by Owen Bittner
SHE WAS UNFORTUNATE TO LOOK LIKE HER
SO PRETTY TO SEE AND TOUCH, ITS UGLY RAN DEEP
INSIDE OF HER LIKE THEM ALL –UNTIL REMOVED BY ME
PERFECTING THEIR BEAUTY ONE AT A TIME
CUTS CLUMSY AT FIRST UNTIL I GOT THE TOUCH
PRECISE INCISIONS NOW, SURE OF HAND
WHILE SHOWING COMPASSION WITH SURGICAL STEEL
PERFECTING MY SKILL ONE AT A TIME
INEPT POLICE FULL OF BRAVADO AND SELF
“WE’RE GETTING CLOSE, HAVE A PERSON OF INTEREST”
LIARS! –THEY HAVEN’T EVEN A SKETCH OR NAME
PERFECTING PUBLICITY ONE AT A TIME
LOST PETS TERROR, LIKE MINE, NEVER HEARD
MY INNOCENCE STOLEN SINCE FIRST BREATHS OF LIFE
FAMILY FRIEND –PEDOPHILE IN PARENTI LOCI– COME SLEEP OVER
PERFECTING THE PAST ONE AT A TIME
WORLD RIGHTED TEMPORARILY WITH THE STRETCH OF TAPE
CONFUSION NOW IN HER EYES, WETNESS ROLLS DOWN ITS CHEEK
HOPE DRAINS ETERNAL WITH THE CINCH OF STRAP’S
PERFECTING ITS COMPREHENSION ONE AT A TIME
SHE WAS SO TRUSTING, JUST A WARM SMILE GOT ME FAR
RAPIDLY IT LEARNS FAITH MEANS NOTHING
WHEN PRAYERS WILL NOT CHANGE WHO I REALLY AM
PERFECTING REALITY ONE AT A TIME
ITS EYES WIDEN AS I STEP NEAR, CLEAR AND AWARE
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ITS LIFE IT SEES
USED TO BE LOVED, NOW WILL BE MISSED
ANOTHER CANVAS FOR MY PALATE OF OBSESSION
PERFECTING MY ART ONE HER AT A TIME
Crime in the City
The TV cameras rolled
Then they cut to the announcer
And the story was told.
The artist looked at the producer
The producer sat back
He said, What we have got here
Is a perfect track…
Neil Young sings as the producer gives a nod to the resonance of
the lyrics within the narrative of this story unfolding
in his lap; exclusively his. Snatching his yellow pad and black Bic
he scribbles
Simple enough: Sensationalize and capitalize
Advertising: A clever catch-phrase for his madness
Slowly into focus: Fathers plea –that’s good shit
Press him harder: start the tears flowing
Zoom in: pained bloodshot eyes and quivering lips
Marketshare: Ratings are through the roof
Bubblehead (field): Just be sure to choke up while on screen
Bubblehead (studio): add “in our prayers” to seem sincere
redrum: Another family loses a kid, so sad
CBS Cares: and don’t forget extra pickles on my Cuban
And a diet Coke
Yeh, an Emmy is surely ours
the media Gods have surely smiled upon him
Appetite
ah Well, another sunrise and the creepy-critters seem to be losing interest. Maybe I am losing my sex appeal I think while laughing hysterically to no one but myself, the woodpeckers, and the early worms who are risking it all apparently oblivious of whole early-bird thing…but at least I have survived another night. What an achievement- not being devoured by a bear or whatever roams these woods at night? Sasquatches – Sasquatchi? – how cool would THAT be! THEN maybe SOMEBODY would see me! Ughh – it has been so long since I have last eaten. I know that I should be hungry but I am not– I bet my body is though: from here I can see it –catching the dawn rays, dripping with chilly morning dew, across the field by the wooden fence, wrapped in black plastic.
But You Look Fine
Darkness void of light, shape, sound, and feeling. Suddenly an ethereal chill infiltrates my body; a cool not from temperature but rather a iciness which comes from within when something just is not right. Slowly I am aware of light and a powerful shuddering from my surroundings; I try to move, but my body does not respond. I hear voices; I try to focus on the shapes which are hovering above me but focus is elusive. I hear a woman’s voice telling me “You were in an accident, you are on LifeFlight... Stay with us....” Then I return to darkness.
In the fall of 2002, I acquired Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI): an open head wound resulting in frontal lobe damage. My brain stem was damaged due to the repeated acceleration and deceleration of my brain inside my skull as if shaking a tennis ball inside of a tennis ball container. Subsequent intracranial pressure, bruising, and bleeding compounded the issues. This is the actual, tangible damage to my brain.
I am frequently asked about my TBI; what is wrong because I "look fine?" My answer: Open one’s mind and view one’s head as if it were coffee maker, such as a Mr. Coffee instant coffee maker. It is Monday morning; install a new filter, dump in the coffee, add the water, and turn it on. The water heats up, it begins to percolate and hot fresh coffee streams effortlessly into the pot. Fast forward to Friday morning; it is the same coffee-making routine with one exception: the filter has not been changed since Monday. Plug in Mr. Coffee, flick on that bad boy and things begin to percolate same as they always have. Nothing has changed in that regard, yet very little of the freshly brewed coffee is making it into the pot. What it does make is rather muddied and not at all the way one remembers coffee to be. Think of the pot as being one’s mouth.
This is how TBI affects my head: my thoughts, words, articulation, definitions, and emotions are still perking around just like day one. My thoughts, which used to flow freely and generously, now come as a trickle, and are not always the same thoughts as what originated in my head. The tasks which previously were routine are now very difficult. Multi-tasking has become near impossible. I find this to be embarrassing; just as I would not offer a cup of Fridays' mucky coffee to friends, family or even to strangers because it is not what I am capable of making, the same is true of "Fridays’ thoughts." My filter has become clogged.
I owe my life, as well as my current cognitive abilities, to the responders on LifeFlight who would not give up on someone who had coded for the fourth time, as well as to the trauma unit and neurological department at Allegheny General Hospital and the helmet I was wearing. Although every day is a struggle, I welcome the struggle given the alternative of having returned to the darkness and not seeing the light of another day.