there is nowhere left to go but here
Spread out in the green meadow on a bright spring day, a
Random Easter egg is found rotting from years of stagnant
Inertia, behind the poplar tree, the smell again nauseates me
A beating heart stops and goes, in rhythm, how many out there have the
Exact chorus pounding in their chest, and have lost the innocence of the
Purest child, the memory gone, burned out by the acid test, and today's
Headlines proclaim that the clock will strike one, each day, and the life
Lived is truly gone, washed down the sewer drain, and someday they might
Find your remains like that Easter egg, behind some other garbage, waiting...

Hope is a constipated wish of the innately stupid, to think that perhaps another
Can guide them to the cherry tree, where they might rest, and sit eating fruit
That is sweet, but sticky, and that field mice are safe, and snakes only wiggle
Past to wave hello, be it so that if you cannot find a smiling face down there
In the large city to the left, then you can remain alone, pillaging and eating
From garbage cans, a scavenger you become by default, and that nasty drunk
Laying in the gutter smelling of strong urine is your friend
It might be time to travel back to the east coast and recall
The past before you die, journal and log as a historian the
Events without emotion, and say good bye to the fruit of your
Womb, who are now graced with their nightmares of living a day to day life
Making a living, being with men who are degraders, pulling their red wagon
Down to the railroad tracks thinking they might enter a freight car, and find
A new way to live just down the road, a town where old men sit on barrels
Outside the country store, do not raise a hand to hit a woman or child
Make due on the labor of one crop a year, eat eggs, and belt a drink one time
Not daily, and never drink pop from a can, but sip a cold soda
From a straw, and know that an ice cream cone is a treat
That air conditioning does not cool you down, but that
When the sun goes down, the day ends, and rest comes
I am pushing myself backward into the cave, the world I know best, where
No one enters, walks, breathes or comes without invitation, and the ugly
Part can thrive openly, howl at the moon, and be sheltered by the walls
Wet soil, a trickle of stream enters, the smell is one you must get used to
Drowning is not an option, and somewhere a baby cries, another life born
Death seems a glory, HE never turns against me, but I against HE, God is here...

Ten tear drops fall, one touches my lips
The taste of salt new, unfeeling am I but then
Why do the tears fall like rain, and I see that always
I am alone, deep within me...