Nereids
by Bobby Larson
—
Table of Contents
Preface
Endless Nameless
Seam Scar Sigh
Head in My Hands
Lazarus
Homily
Hymn
Ocean Mind
Bonewalkers
Endless Nameless (Reprise)
Earth Day
Umbriel
Oberon
Underwater
Empowerment
Epilogue
—
Preface
This is a book about the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one. Hopefully the reader (i.e. you) encounters only calm waters. Tread carefully. If a storm is brewing in your mind, follow the Nereids (sea nymphs) all the way home. This is all fiction, but there are encrypted oblique references to real people, places, and things. When I was young I thought that there was a poet named Anonymous that wrote all kinds of poems and quotes. I know better now, but it’s half-true. When I see the author’s name as Anonymous I see a looming silhouette growing larger with a shadow like dioxazine purple mixed with india ink and a little raw umber.
These poems were written starting 2019 in a haphazard fashion.This is my first full book of poetry. I previously wrote a chapbook called Cassiopeia. Thank you to all who have inspired me, supported me, loved me, and encouraged me during the writing process (and beyond). Your thoughts, words, and actions mean everything to me. Special thanks to Fio for being a wonderful friend and editing buddy, to my parents, Bob and Julie Larson, for raising me and always encouraging me, and to my sister Lauren Larson, for always talking me down and laughing with me. And thank you, dear reader, for picking up Nereids and giving it a go.
—
Endless Nameless
endless nameless
completely faithless
I feel the power of the book
this house of leaves
new beginnings
a maze
no end in sight
the forest grows tall all around me
I feel the power of the book
this holy Enchiridion
a hero’s guide
or a villain’s
which am I?
is there
an in between space
that I can occupy
without compromising
any aspect of my identity?
I write my own story.
—
Seam Scar Sigh
hidden in the hollow space between words
is the violence I’ve committed against myself--
the deep wounds--not all visible
all of creation in a hyphen on your headstone,
and all we can do is talk.
they say that silence is golden but I want to hear your story
what sunflowers do you have?
how many morning glories?
how many deep psychological grooves in your mixed-up mind?
in my mixed-up mind?
we are the seams in the fabric of reality
we are the scars we bear on our skin
we are the sighs--alone--in a coffee shop
daydreaming of being lost in the rain
real thought is weird--it’s dreamy--jumpy
it circles back and quantum leaps
I imagined the name
the true name
no name
it inspires fear of the void between words
the dirge of silence when you died
the manic moments of love
the crushing moments of loss
a trigger
in a space not quite our own
we dance between galaxies of words unspoken
the language spoken with a crooked smile
the living word
a name is a placeholder
for what I don’t know
and it’s just that
I don’t know
—
Head in My Hands
I. Depression
in a crisis it’s all new again
rain ponging on the roof
tired—so tired
TV flickering—neon buzz box
nasturtium flowers in terra-cotta pots
and the incense—patchouli—smoldering
I take a hit from the wooden pipe
inhale—exhale
and it’s all new again
soft fleece blanket burrito
the house is stretching its legs
head in my hands
power lines like entrails stretched out
there’s a grasshopper on the front steps
sidewalk wet—radiator hissing
stratus clouds heavy heavy heavy
I imagine my walls covered in photos
of gray skies and concrete pillars
of Lake Erie in dead of winter
of the flaming Cuyahoga
I check my phone
nothing new
a plague has swept the city
this is my note from the underground
I refuse to listen
I stammer as I speak
and the liquid I swallow
it’s toxic—slow poison
the smoke I breathe
poison and medicine
my mind is like cyanide
I could’ve been if
I would’ve been if
the train runs express
in this part of the city
no winning in the night
no sunrise waiting
gray skies ahead
gray skies behind
foul is fair—God is dead
no litany of excuses
I am what I am
no trip to Santa Fe
I am what I am
no prayer for the dead
I am what I am
who loses a battle in their own head?
I am what I am
I have trouble remembering the bright
light of dawn
and the crispness of fall air
rain taps at my window
rain waits for no one
rain falls on all the living and the dead
who loves the sun?
not anyone
I have trouble remembering your warmth
your light touch
your laughter for all seasons
your kindness
I have trouble focusing
on all that you do for me
how grateful I am to have you
how wonderful your smile
is it fair to ask
from where does your joy spring?
does it come out of nowhere?
are there seeds of joy in what you do?
am I just a poor joy gardener?
my spring is full of fear and doubt
and shame for my misgivings
and all my indecision
I watch a video of a man
playing a gamelan in his garden
do you remember the foxgloves?
in the spring at FDR park
we saw them as we danced
as thoughts and sinking feelings
danced in my head
people come and go
why did you decide to stay?
