Author: Tetman Callis
my son has a sister who is not his
mother’s daughter and another who is
not his father’s little girl. the first of
these two half-sisters has herself two half-
siblings in virginia, while the second
is closely related to several
persons in hawaii. we progenitors
(several inter-breeding mothers and
fathers) are, or may be, closely related
to people in colorado
texas
ohio
tennessee
scotland
france
germany
the netherlands
and possibly viet nam
now that we’re so many of us closer
cousins than we may suspect, sex seems not
quite so advisable, at least not for
procreation (pace his eminence
the holy father, with his children of
a different sort). the bunny-rub feels
so good, this is true, and there is nothing
to match a good orgasm (is there any
other kind?), but we could accidentally
generate to follow in our wayward
footsteps an even stupider gener-
ation than our own, unless we decide
to hell with the consequences, dub ourselves
royalty, and set to interbreeding
like the kings and queens whose offspring were
hemophiliacs and at least one world war
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“I have studied these people for many years. We are in Normandy; the soil is rich and easily tilled. Around this stack of corn there is rather more comfort than one would usually associate with a scene of this kind. The result is that most of the men, and many of the women, are alcoholic. Another poison also, which I need not name, corrodes the race. To that, to the alcohol, are due the children whom you see there: the dwarf, the one with the hare-lip, the others who are knock-kneed, scrofulous, imbecile. All of them, men and women, young and old, have the ordinary vices of the peasant. They are brutal, suspicious, grasping, and envious; hypocrites, liars, and slanderers; inclined to petty, illicit profits, mean interpretations, and coarse flattery of the stronger. Necessity brings them together, and compels them to help each other; but the secret wish of every individual is to harm his neighbour as soon as this can be done without danger to himself. The one substantial pleasure of the village is procured by the sorrows of others. Should a great disaster befall one of them, it will long be the subject of secret, delighted comment among the rest. Every man watches his fellow, is jealous of him, detests and despises him. While they are poor, they hate their masters with a boiling and pent-up hatred because of the harshness and avarice these last display; should they in their turn have servants, they profit by their own experience of servitude to reveal a harshness and avarice greater even than that from which they have suffered. I could give you minutest details of the meanness, deceit, injustice, tyranny, and malice that underlie this picture of ethereal, peaceful toil. Do not imagine that the sight of this marvellous sky, of the sea which spreads out yonder behind the church and presents another, more sensitive sky, flowing over the earth like a great mirror of wisdom and consciousness—do not imagine that either sea or sky is capable of lifting their thoughts or widening their minds. They have never looked at them. Nothing has power to influence or move them save three or four circumscribed fears, that of hunger, of force, of opinion and law, and the terror of hell when they die.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
she drove up this evening, before sunset,
in her silver volkswagen beetle, one of the new kind.
it made a loud rackety clacking noise, as though
it really were powered by hamsters on a wheel.
many hamsters, on a large wheel.
i watched from the kitchen window. our son, hers and mine,
had gone out to meet her. the two of them
stood by the gate, talking in the evening’s
golden light. i could not see her face.
her hair was very chestnut in the light,
but i believe she colors it now.
i saw her figure in profile. she has a bit of a belly.
so do i. we age.
as i watched her i thought,
i used to fuck the daylights out of her,
then felt vaguely frightened and annoyed that such a thought
would run through my head, snatching words along its way.
i washed my hands at the kitchen sink. when she
drove away, her silver volkswagen beetle
was so quiet, i didn’t hear her leave.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
home for the christmas holidays,
i snuck to the garage of my parents’ house to get high.
everyone else was in the house on the other side of the door that led
from dad’s green garage to mom’s red kitchen.
i laid my works out on dad’s workbench,
my papers and baggie on a magazine’s glossy cover photo,
some comely wench.
listening to the noises of voices coming muffled from the kitchen,
i tried to roll a cigarette but my fingertips were slick and dry,
the marijuana crumbly.
dad came to the door, opened it, said,
whatcha doin’, little buddy?
are ya makin’ any money yet?
no, no, i mumbled, wadding my works up in my hand, hiding what i could hide.
dad said, why’ncha come inside?
