rubber legs, rubber legs
don't try to do too much
old rooks got an arm and
football will break your heart
The call is tails:
concentrated cells
twinge trick knee trick knee
working with alacrity,
Rackers makes tackles.
Bootlegs, big hands,
pull it off. This year
let's stay in the hole,
work the middle. No more
shotgun, huddle! When
the game gets this chippy
just keep holding
holding holding then
run little birdy run.
XLII
was the end of pretend
sex. Gray men in black
jeans and sober suits
care about, you know,
things. Staunch guardians
of artistic control rarely
smile. They are wizards in
that they actually play. So
are the other men in real
white pants. Princes of cups.
Thread the needle, kill the
gloss, move the chain. Make
the striped jumping camera
telephone people look behind
the times. Don't they know
what has begun? I like the red
chowder, but that don't mean
I'm gonna get it. Tell them
they are more human than a list
of favorites, Tom. The old
Tom, the broken-hearted. The play
has ended. The clock has issues. I've
had enough of these methodical drives.
My Cup Runneth Over
Like so many variegated leaves, I begin to become
all one color instead. The rest of life is not as
exciting as the day you win the lottery. I want a second
career. They are calling it red October. It is the 9th
and it is 92 degrees. My druthers are in Portland
or Wales. I don’t know what to do with all this love.
My shepherd’s pie days are over. There’s something
about me that is cold as stone. But oh, how the children
do love me! The children with small expensive hearts.
Plea
When people say the tri-cities,
don't ask questions. You will not have
heard of the three. Not Kennewick,
Bristol, Pasco, Fremont, Gdańsk, nor
Endicott, you see? This is a certain fact.
Long live these inscrutable cities and the
proud men who innocently rattle off their blank
names. Please let them believe a little while
longer, let their cities float like lost mylar
balloons at the TriCity River Festival, nameless,
without context or tether. Let the tri-cities
escape you. Let them be. Let them be for me.
क्निघ्त्स्क्नी
alder hearty he
is not snapping dogwood never
at once perpindicular
and there brickbat daggers
an angleless torture
in my own green
& crooked doghouse
Menu
There are rules. After the age of 12, it is ridiculous to desire merely the drumstick. You should have more ambition. Under 54, it is effeminate to want less than three eggs at a time. In fact, it is apparently kinda gay. In the in-between, the real men order big meat & the real women demand things with extra or without, or even better, not on the menu. This shows they make themselves a priority and you should too. Only the margins of seniors and kiddies may publicly admit the quiet will to survive, the need for sustenance. Until then, discouraged from the joy of the small & limited, we must feverishly develop favorites. We are the special. We with the long lists of things we cannot tolerate. We, the most alive, perfect Venn diagrams of preferences and implied indigestions. This talk was once the domain of the old, but we have swallowed it up and made it our very selves. Bring me forward. Bring me back. Bring me a soda with a bottom.
Wales
When I walk across you, I
ford the Usk & Wye alone!
In shops, musty shelves
greet me with the sweetly
fingerprints of friends.
Beyond town I walk west and west and meet someone called
Luvina who doesn't seem to think everything is more difficult
for her than everyone else on Earth, and so is good company.
She lends me moleskin and I give her
good old raisins & peanuts & whiskey.
We walk west from Mumbles
past small bays and strangers
I say, "Let's stop and find
the village under the sand."
Luvina does not blame me when we reach the
causeway at high-tide and cannot walk across.
This is the first Area of Oustanding Beauty.
Neptunalia
I built many umbrellas, hung the drought foliage, but I didn't know why. A bus transporting Polish pilgrims fell off the cliff to the river below. Not actual anymore. I've grown accustomed to codes like yellow. I irrigate my laurels, call it a nice day. I'm not one of those extra-sensitive persons. It's just thunder––no rain.
Salvage
You just can't see it. Nothing but glum
pots and wet blankets behind rusty
barbed wire fences, used by impotent
old men, long dead. You'll think you
need to understand this pile because
to the dog, his junkyard is beautiful.
Without the yard, he is just dog.
Without the junk, he is ordinary.
Without you, he thinks he has nothing to
guard against. His busted sofa cushions
suddenly become busted sofa cushions.
No more shadows of lost pillowy love
or endless clouds of innards from his
dreams of instinct. He will die to protect
this. Don't cry when you can't understand
the ways of junkyard dogs. They have
nothing you need. Let sleeping dogs bark
away their tapeworms and mulligrubs alone.
