The Switch

The Switch

I found myself searching

for the switch

to turn myself off

giving myself

to the universe

for all time

I'd close my eyes

throw my head back

relax every muscle

only to fail my desire

This comes from loneliness

and the need for touch

A kiss or a hug

from someone who loves me

each of us unable to live

without the other

How can I find this person

in an age of isolation

topped by fear

of all joy

I know what this is

in depth of soul

It has come over me

before surrounded

by millions in a big city

more people

than my entire home state

where family was known

and I was welcome

before I changed my image

The search for the switch

ends at the wall

I try to penetrate

only to realize it will visit

when it is good and ready

on a day I will not choose

in an hour

when I will lose

the chance to turn off

the road of no return

I require no help

to stop my dark feelings

since there are reasons

to stay with this world

the continuation of atonement

for what others

call my sins and shortcomings

I dream each day

for an end to shame

life's gratitude can cease

Barry G. Wick

A Future Test

A Future Test

My life does not belong

To me

It is the constant creation

Of all the stars

Of all the galaxies

What is between

What is close

What is faraway

Unnamed things

That move

with gravity's finger

Of an unseen hand

I move the small bits

That move past

And through me

I sing its honor

Unheard except by walls

That vibrate so slightly

Dampened by the felt

Of atoms in motion

They are the beat

Of my heart

The love and the touch

I thought I belonged here

As the spirals of this planet

Were woven on aether's looms

It's strands pulled through

from one side to the other

A great garment of light

Pulsed from my body

To cover me

This small space of me

Becomes a voice

In a choir of random notes

Unheard and unvibrated

In cold and darkness

Where I will rest

Until I'm needed again

To paste a language

Upon skies

Pulsed by my small glow

Barry G. Wick

The Visit

The Visit

I want to wake up

In that place

Two minutes before

I die

To know it's that place

I chose to visit

At the last

There were always dreams

Of building it

Making my arrival

A special occasion

To be greeted

By all the art

The music

The poems

The love I created

In my life

A giant collection of me

Others

Needed me

To matter to them

So I let them take

Small pieces to abuse

Or rather take them

From me

Those important

Seconds at the change

Will belong to only me

As I slip away to greet

The only friend

I ever wanted to see

Barry G. Wick

The Never

The Never

When

for years

no one has touched

your skin

or hugged you,

it's then you know

you are dead

A defeated magic

touches your lips

as the heart

fails to kiss

the inner walls

of a chest

filled with a vacuum

The never

takes over

one windless day

at a time

spread like tasteless jam

on dry bread

more dust than sustenance

Barry G. Wick

Corona Bologna

Corona Bologna

Rich, poor, or well-connected,

This thoughtless virus has you selected.

You may have tested negative,

But get too sick you'll beg ta live.

In simple rooms I wait alone,

I have no fear as I atone

For all mistakes that I have made

That memory now my world invade.

All across this wide wide land

The tempest life again has planned

To separate, to take me whole

From all I've  known in my brief role.

Collect your money, collect your things

This virus thrives as death it brings.

It doesn't think about your dreams,

These simple proteins, your cells it reams.

So, hoard away or take from others

As breath of life it simple smothers.

Who gets what or who gets tests

Will never matter in earthly rests.

Barry G. Wick

Medical Shine

Medical Shine

The days speed up

agreed to by my pillbox

full pockets of time

and time-released

joy and sorrow

it dispenses daily

as if some lead-footed driver

moonlighted as a dealer

modern moonshine

that rushes on the highways

which creates this new sport

for the masses at racetracks

Hopped-up vans 

with delivery drivers 

who toss secret packages

to the aged and infirm fans

as they round the track

at broken back speeds

full of those little rainbow

enticements to feel better

feel good or feel normal

delivered to the pharmacy

No need for hidden tanks

No worries for revenuers 

waiting in the dark 

No moonless shootouts

in the deep mountain hollows

shouting epithets 

from behind the trees 

I watch the cheering thousands 

from the stands

waiting for their meds

the tiny miracle cures

promised by great pharma

who live gloriously behind

legality guaranteed 

by government

cheated for the pleasure

of fat kittens of industry

their yachts swaying

in warm waters

Barry G. Wick

February Loss (for Kelly)

February Loss (for Kelly)

February loss hangs

in mid-air

It refuses to fly on

A frozen kestral

Which thinks of voles

Asleep in their grass beds

Deep beneath the frost

I yawn with them

In dark hours

To pass long nights

With little to calm my

Thoughts of this month

That took a friend

Who gave me

Ripples of memory

To long passed days

When his love held me

In his arms

Those endless nights

I want back

His life now flies

Frozen in my mind

As warm as ever

Barry G Wick

The Vacant Hills

The Vacant Hills

Too often dream hauls me back

in it's old yellow truck sold

to someone who will fix it

It sat outside the house until

rust became an issue or

the battery failed to spark

Somewhere beneath me are farms

from the distant past with corn

never to poke their giant stalks

toward the sun they love

The land rolls unlike the steep

rock-covered crags over us then

We shoot imaginary antelope

at the park fifty years ago

on a license of special qualities

after we crawled over a mound

that shielded us with high grass

only to Winchester it dead

Then there is the pine tree

when the bark gets pulled

with young hands on the way

to an old school over the hill

behind the rock through sand

that blows down in south winds

The rain could be seen coming

one range after another blocked

by sheets of drenching summer

lighting striking the west side

seen from the redwood deck

on the home left behind

All this disappears and more

as people forced idyllic places

into hatred and discrimination

crating humanity inside law

written from their ancient books

that ends youthful dreams in fear

Barry G. Wick

Smartphone

Smartphone

Nearer my godd to thee

oh smartphone

I walk the halls

of your great palace

with my head bowed

bumping into your believers

falling at the curbs

as you help me

towards death of brain cells

the last of my intelligence

approaches

as playful cats

and flop-earred doggies

assail my eyes at the edge

of chemical traffic signs

inside my skull

their dim assault

prepares me for the next

instant message

about the bosses' latest

design of stupidity

in search of the almighty

dollars leave my bank

as the latest useless

geegaws pile up 

in dusty corners

may I truly be worthy

of the one use

I grace it with

now send me my underwear

so that under my pants

I can feel naughty

in deference to my misery

as I twist my ankle 

missing a step

failing to grab the bar

as I hold you in my hand

securing my pack in the other

oh small glowing godd

pretend with me

that I shall win the lottery

as I select the six numbers

you insert into my thoughts

from the seventy or so

designated to guarantee

I steer my yacht 

from this cubicle

this mental collapse

I so richly deserve

banging my knee 

into the bumper of a taxi

of which you dear Lord 

failed to notify me

as my worship of you

diminishes my field of view

may I forever sit with my dearest

as we search your bright horizons

with our coffee-trembling fingers

listening to your banalities

as we index punch you 

in the star-bright face

in the hope you'll deliver

another life-altering message

of self-worthlessness

Barry G. Wick

Tonight

Tonight

The old embrace

Their place

Slumped in soft chair

Or on the edge of a bed

The only reminders

Of what was once

The wrapped arms

They held

Or held them

The starting furnace

Footsteps in a hallway

A flushing toilet

None are the air

Rushing through trees

Bounding in youth

With joyous screams

Through grass

All the minutes

Must be now alone

As an old head

Strains to blot the past

Away

Like blue ink spilled

On a white plain

Changed forever

Where clouds and sky

Imagined for seconds

Bring joy and pain

In remembrance

Barry G. Wick