he was smiling,
we’re all making money in here.
he walked back into the warm-looking kitchen.
i heard mom’s laughter, and brother joey’s confident, even voice saying,
fuck your money, dad,
i want my daughters to learn about pornography.
i think they’re old enough now.
i can help, i called from where i stood,
i have some right here.
one of joey’s daughters, the youngest,
came out to see.
i pulled a glossy magazine from the rack on top of dad’s workbench.
take this and look at it, i said, and gave her the magazine.
practice, practice, practice, i told her.
i watched her walk back into the kitchen.
she’s beginning to get hips.
i still very much wanted to get high,
but dinner was about to be served.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Nature is always magnificent when dealing with the privileges and prerogatives of love. She becomes miserly only when doling out the organs and instruments of labour. She is especially severe on what men have termed virtue, whereas she strews the path of the most uninteresting lovers with innumerable jewels and favours. ‘Unite and multiply; there is no other law, or aim, than love,’ would seem to be her constant cry on all sides, while she mutters to herself, perhaps: ‘and exist afterwards if you can; that is no concern of mine.’ ” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
i turned on the radio and folded my freshly-washed underwear
while watching out the window at schoolgirls walking by
the tingling and the pressure from my old workplace injury is always with me
i moved with care
clouds had been building up all afternoon
the schoolgirls walked down the street to the next block
i stacked my underwear neatly
the sound of a golden oldie came from the radio
the clouds were slowly billowing over the city
my bedsheets were still drying on the line
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my father storms into the house when he gets home from work
bitching about obese paralegals
red-light runners
large cars badly parked
i’m watching television when he comes in
i try to avoid getting in front of his anger
after he takes off his tie
makes a martini and sits
he’s usually better
he sips
he says
why does my girlfriend keep calling me at seven in the morning to break up?
doesn’t she know she got it right the first time?
we watch television
i’m like
dad
i don’t know
he finishes his martini and goes outside
we forgive each other everything we can
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“According to Mental Health: A Report of the Surgeon General [pre-2005], 19 percent of the general population of the United States has a diagnosable mental illness, 6 percent have an addictive disorder, and 3 percent have both a mental illness and an addictive disorder. Most of the sufferers continue to function more-or-less well outwardly, despite the internal turmoil: only between a third and a quarter of these illnesses result in diagnosable functional impairment or are severe enough to interfere with social functioning. The others may or may not be detectable by an untrained observer, even though they can seriously compromise the sufferer’s judgment.” – Major Laura J. Heath, USA, “An Analysis of the Systemic Security Weaknesses of the U.S. Navy Fleet Broadcasting System, 1967-1974, as Exploited by CWO John Walker”
you are still here
a root grown tight around a stone
a persistent dream of dark-eyed women
you are still here
in this chair you used to sit
in this plush and tattered chair where years after you were gone
i found a long strand of what could only have been your hair
i did not keep it
you are right here
you are here the way a parent is present in the face of a child
i hear my child’s footfall in the kitchen
he is pouring cereal into a bowl
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
writing by starlight
sloppily
has this page already been used?