II. Psychosis
who knows anything about the world anymore?
in dark dreams we lit a candle for the dead
in a burning cathedral—a cross of cinders
in the half-light we played a game of chess
with a goat transformed into a bouquet of lilies
flowers and smoke
Jesus hung at the intersection of life and death
Jesus was hung like a hamster
no power in those words
no power in any words at all
nothing more frightening than dust
ashes in the air
breathe through your face mask
a blooming corpse flower
a thicket of views
we sit facing the wall in zazen
sit on the zafu and think of nothing
an empty bowl of cereal
my mind is an empty bowl
emptiness—impermanence
doubt in the deities
I don’t think of you
do you hear it?
III. Recovery
smudging the sage
we talk of Devendra Banhart
and dance to Donna Summer
and stretch canvasses in a sweaty room
summer in Philadelphia
How do I write about recovery?
growing pains like the gnarling of an olive tree
hard chairs on a linoleum floor
it’s been a hard road
and an easy one
no more alcohol
no more drinking and ditching
no more smoking endless cigarettes
no more regrettable decisions
no more drinking out of boredom
out of anxiety
out of rage
no more
no more suicidal thoughts
no more off-the-rails emotion
no more nonsense
OK maybe some nonsense
but I digress
recovery is hard
some things are easy
my Lent is not
sobriety? how do I define it?
it is an exercise in restraint
it is an absence
it is a spiritual endeavor
it is giving me hope
—
Lazarus
Lazarus fell
when the pale fire moon
reached its zenith
and the blackbird warbled
in the tall sycamore
and the widow wept
over the creekbed
under the bridge
Lazarus closed his eyes
and dreamt of his mother’s laughter
his lover’s cerulean sweater
his cat’s frustrated grimace
and his bed of yellow marigolds
Lazarus rose
in the cool plum evening
from a drop of whiskey
that fell on his forehead
water of life
in the cracked sunflower teapot
in the muddy roaring river
and in the misty morning
elegantly, he stood
and spoke
to all who would listen
—
Homily
indignant repose--rest your weary head on my lap and tell me a story--O tell me how the
gods are dead and all we have is the holy spirit of humanity--in spiritus veritas est
--complete bullshit artist--I am a tall tree and a cunning fox--I am a pantheist
and an angry atheist
the rest of a lifetime--arms crossed--one long conversation until we die--punctuated by
silence and exclamation--train running never stopping--veritas--composed like a
memory--grown like a sunflower--intubated in your fantasies--gothic candor--
hand me a beer--Jesus Christ has no home here
some signpost discussed by Eckhart Tolle and how we define spirituality as a
microcosm of the flagellated mind--some howling discipline--my mind is naked in
a pile of twigs
ruby cosmos--spasmodic emerald tea drunk by furying scholars demanding the secrets
of the holy book--mystic jazz and holy horns--Ave Satanas--what is Latin for
despair?--some leap of faith conceived in a dream between the blue notes--
it was dark when you were born from the eigengrau--office of the third eye--some nerve you had to question my authority I held by speaking--catholic diatribes--heavy
crucifix--paean to Golgotha
in the beginning there was a void enchanted--vox sanctus--otototoi he howled from the
nails in his hands--emaciated contemplating the music of his suffering--laudable
laughter spiraling from the burning bush--the golden incantation--a homily for the
destitute--in medias res we drank from his nipples--mother of wine--untitled
ceremony--growth like vines--twisting and breaking apart
season’s end and beginning--a thousand purple sunsets and I clutched my rosary in the
bowels of the cathedral--you chanted like a Gregorian--your eyes lupine some
spruce incense hovered and a fly buzzed neon a ghost voiced the winds spinning
the earth--shining, the sun burst through the window
you lifted your head and described the rainbow in the spider’s web hung haphazardly in
the rectory--some phrases hung heavily in the arches
you looked toward the altar--memory fails me now--and you said something about love
how it rolls like waves over time--rushing like a mountain stream--warping like old
wood--waning like the moon--and the sun beamed your forehead and a
hymn slipped out of your mouth
—
Hymn
and we danced ‘til dawn
and we slept ‘til dusk
and we drew on the walls
and we kissed in the candlelight
and you talked about style
and how you had none
and the roses I brought you
and the wine we drank
and how holy
and how holy this moment
and it’s the only moment
and I cried in your arms
and the roses I stole
and the pink mirror you borrowed
and we hid in the closet
and our whispers were vapor
and the jealousy consumed me
and I wrote you a poem
O the fires we started
O the way we put them out
in the mirror
we could see
our faces all warped
and the coffin you ordered on Amazon was purple
with yellow tassles
and you wanted it to decorate your living room
I abandoned the idea of God at an early age
you understood that
you told me of the Torah portion you read
at your bar mitzvah
then your coffin fell over
I guess your anger died
because we laughed so hard
and so we sang a hymn
in praise of the things we don’t know
and how holy
how holy this moment
there is only this moment
in this moment we are alive
—
Ocean Mind
the heaving of my thoughts
like crystalline webs woven by some demented spider
I admire the festering gulls
hovering above
the grit covered beach
flat water--low tide
I smell the salt marsh
and hear the crickets
how deep the darkness
speckled with electric dots
quiet houses
in the distance
the darkness smiles back at me
at night
I am a heathen in the sand
I am sinking into the sea
swallowed by the dawn
guarded by windswept dunes
buttressed by scrub pines
I realized the way of the warp
in the weave of my thoughts
—
Bonewalkers
I am left with your skeleton
and I play with your bones.