July in her Eye
100s of high mucketymuck
tomatoes burst like so many
mouths in mouths. Loud yellow
birds shit from branches of hot
pink trees. All are welcome to make
garish messes * here * during me.
Broadcast
I..........am.....................................squirrelly...
.....................rabbit.ears...............................
...................................pay.............................
.....attention....................................................
.......................................................................
.......................................................................
......................................my.condo.................
......liquefies.................................................
.....................................................................
.......three.dead.........................trees............
..........two.on..........................the.way........
......................................................................
.............................snowy ..........................
the race for.....................................the.white
.............................house................................
......................................................................
watch.......................what............... happens...
.............the.high.....,.....................................
...................heel.............................................
...........................................................breaks.
Elegy
now only blue
tooths barrel
thru your once
Ropes & Ranch
all gone all
the live-
long day
o
fixin'
me
a
home of lost
pickles in wet
folded napkins
you left me alone
with my horse
radish dreams
free!
with happy
trailing
a tumbling tumble
weed–
tooths barrel
thru your once
Ropes & Ranch
all gone all
the live-
long day
o
fixin'
me
a
home of lost
pickles in wet
folded napkins
you left me alone
with my horse
radish dreams
free!
with happy
trailing
a tumbling tumble
weed–
Netted Gems
Dare to give all the cross-legged
kids on hot concrete porches
knives and cantaloupes to play
with. They will know what to do:
hack, scoop, then fling fruit guts
into the moldering azalea bushes.
They will awkwardly separate
sweet from green with needless
knives, when their own mouths
would less dangeroulsy do.
They will stab their rough-hewn
chunks, shove metal toward their
own melony tongues in the most
knuckleheaded of ways. They will
scrape the blade through clenched teeth,
as effortless orange-left glides down them.
They will never say, "Isn't this fun?"
In Leash
Girls with music
velcroed around
naked biceps walk
yellow dogs so
briskly briskly the
sidewalk pants.
Ticky-Tack
One day, the fine
line between lust
sick clowns and
pompous scholars
finally gave way!
People flocked to
the honeysuckled
streets with glee
& tintinnabulation,
banging cooking
pots with wooden
spoons until the
iceman came
three times. But
word spread, as
it always does,
and the linemen
swooped in with
their pigeonholes
and crowbrows,
made everyone
go back inside
and be somebody.
Adagio
Once in a while you must
ignore the faces in the pansies,
however fruitless a task it seems.
A renegade marigold will grow
taller than your brother, if it
tries. I have slow wheels in my ears
for these things. Listen, the baby
grand will fit in the corner like
nobody. Wrap it in quilts and let's
get cracking. The ever-thougtful
tulip bulbs, so ugly now, can
only wait for spring's cull,
your ship to come in,
the sheet music to yellow,
the sun to hit the dusty vase,
forgotten under the sink.
ignore the faces in the pansies,
however fruitless a task it seems.
A renegade marigold will grow
taller than your brother, if it
tries. I have slow wheels in my ears
for these things. Listen, the baby
grand will fit in the corner like
nobody. Wrap it in quilts and let's
get cracking. The ever-thougtful
tulip bulbs, so ugly now, can
only wait for spring's cull,
your ship to come in,
the sheet music to yellow,
the sun to hit the dusty vase,
forgotten under the sink.
10987654321
The baker balances satiety and arousal like
his seratonin and uh uh uh uh dopa dopa
/ mine.
(our invisible banana peels are everywhere)
His proud mustache never blanches
sometimes he licks his fingers
sometimes he cries
but never learns
from smashed ganache sacrifices
I still can't take it:
first, a voice counts and
calls, then so sweetly we
must fall his fall.
Bi Bim Bop
First you must work harder than
you think. Each wheel squeaks and
gets the grease. Remind the ingredients,
"You can all be individuals--together."
This is a good lesson; they will understand.