orion and his dog overhead
satellites and red-eye liners passing seven sisters
chased as ever by the bull
this morning he has saturn on one horn
dawn breeze coming now
venus and a thin crescent rising
my girlfriend sleeps in our tent
last night we made love during a thunderstorm
rain pelted our tent while flashing lightning showed us ourselves
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The personnel security system appeared to be a solid, workable solution to the need to keep classified information out of untrustworthy hands. However, on closer inspection, the system was far less comprehensive than it seemed. The process for investigating personnel for Secret-level clearances was extremely cursory—it was incapable of uncovering the great majority of criminal convictions, and it made no effort whatsoever to check any other security-relevant areas, such as finances. Even such a minimal vetting process was routinely undermined by people with vested interests in concealing information. Granting Top Secret clearances involved a more elaborate series of checks; however, the results were still highly untrustworthy. DIS [Defense Investigative Service] and the adjudication system were chronically underfunded and undermanned, there was virtually no reliable scientific information on which to base decisions, and the Navy allowed commanding officers to override the adjudicators’ decisions anyway. Periodic reinvestigations were almost always backlogged by several years and could, in any event, be easily avoided by tampering with personnel records. Policy existed that required supervisors and coworkers to report suspicious behavior to the authorities, yet almost no one did; however, the policy makers apparently made no effort to find out whether their policies were being followed, or even if sailors knew the policy existed. Even if sailors had reported suspicious behavior, the law enforcement agencies charged with investigating and prosecuting espionage were divided, distracted by political meddling, and had few good legal methods available to them for collecting and presenting evidence in court. The official government policy towards espionage made covering up the crime more important than punishing criminals; the result was a climate of minimal deterrence for potential spies. All of these facts should have been known to decision makers who were designing FBS [Fleet Broadcasting System] in the mid-1960s, if they had looked into the matter.” – Major Laura J. Heath, USA, “An Analysis of the Systemic Security Weaknesses of the U.S. Navy Fleet Broadcasting System, 1967-1974, as Exploited by CWO John Walker”
she lives in the kitchen paints her face
with paste she scrapes from cans sleeps on the floor in front of her stove
wakes up hungry stuffs her lovers into sausage skins
fries them up for breakfast they sizzle in her cast-iron pan
she turns up the heat her lovers pop and spatter spots on the walls
spots on the crystal she takes and shatters with her hands
fragments and blood with fragments drop into her mixing bowl
she makes her hands into fists grinds the glass
into a hash the color of what she’s hungry for
cooks everything until it’s done takes her meal hot
sopping up the drippings with gingerbread men
she breaks and blackens for toast
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
please don’t stand so close to me, boss
not only are you attractive in your own right
you remind me rather much of someone with whom i was once
and not sufficiently long enough ago
a little too much involved with for comfort
either mine or hers
or for that matter either of our spouses
and i see by your listing in the office directory, boss
you have what is these days referred to as a significant other
please, boss
you’re standing too close, and i am sitting down
my attraction to you is not what we would refer to as platonic
you have a way of leaning over a desk which i have noticed
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“I have a uniquely German capacity to vacillate between sentimentality and coldness.” – Tina Fey, Bossypants
hold me while i sleep and i shall know
that you are holding me as in my
dreams i see your face while you are
dreaming me i hear your sweet voice singing
me to sleep as i am holding you as
close to me as dreamers ever dream
to be as close as shadows close as walls
close as solitude will always be for
dreamers holding dreamers in their sleep
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
two pot pies were baking in the oven on a cookie sheet to catch
their bubbling over. i told my wife, the pots pies are almost done.
i took a hot pad in my hand and opened the oven door. see? i turned around,
my wife behind me in the kitchen. i’m not having pots pies tonight, she said.
she stood at the kitchen counter, preparing meat. she had all kinds of meat—
briskets and steaks and racks of ribs slathered with barbecue sauce.
but the pot pies are almost done, i said. i pointed into the opened oven.
the pot pies bubbled over, drippings sizzling on the cookie sheet.
my boyfriend’s coming over for dinner, she said. we’re not having pot pies.
she took the hot pad from my hand, pulled the cookie sheet with its pot pies
out of the oven, set it aside, and slid in a rack of ribs. maybe i’ll go eat
someplace else, i said. if you like, she said. she closed the oven door,
handed me the hot pad, took off her pants and climbed into the refrigerator.
she pushed her way in among the milk and juice, found a place on the crowded shelves
and sat, looking at me. you can still live here if you like, she said,
but we’re not married anymore. did you forget? you forgot, didn’t you?
she rested her feet on the condiment shelves. the pot pies were cooling
on the cookie sheet, ready for me to eat.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Just as we cannot think of spatial objects at all apart from space, or temporal objects apart from time, so we cannot think of any object apart from the possibility of its connexion with other things.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein, “2.0121”, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (emphasis in original)
it’s when i have you impaled beneath me
your eyes the colors of the ocean
open and looking into mine
and i am in you
i know only what is important
and am freed from all the rest
(Published in Lyrotica, 2011; copyright 2011, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
it was the middle of the day and the sunlight was bright. the house and the apple orchard
stood at the base of a ridge dotted with scrub oaks and pines. my wife and son and i
worked in the orchard. a jenny followed by a foal wended down the ridge.
