29 August 2015

I'm okay



I'm okay

I no longer believe in truth, anymore,
Nor time, nor family, nor human relationships, anymore.
I only believe in cash, anymore,
Because it is the only thing, anymore, that matters, anymore

I don't believe in poetry, anymore, or people or art or me, anymore
I no longer believe that anything matters, anymore, but money, anymore, anymore
And I'm okay with that
And I'm okay with the fact, anymore,
That that is always what you wanted from me
I'm okay that you have broken me
I'm okay with that

I'm okay that I am cash to you, anymore,
And that just is all I have ever been
To you
It is all I have ever been, anymore,
And I'm okay with that

I am okay that you are only cash to me
But only for the first time, anymore,
To me, and
I am okay with that

And I am okay with that
That I am okay with that
I am okay with that

L. Steve Schmersal, I'm okay, August 2015

06 August 2015

Top Car, Freeze Car, Fremont, OH














Top Car, Freeze Car, Fremont, OH

We ran up the hill.
Car from the top:
We all must race down;
Car from the bottom:

Froze us still:
Top car: freeze car.
At the top of the
Hill lay an unused

Rail track; the bottom:
Gramma's house, but
Also beyond. The boundaries
Were moveable and

Moved. The Elders often
Played with us.
The ghost of my
Future, forty-seven-

Year-old self yells, "Run,
Run, you motherfuckers!
Run!" They don't listen.
They don't know any

Better. How could
They? Those Widmans,
Those Elders, running,
Or not running, up

Or down, Park Avenue.
Run up, make a left
And go direct to
Spiegel Grove and

The Hayes Museum: hills
Full of snow for sledding
In the memories of
Our parents' parents. Ohio.

Our parents lived far
Outside of town, where
There was no sledding
Only flat Ohio, work,

Work, fields, words, grapes,
Cows, and popcorn. I
Return to that house in Fremont:
My mother kissing my

Grandfather goodbye on
The porch, the railing
Hardly higher, now, than my
Knee, in a picture, on

Her wedding day, in
My mind. I wander that
House, in my dreams, in
My mind, while trying

To fall asleep, my grand-
Mother's mind, so simple,
So full of snapdragons;
Pink, home-made apple

Sauce, hot in the bowl at
Dinner; lemon meringue
Pies; marbles popping in
The kettle; basement dirt floor;

Lightning rods, glass spheres;
Fourteen, hand-sewn, Christmas
Stockings lining the dark,
Shiny stair rail; fireflies; attic

Stairs; old prom dresses
In a musty trunk;
She called dogshit
"Dogdirt": her mind, so

Huge, so much bigger
Than us: so loving and
Careful: a structure,
Far-reaching, far bigger

Than the Internet.
I can't tell where her
Mind leaves off and
Mind begins. My

Aunt mentioned she
Was a worrier before
Her funeral--and so
We all are, we

Widmans. Fear
Is Love. Love
Is Space. Space
Is Time. She

Loves us,
Now. I
Walk this
House, now. I.


L. Steve Schmersal, Top Car; Freeze Car, July 2015