[earth, water, fire, wood, metal]
One nation under a fried egg
Malocclusion
at thirteen, I am fit
for a bite plate--a pretty
pink imititation of the
roof of my mouth
no one can see it, but I can
flip it clack it snap it
and even wear it
swimming in the ocean
until someone tries to dunk
me and, everything is hilarious,
I spit it out in a melodramatic
timely teener laughing jag
I watch my bite plate
disappear into the gray
I dive after it like it will be
as easy to find as a penny
for years after this day
an aunt or cousin will
point to an odd shell
on the shore and say my
bite plate has finally come
back to me. I will jam many
salty purplish fragments
behind my buck teeth
and smile and nod. I like
thinking of my bite plate
beyond me, out there in
the drink. The thirteen
year old roof of my mouth
immortalized in hard
plastic and housing
some strange crab,
invisible plankton colony,
lily roots, or even now
scum-covered at the
bottom of a hog lagoon
gone uncorrected, buried,
laughter ejecting even this
small cry for perfection
Spandrel
dapple backwards be becalmed
dinghy blackbird river beech
pollen dust snuffalufagus
even stiff wineskin busts
for oily gene puddles
byebye rainbows
no wonder
girl
There's Something 'bout the Southland in the Springtime
Carmen Miranda
Purplies
Cobweb Carnation
Freckles and Buzz
Make Way for Goslings!
Enter the Gumball
White Leg Bay
Hollywood in the Neighborhood
Clooney is in my neighborhood shooting the movie "Leatherheads." Who knew I was living in 1920s Chicago?
Spring Sprung
Wood de la Dog
Magnolia and BBQ. . . in NC a good barbecue kitchen requires a hitchin'.
Elm Street Shoppers
Sunrise in Myrtle
Dream City
Erect small ferris
wheels rack
up eight gondolierless boats so orange
purple round up round hoist
flags, screw bulbs, cheat pockets, look down. . . now
carom carom carom carom carom carom carom carom
be greened be
Poem for the First Day of Spring
9:50 a.m--the pear blossoms on
Elm Street astound me. The pear
blossoms on Elm Street will never
become pears and once were elms.
White blossoms float in this paper
town, once frontier town, still back
county town. This could be such a
nice place to live if everyone would
stop saying this could be such a
nice place to live. A rusty metal
diamond sign is stilled, now
proclaims TATOOS! The end is near
for the furniture and the tournament
went to Tampa. A hoary professorial
type gives me a hearty hello. He may
think I am one of the thousands he
has taught, but I am not. Until now.
Maybe he is happy to spot a poem-
writing on this sidewalk on the first
day of spring. Maybe I think too much
of myself. It's nice to be here among
the adults, who are not the school-
teachers and sausage-makers of the
world, the adults who, for better
or worse,may stroll downtown on bright
Tuesday mornings. The train blasts in
from Charlotte. Elm Street backs ups
with cheery brake lights. It's 40 minutes
late which is pretty good. The grand old
Jefferson Pilot building is Lincoln Financial
now but still blinks out the time and temp
from its pinnacle. These relentless markers
of time love Elm Street, which before the
elms was Main Street. Whistles and clocks,
regulars and the cumulous clouds of
my pear blossoms. The alpha and omega
flowers remind us of snow, will not let
us forget the past, and they are right.
Already the petals are falling on the morning
drunks, the lacrosse moms, the golden fleecy
Martin who just missed us in 1968, the new
yankees, and the old scalliwags, dogwalkers,
hookyplayers, and me. A toothless man
stops and asks if I own this place,
but I think he knows
we all do.
Elm Street astound me. The pear
blossoms on Elm Street will never
become pears and once were elms.
White blossoms float in this paper
town, once frontier town, still back
county town. This could be such a
nice place to live if everyone would
stop saying this could be such a
nice place to live. A rusty metal
diamond sign is stilled, now
proclaims TATOOS! The end is near
for the furniture and the tournament
went to Tampa. A hoary professorial
type gives me a hearty hello. He may
think I am one of the thousands he
has taught, but I am not. Until now.
Maybe he is happy to spot a poem-
writing on this sidewalk on the first
day of spring. Maybe I think too much
of myself. It's nice to be here among
the adults, who are not the school-
teachers and sausage-makers of the
world, the adults who, for better
or worse,may stroll downtown on bright
Tuesday mornings. The train blasts in
from Charlotte. Elm Street backs ups
with cheery brake lights. It's 40 minutes
late which is pretty good. The grand old
Jefferson Pilot building is Lincoln Financial
now but still blinks out the time and temp
from its pinnacle. These relentless markers
of time love Elm Street, which before the
elms was Main Street. Whistles and clocks,
regulars and the cumulous clouds of
my pear blossoms. The alpha and omega
flowers remind us of snow, will not let
us forget the past, and they are right.
Already the petals are falling on the morning
drunks, the lacrosse moms, the golden fleecy
Martin who just missed us in 1968, the new
yankees, and the old scalliwags, dogwalkers,
hookyplayers, and me. A toothless man
stops and asks if I own this place,
but I think he knows
we all do.