a drift of swine, sharp-tusked, followed the jenny and foal. when the swine
saw the three of us in the orchard, they charged. we scrambled up the trunks
of the apple trees and onto the thick lower branches. the swine tore at the trunks
with their tusks and circled madly below us. the jenny and foal wandered off,
down the dirt road leading away from the orchard and the house and the ridge.
in the afternoon it seemed the swine were tiring. my rifle was in the kitchen,
leaning against the wall in one corner. my son distracted the swine, throwing apples
at them while i clambered down, ran to the house, and snatched my rifle and my clip
loaded with bullets. i hurried back to the orchard and back up a tree,
where i loaded the rifle. an angry pink swine with long and pointed tusks
tore at the trunk below me. i aimed and fired, reloaded, aimed and fired again,
and again. several of the swine lay below me in the orchard, dying or dead.
the others scampered off, frightened and squealing. the three of us climbed down
from the trees. my son gathered apples in the orchard. my wife would not look at me
and walked into the kitchen. i followed her, told her, i can call someone and have those
swine taken away. she still wouldn’t look at me. she said, i didn’t tell you to do that.
please take that thing you are carrying and go away from here. i turned and walked
out of the house and down the dirt road, my rifle cradled in my arms. the sun was hot,
there was no shade on the road. the jenny and her foal were nowhere in sight.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The totality of facts determines both what is the case, and also all that is not the case.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein, “1.12”, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
fetal lymphocytes can persist in the mother’s blood for twenty-seven years
or so i’ve been told
so part of me was still inside my mother
pumping through her heart
flowing through her fingertips
when my father taught me to ride a bike across a green field my seventh summer
still inside my mother when the freckled older boy
impressed upon me middle-school’s pecking order
still inside my mother when snaggle-toothed regina
held me close at the high-school dance
still inside my mother on college graduation night
black-robed and mortar-boarded
rolled diploma in my hand
still inside my mother on a cloudy late-summer morning in texas
while i stood outside a pharmacy’s door
regina standing beside me
her hand on the rough brick wall while she threw up on the sidewalk
an after-effect of the quick operation to remove from within herself
that which left her with fetal lymphocytes still persisting in her blood
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my life blew up in my face
i never heard a sound
there was a flash and still
i can’t see
my eyes are burned
burning
shards that had been my life blew off
i grabbed at them buzzing by my head
trying to catch an explosion
eyes on fire
white blinded
me reaching
reaping the air
the fragments i catch are hot
jagged
molten steel life tearing through my hands
speeding away from me
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“‘Defective’ was a big word in our house. Many things were labeled ‘defective’ only to miraculously turn functional once the directions had been read more thoroughly.” – Tina Fey, Bossypants
my lover is a little slut but she’s a slut for me.
i stop by her house for coffee after work.
she wears her short black dress. we hug and kiss,
the way we always do when we see each other.
you’d think we were kids but the gray in our hair
and the lines in our faces—we’re not kids.
we hug and kiss the way we always do. she wears
her short black dress. no bra, i notice when i hug her
and run my hands down her back. i slip one hand
up under the hem of her short black dress, and into
her underwear. panties, but a real man has to be careful
about letting that word come out of his mouth.
so they’re not panties, they’re underwear.
my fingers are inside them.
you’re wet, i say
to my little slut lover. i think about her fingers
and where they may have been in the moments
before i arrived, before she set the coffee to brew.
it is brewing now, and my fingers
are feeling where she is wet.
take those off, i say
to my lover, my sweet little slut. i pull
at her pant— at her underwear, and step back.
she pulls them down her legs and off while
i kick off my shoes, strip off my tie, and take
off my pants as quickly as i can without my
seeming frantic. i take my sweet little slut
by her shoulders and guide her to her living room,
where i pull down my own underwear—
i’ve never worn panties in my life, not even as a joke—
and sit back on her couch. she straddles me.
my sweet little lover, my precious and
wet little slut, she straddles me and i push
myself slowly inside her. i use one hand to
guide and help support me, as i am growing older
and am not how i once was down there, how
i was when i was younger and ramrod straight.