this used to be your core
and now it is not
we buried you beneath tulips
when you lost your breath
and moved onto greener pastures.
you left your bones behind
the mushroom grown from your lips
is all white — an umbrella
shielding insects from the storm
the tree grown from your chest
houses owls feasting in the night
on your kindness and compassion
crows fly from your eyes
straight ahead like your logic
and the way you saw the world
we saw you as a viper in the reeds
waiting for your prey
we saw the bullfrogs sprouting
from your hips—singing melodies
as old as the fertile earth
from your femur came ants
on an odyssey back home to the hill
carrying bits of leaves
and shadows from your darker side.
you had so many shadows
growing long as the sun set.
from your feet came the crabs
snapping and sidestepping
scuttling silently
with their creeping claws
snatching the pearls
from your oyster mouth
scavenging
for your rotted bits
brain and lungs
your memories
that took your breath away
silently in the storm
we banded together
together we walked
with your bones to the tomb in the tulips
walking them to rest
with the rest of you
—
Endless Nameless (Reprise)
looking around
this flimsy house of leaves
I see constellations
of ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I am the Voyager
what is my Golden Record?
what is the use of naming things?
a sunflower
an eye
what is the use of limiting things?
a sunflower as big
as the moon
eyes like saucers
I feel the power in words
these words
they give me hope
—
Earth Day
Gaia gave us the gods and goddesses
of Greek mythology
Earth she is mother to us all
Earth gave birth
to the heavens: Uranus
heavenly body
like your heavenly body
today is Earth Day
today is the day to show
our reverence to the environment
to not suck it dry
to not
abuse and exploit
to revere the waters
the air
the fires
and the ground we walk on
holy soil
from which sprouts plants
that feed us
make us fiber for our clothes
wood for burning
shade trees for shelter and protection
for huddling under during storms
we fear the lightning and the thunder
Earth gave birth to all of us
we should love it
and care for it
as if it were our own mother
because it is
the rain and the clouds
the mountains and the valleys
the sea and the air
the holy soil
other people and living things
have all been our mother
at one point or another
someday it will be dying
and we need to mourn it
we need to feed it
give it shelter and warmth
our dying mother
in the flames of our hubris
shut the lights off
after you make the tea
—
Umbriel
out of the shadows she walks
the witch of the woods
Umbriel
she has dominion over the amphibians
the squirrels, the vines, and the moss
leaves litter her hair
her twisted trunk
covered in moths and mushrooms
Umbriel
spells cast in secret
weaving her web of truths
of moves in the darkness
before the first light of dawn
Umbriel
waiting, waiting for me
to come into the moonlight
naked and unafraid
Umbriel
you prepared some bloodroot
an emetic
for me to expel my fear
for me to expel my doubt
for me to expel my notions of inferiority
Umbriel
she walked
weaving her way through the woods
snapping the twigs
she prepared a circle of skulls
in the blackberry patch
she called on each of them
to bless me
to help me recognize
the power of my madness
Umbriel
you made me realize
the magic of my mind
the blessings of my body
that I too am of the woods
am one with the trees
the leaves
the roots
Umbriel
my mind is not deranged
my body is not strange
my desires are normal
you helped me
you helped me realize
that I hold within me
a book of spells
that have power
Umbriel
my skin is moss too
my acne is mushrooms too
my legs are trunks too
my mind is gnarled too
I am as old as the forest
as wide as the river
as deep as the mine
as tall as the mountain
Umbriel
all of nature under the sky
is all of us
is you, is I
—
Oberon
today I am
king of the fairies
lord of the gays
emperor of the faggots
today I am
king of the fairies
radical in my belief
that the gays
shall inherit the earth
that queer people
are favored by spirits
and the deities
we are the lucky ones
and the straights are just jealous
they have hurt us
jeered at us
killed us
maimed us
called us names
burned us
continue to murder us
why?