Clerihew
For the Men of "Saved By the Bell"
Zachary Morris
Star of the Chorus
Roll up your pants, roll up your sleeves!
Why must you remind me of stuffed grape leaves?
A.C. Slater
Preppy-hater
Your school singlet and sequined unitard episodes are my faves,
even though the back of your head needs to go through a lathe.
Screech
Medicinal Leech
I love your pants of the elastic waist
patterned with tubes of anchovy paste!
Mister Belding
Principal Gelding
Which one of you asses
stole all my hall passes?
Zachary Morris
Star of the Chorus
Roll up your pants, roll up your sleeves!
Why must you remind me of stuffed grape leaves?
A.C. Slater
Preppy-hater
Your school singlet and sequined unitard episodes are my faves,
even though the back of your head needs to go through a lathe.
Screech
Medicinal Leech
I love your pants of the elastic waist
patterned with tubes of anchovy paste!
Mister Belding
Principal Gelding
Which one of you asses
stole all my hall passes?
Quick Point
Thread the wide-eyed plastic
pink needle with thick and
lumpy blue yarn, lick it good,
close one eye, feel the
wooly tickle on your
tongue all day long.
The painted-on butterfly
awaits, but you can't quite
catch her. In through the
backdoor, go upstairs, and one
house over. Small caterpillar
fingers pull too hard and
lose wings behind the airy
canvas. How many times
does this needle come back
to me, winking and naked,
before I snap it in two?
Laryngitis
made them listen.
The hoarse hushed
tones like an important
lullaby. Everything said
sounded forced and
melancholy. To me, I
was wearing a red wig.
The hoarse hushed
tones like an important
lullaby. Everything said
sounded forced and
melancholy. To me, I
was wearing a red wig.
Sputum
Decals like primatene
lungs in complementary
contrasts seem stuck
on me. Need bursts
of air from the corner
of old maps, clear
curlicued lines from
puffcheeked demigods.
lungs in complementary
contrasts seem stuck
on me. Need bursts
of air from the corner
of old maps, clear
curlicued lines from
puffcheeked demigods.
Queries
Q. I thought you said in Shakespeare whore means "listen up."
A. No. I said ho means "listen up."
Q. Aren't they the same thing?
A. No.
Q. So then what does whore mean?
A. Whore.
Q. I thought you said you can't define a word with itself?
A. You're absolutely right.
A. I thought so.
7:24 A.M, My Porch
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry.
---William Shakespeare The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet
Sport
Tijuana Newt Gingrich
first endive on the twenty six
offensive line richannon
no one on the chowder deck
in zowed that’s the rookie
first endive on the twenty six
offensive line richannon
no one on the chowder deck
in zowed that’s the rookie
XLI
Oh, Super Bowl, when will I catch up with you?
The cities and symbols keep changing on me.
The first one I remember you were already sweet
XVI and I was only IX, at the Heacocks', listening to
Hooked on Classics on great big mushy earphones.
Back then Indianapolis was Baltimore and there
was a little yellow pick-up truck with a decal in
the back window. One time Bobby and I got to
sit in the back with the cases of beer--racing
backwards on roads that take you to the moon!
For this party, they have new bottles; the tops are
wrapped in tin foil, but it is golden. I have to lie
on the floor beside the potted plant to be near
the stereo and get a little bag of chips all to
myself. I stare at the album cover while I listen to
the music inside; it is all beautiful and scary. The
treble cleff turns up into a drippy mercury fish
hook. I imagine blood dripping off it onto the brown
carpet and think of the Heavy Metal choices on the ten
records for penny ad on the back of The Weekender.
I experiment with reality, turning it.on.off.on.off.
on.off.HookedonClassics.cheering.HookedonClassics.
UpWithPeople.HookedonClassics.laughing. The party
is an eggshell mosaic or bean collage. I like the guys
the best whose whole helmets are tiger-stripes. Just
SF is boring, but they remind me of a certain pencil I
had in first grade and match the new beer bottles. They
are my disco dancers, tiny shakers like in the loud plug-in
football game in my cousins' basement, but this music
is nicer and sounds like teenagers. The dumb headphones
at school are not soft and puffy. They are hard and gray
and pull my hair. I had to stay in at recess last year and
listen to the singing multipication tables records so I could
finally get past the threes. Six times four is tweeeenteeee four. . .