i guide myself into my sweet little slut. she
rides me, her half-closed eyes rolling back in her
head, her mouth open in a grimace.
too soon my rock, it crumbles, or more accurately,
it melts away, becomes a little slug again.
before i’ve even attained the pleasure of
the explosive release we men so compulsively crave,
it melts away, wet now with the wetness from
my loving little slut. my little slug, gone back
to sleep before its work was done, now on point
for the reconnaissance into the sleep of death.
but never mind that. i lift my lover off of me,
lean her back into the cushions of her couch.
spread your legs, i tell her. she does. she
loves me. i could never find a way to tell her
how grateful i am that she loves me the way
she does, wet, her eyes rolling back in her head,
the grimace when i am inside her. i slip two fingers
into her, slowly, and slowly deeper, then
i squeeze her and squeeze her, the rhythm
of my hand matching the rhythm of her
rocking on me.
wider, i say to my
sweet rocking lover, let me in, and i slip
now three fingers inside her. i squeeze
her and pull her, kiss her with my tongue pushing
its way deep into her mouth, take my other hand
and squeeze her breasts, rocking her on me.
then i slowly let her go.
i cover her with myself. we hold each other.
her legs are up on either side of me. i feel
them trembling against my sides, and my
own legs trembling. my little slug, wet still
with the wetness of my sweet little slut,
sleeps between my legs. but as long as i have
my fingers, my darling precious lover, i’m sure,
will still be mine. and when we have coffee,
i’ll be able to hold my cup.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
hi,
what a hot fuck you are
say, i’ve had more than one glass of wine tonight
but i just wanted you to know what a hot fuck you are
and that’s not the only reason i love you
i’ve been a little freaked-out lately over our getting married
don’t get me wqqrong
i mean
wrong
because i very much want for us to get married
to each other
but i have been a little freaked about it lately
you know i’ve been married before and in fact
this week is fifteen years since that ended
we should celebrate
really we should and i don’t mean anything mean to my ex about that
i’m sure she’s as happy as i am
enough of that
i’ve been a little freaked
so let’s go celebrate this coming saturday evening by going out to dinner
i almost wrote sinner
by going out to dinner together
you
such the hot fuck that you are
and me
who can occasionally still rise to the occasion
xo
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“We merely are waifs shipwrecked on the ocean of nature; and ever and anon, from a sudden wave that shall be more transparent than others, there leaps forth a fact that in an instant confounds all we imagined we knew.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
so, my darling, you’ve shown me your lesions
and told me they mean you’re going to die
well you don’t get to feel so special
we’re all going to die
it’s just that maybe you have more precise information and belief
concerning your own demise
but that you’re going to die
(as if that makes you unique—as if!
that’s not what makes you unique)
is not enough to drive me away
you’re going to have to try harder than that
if you’re going to be rid of me
in the meantime
you’re for me and i’m for you
you are my lifeboat and i am yours
it’s a sort of magic
board me and i’ll carry you upon the ocean
riding over the crests of waves
though if i start to ship a little water
i will need you to bail
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my son, who is still in his teens, has said
that when he gets into a serious relationship,
he wants it to be with a low-maintenance woman.
dad, i want a low-maintenance relationship,
he said to me at dinner at our favorite diner last week.
i said, son, there’s no such thing—you want that,
get a cat, or an inflatable doll.
my lover is sweet as honey, smooth as fine wine,
but she is filled with broken glass. she knows this
and so do i. we know the care we must take.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The most trivial secret of the non-human object we behold in nature connects more closely perhaps with the profound enigma of our origin and our end, than the secret of those of our passions that we study the most eagerly and the most passionately.” – Maurice Maeterlinck, The Life of the Bee
my love if you must scream
go out to the desert and scream at the stones
they will echo your cries and transform them into song
my love if you must bleed
take yourself down to the river
fill it with the force of your life flowing to the seas and oceans
become the waters of birth and rebirth
my love if you must burn
place your burning hands against my skin
wrap your fiery arms and legs tight around me
press your hot mouth to mine and burn me
burn me through and never let me go
(Published in Lyrotica, 2011; copyright 2011, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)