NATURE CITY

                                                                                                     the pond spit up clouds
                                                                                                     crayon colored light

rain appears as shards glinting morning sky
going translucent geese cut against gravity

                                                                                  transparent transition minor splash
                                                                                  fish search for food or some other hunt

                                                                                          even after the eraser's revenge
                                                                                          blue-lined paper contains the city's guts

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TERROR WAVE

I.

It was always terror

II.

It was always terror

A threading dread that accompanied waking hours

III.

It was always terror

Waking hours filled with errands coffee doing dishes

Still in between these moments sometimes stitched into these moments

Waves of fear overcome in waves of fear

IV.

It was always terror

Waves of fear collisions & capsizing hunger

Even alone at park on hill buttercups in bloom

The waves subsided the ocean loomed large the terror

Would beckon sometimes so distant as if an overheard

Siren song but no hero I decliner of epic egos

Leave me here with sweet, scented weeds

V.

It was always terror

Even alone amongst the sweet-scented weeds terror

Remained ravenous while I attempted to relax while

I attempted to read while I attempted to breathe steadied breath

Intake of air exhale of air attempts at centering attempts at being

Breathing still before & after these moments it lurks out of sight but never absent

VI.

It was always terror

Breathing still before & after it out of sight lurking consuming

Living things while I slept in country not of my birth

My nephew lost control my nephew fleeing cops

Lost control motorcycle just bought used-motorcycle faulty breaks

Romance between terror & death my nephew they said he

Went straight through wall I wasn't there I was sleeping

In a different time zone I was sleeping in a different country but I would wake to terror

VII.

It was always terror

Waking to terror so many missed texts so many comments

Allegations tears & accusations on social media my coffee

It helped me look terror in the eye but I did not feel better

I got dressed I interviewed for job Saturday interview for

A teaching job how ridiculous I was a mess I was messed

Up & kept messing up I did not get the job I came home

Into an empty house terror smiling in every corner

VIII.

It was always terror

Terror smiling in every corner smug in its destruction

The way I began to fear for my life the way I wondered

If stupid luck would come hunting me

IX.

It was always terror

Stupid luck came to me in way of parents

It fucked me up the line between love &

Terror too thin too easily ignored or erased or

Sometimes I wake in terror still a boy trembling

In an adult body trembling at remembrance

Of parent's look or certain sound of slippers

Dragging across floor what fuckery these

Unannounced waves & waves of terror flooding

Into me overriding my sense of purpose triggering

A base need for survival I just wanted to be left alone

In the woods tracking turtles eating wild

Blueberries I guess time slipped away

What do you mean you guess

The way I still hear that voice the way

The terror poured in the way the terror took over

X.

It was always terror

Terror pouring in the way terror took over

The way I shied away head hung low

Body slouched bent attempting to become small

Smaller invisible unseen still I refused

To not survive I was lousy at survival but still

I survived still I refused to not survive my sister did not survive

XI.

It was always terror

My sister did not survive I was in Brooklyn

She was in Jersey it was late afternoon no it

Was evening but I was outside drinking beer

By garden boxes sky like so many city skies tall buildings & pollution

Dad called said sister was in bad car accident said jaws of life

Said rush to hospital said jaws of life said helicopter said her

Boyfriend was already dead said other person the one on 

Motorcycle already dead said rushed to hospital later said

Life support later said feeling optimistic Grandmother said it's bad

Grandmother said your father is in denial you need to come to Jersey so I went

To Chinatown caught bus to Philly terror chanting the entire way

Jesse picked me up in Philly we had quick coffee he drove me to hospital in

Jersey in hospital in Jersey machines buzzing adults huddled in hospital

In Jersey a bloated body a body almost unrecognizable terror snickering

XII.

It was always terror

Terror snickering over a bloated body terror & death in a romance a bloated body

I still sometimes see a voice I can recall less & less memories they come like waves

Waves of joy waves of sadness what is left in the sand what is taken to sea

XIII.

It was always terror

What is taken to sea what is left in sand I could never unshaken

Feeling that dumb luck would follow me that dumb luck voyeur

A romance between terror & death that dumb luck would tell death

Where I was hidden that before death would come the last sound I would hear

Would be terror snickering terror licking its lips terror in full ecstasy as death

Tore into me it was always terror that kept me alive

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Exercise. That's what I've been told over and over. I was tired. The Muddy River seemed especially shallow due to lack of rainfall. There was geese shit all over the running trails. A turtle doing turtle things. Instead of running I just observed. Surrounded by woods and water I could the traffic in the distance. Typical aggressive Boston drivers and their horns. George Oppen was on the brain, so instead of running I typed a draft of what would become "Nature City" on the phone. It felt like exercise. I avoided the geese shit and ran towards the sunlight.

"Terror Wave" comes from a desire to push narrative into a more experimental/challenging territory than the neatly packaged 'Lyrical I' poem. It is a part of a larger series that dips in and out of personal and societal experiences with terror. Although the original draft was written prior to Mathias Svalina's [Thank You Terror] I watched [this recording of this poem] over and over and revised with fiercer honestly and openness than the draft originally contained. I also listened to a lot of Mogwai and [A Film in Color] while revising the poem.