Tagged: poem

A Short Trip 

by
Gregory JM Kasunich
______________________
I’ve never been to Papua, New Guinea
Don’t know if I’ll ever go
Figure, I’ll sleep on it as ambivalence metastasizes into despair
despair resolves into action
Not quite knowing where it is,
I:
pour over digital maps
prevaricate and price compare
sort reviews by star rating
select a hostel hovering at 3.2
I pack poorly, in artificial haste, for a conjured adventure
an attempt at Lachesism – hoping for the worst
The priceless porcelain of my edgeless days
pushed to the precipice,
praying a ponderous gawker sends it floorward
Over ocean now – soft shades of blue perdition
Sibylline in my seat, predicting disaster.
Maybe it’s just the recycled air, the cabin pressure,
the inability to know what I’m doing here.
We descend into heat and humidity,
fat drops of moisture impossibly suspended.
I’m greeted by a kiss– a never felt sip from a native mosquito,
(taking his fee from the tourists and travelers.)
The itch and bump materialize in the aging cab,
all fumes and friendly questions.
In the Genesis I take in a hard pull of the musty hotel air.
I don’t unpack, and fall into an uneasy slumber.
My malarial mind swims in untaken Atabrine dreams. A million minor tragedies play out and I awake—
Alone, in my studio apartment,
the keys of my computer keyboard have waffled my cheek.
I see the digital maps, the tabs of hotel reviews.
I begin my bleary shuffle to my bed.
My pre-occupied mind fails to see the
opened,
unpacked
suitcase
lurking on the floorboards.
A misstep.
The short slap and crackle of my skull on the tables edge, unheard by my neighbors. The warm bath of leaking blood.
I close my eyes and attempt to return to Papua New Guinea.
This was not the trip I had planned.
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Awake The New Year

By Gregory JM Kasunich

_________________

In this breath restored

(drawn in and waiting)

floral and budding– sour in it’s newness

Will we awake with a start? 

A Jolt! 

Oh Joy!

An exaltation! 

Deploy! 

Revere stirred [and slumber stamped out]

Sharp and stretching into–

the trench?

the hill?

the perpetual argument?

the till? 

Will our exhalation be a bellicose cry upon an ashy wick,

re-lit and flickering against the bitter winds of the same?

Or will we drip languid from our downy warmth?

Languishing and tepid in torpor state? 

Stillness lacerating ventricles (breaking down the proteins)

A same sort of indifference, time defiled and fleeting. (easy come/easy go)

Stretching into the still lit sun

a yawn?

a thought?

a fight?

un-fought?

Comfort and joy (abound and surrounding)

In this breath restored- a demarkation hardly worth noting- 

A moment between then and now we rise, once again, and choose to face  the thing, any thing, new and again 

repeating forever for the first time. 

Statistics Concerning Aquatic Asphyxiation

By Gregory JM Kasunich

_______________

 

This is a fact:

10 people die from drowning each day.

Think about that for a moment:
today maybe
just now —
An infant at the kitchen sink bath
the victim of a ringing phone distraction.
Arrival and departure almost coincide.
Or a day drunk skinny dip.
Bravado and captain in the veins
undone by the push pull tide.
Or a newly made husband,
showboating in a honeymoon sea,
Just now crossing the great divide.
And you continue your ride-
Another lap around the sun
Your life no more urgent
Each breath just a breath
Maybe Knowing but not aware
There are 7 more on their way
And that’s just today