because we don’t fit in
to their toxic worldview
exclusive and mean
the weird, if that is
what we are to be called
(I embrace the name),
are not welcome
in their stupid playing field
how did I know
that I was a fairy?
I was a child
and asked a friend
if men could get married
and she said “I think so”
and that led me to know
that I was one of them
a magical fairy
I could feel my wings
begin to sprout
so today I am king of the fairies
but it wasn’t always this way
I hid my magic
for years and years
to blend in
to the straight world
because that’s all I knew
until
at nineteen
I couldn’t hold it in
any longer
I was bursting at the seams
so then I was a fairy
with no one
no other fairies
to keep me company
you laughed at me
for playing these minor chords
for holing myself up
under dark waterfalls
spraying me with the mists
of indecision and woe
so, upon my decision
to find the other fairies
hidden in the woods of life
I cried out
and they came
unto me in droves
fairies of the forests
of the seas
of the mountains
fairies of all the Earth
I was in good company at last
today I am
king of the fairies
today I am
today I am
—
Underwater
no pain can be released unto the world
it is a room without doors
underwater, I search for guidance in stars and charts
that I birthed in brine, the salt clinging to skin-covered organs
--
Empowerment
Om forever--Om eternal
Eternal chanting echoes through all
of Imagination
and within that saccharine set
is the reality that we occupy
Generation--they say that I’m a millennial
They say I need to gaze into the pink light
of my Himalayan salt lamp
and lick it for good luck
but fortune has never been my companion
so I turn the swirling wrath inside against itself
and place it in Heruka
for all the Taras that live down the street
Completion--when are we “done”?
Do we bake at 350?
For how long?
Is you back now silver foil?
Do we wonder what we taste like?
Empowerment--ceremony
kill the lights and light the votive candles
swing the smoke in your crystal ball
around the room
and either do 10,000 prostrations
or just hold on to your pride
It’d be a shame if you died
--
Epilogue
“Some things last a long time. Some things last a lifetime” --Daniel Johnston
A lot has happened since I finished these poems in March of 2020. My partner and I broke up. Well, I broke up with him. I felt our relationship grew unhealthy after a while. I felt trapped in “love” that was jealous, demanding and possessive. He was pretty emotionally dependent on me. For a long time, I didn’t want to write this epilogue. I was avoiding it. But now, it seems like a good time.
I live in the Bronx now. I moved out of my ex’s apartment at the end of May 2020. I broke up with him on April 29, 2020. It was the best decision I have ever made in my life. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.
Nereids are sea nymphs that guide sailors to their destinations. I feel like my innermost voice is my own personal Nereid--deep down within. My Nereid told me to come out of the closet at 19. It told me to go to the psych ward in 2018. It told me to break up with him. I have died over and over in my life and each time, like a phoenix, I have arisen stronger, more confident, and happier.
My Nereid told me to break up with him. My Nereid has never steered my wrong. It helps me live in the groundless present moment at all times. I am neither preoccupied with the past or the future now. This time is different. This time: I won.
I won the war. I lost countless battles over the course of seven years. I died on many hills. But each time I came back stronger, more myself, and more honest.
I’ve lied and dissociated to protect myself so much in the past I legit didn’t know what the truth was. I policed every thought that I had so that I wouldn’t think “too gay.” Being queer means a lot to me. It means I can be honest, true to myself, and free.
I’d like to thank all of my close friends, of which I have many. I’d like to thank in particular Fio, Nat, Orlando, Nina, Mol, Sar, David, Steve, Sarasa, Tiff and of course Ben and Clara. I’d like to thank my mom and dad, Lauren, Aunt Linda, Uncle Ron, Kimi, Dave, Uncle Bruce, Aunt Alice, and Lily.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time on Earth, and let your own personal Nereid guide you home.
Peace,
Bobby