THE HOLLYWOOD RAGE PAGE

A January corpse lies face down   In a frozen stream of gutter soup abandoned like a thought forgotten like a dream a festive skirt tangled  in its limbs. Just hours ago  that cadaver was our family favorite the center of attention bigger than life  twinkling like the skyline is right now I remember when you first came home  Daddy carried you in like he was balancing a birthday cake  Or a hand grenade with a missing pin Mommy fed you  dressed you  and stared at you all night as she sat in the comfy chair near the fireplace  and serenaded you with happy songs as the snow  outside swirled like parade confetti gone mad. But it turned out that you were not easy to live with. You were too much work. You were in the way. You took up too much space You were a constant mess You were no longer wanted. You were no longer loved. So out you went,  unlike the way you came in. And then  we simply rearranged the furniture and got on with our ...

My heart contains the balance sheet of me which itemizes The tally of my triumphs The ledger of my losses The listicle of my loves The record of my rage  The registry of my regrets The dividends of my defiance The subtotal of my sadness At the end of yet another day where nothing seems to add up Just as I’m about to tumble into The daisy field of sleep A voice arrives  that belongs to my dad who offers a simple,  one-word message  from the faraway that tells me everything that I need to hear. He whispers, “Tomorrow.”