These headphones are different and magic and make
you feel like you are somewhere else and here at the same
time. Somewhere with neon rainbows and canopy beds with
matching curtains. Somewhere inside my sticker collection
photo album. But here too--where silenced moustachioed
men point at golden pants and twirl with tiger stipes.
The cities and symbols keep changing on me.
The first one I remember you were already sweet
XVI and I was only IX, at the Heacocks', listening to
Hooked on Classics on great big mushy earphones.
Back then Indianapolis was Baltimore and there
was a little yellow pick-up truck with a decal in
the back window. One time Bobby and I got to
sit in the back with the cases of beer--racing
backwards on roads that take you to the moon!
For this party, they have new bottles; the tops are
wrapped in tin foil, but it is golden. I have to lie
on the floor beside the potted plant to be near
the stereo and get a little bag of chips all to
myself. I stare at the album cover while I listen to
the music inside; it is all beautiful and scary. The
treble cleff turns up into a drippy mercury fish
hook. I imagine blood dripping off it onto the brown
carpet and think of the Heavy Metal choices on the ten
records for penny ad on the back of The Weekender.
I experiment with reality, turning it.on.off.on.off.
on.off.HookedonClassics.cheering.HookedonClassics.
UpWithPeople.HookedonClassics.laughing. The party
is an eggshell mosaic or bean collage. I like the guys
the best whose whole helmets are tiger-stripes. Just
SF is boring, but they remind me of a certain pencil I
had in first grade and match the new beer bottles. They
are my disco dancers, tiny shakers like in the loud plug-in
football game in my cousins' basement, but this music
is nicer and sounds like teenagers. The dumb headphones
at school are not soft and puffy. They are hard and gray
and pull my hair. I had to stay in at recess last year and
listen to the singing multipication tables records so I could
finally get past the threes. Six times four is tweeeenteeee four. . .
These headphones are different and magic and make
you feel like you are somewhere else and here at the same
time. Somewhere with neon rainbows and canopy beds with
matching curtains. Somewhere inside my sticker collection
photo album. But here too--where silenced moustachioed
men point at golden pants and twirl with tiger stipes.
Mondo
Eye derma-pods
Teton superhouse completed
Are we all Regenerists?
A fictional life
relies on props to fulfill
designer carbon footprints.
Bungalow
In a cottage of cheese by the tinsel
bamboo, Manfready is warm and toasty.
Plastic wrap leaky and drafty vessels
or they will dripdart from pillar to post,
all the way home, wagging their tails behind
them! Hear the sea say samudraghosha?
Grip the cold planer and zest lemon rind
into the batter that grows in the dosha,
leaves white your tongue and forgets your saline
sea of sanwiches isles. Soft, the county stays
safe and dry. Fat bees suck the eglantine.
Pacific dreams with Rutherford B. Hayes
hand in vest, wingtips tiptoe the edge
only as wild as the ùmbrella sedge.
bamboo, Manfready is warm and toasty.
Plastic wrap leaky and drafty vessels
or they will dripdart from pillar to post,
all the way home, wagging their tails behind
them! Hear the sea say samudraghosha?
Grip the cold planer and zest lemon rind
into the batter that grows in the dosha,
leaves white your tongue and forgets your saline
sea of sanwiches isles. Soft, the county stays
safe and dry. Fat bees suck the eglantine.
Pacific dreams with Rutherford B. Hayes
hand in vest, wingtips tiptoe the edge
only as wild as the ùmbrella sedge.
Happy Hour
it's not my mustache
now get along good
will make happy be
baboon-girl mouths
cracks delicate antenna:
this one needs things
this one thinks he’s funny
no one will go bad
and she made herself
bored beyond belief
in this china closet
Pelican
One morning I escape a hotel room cot
and walk down to the docks all alone.
I see Alcatraz and take this as a
sign. I am wearing a white poncho.
There is a brouhaha upon my return
because there had been some talk of
pancake house, but I could not be found.
I, for one, have never been fond of the
sounds of other's toilette, especially from
the vantage point of a hotel room cot.
Actually, it's not the sound that bothers
me, it's the inscrutable silence. I stare
into the face of a electrical socket for
some time before I rise, slip past the future
mother, brother, husband,
and bolt into
the steely dawn
trailing blood and yarn
lost and sniffing for new salts
only the tassels wave goodbye
to the sad pancakes on cold white plates.
and walk down to the docks all alone.
I see Alcatraz and take this as a
sign. I am wearing a white poncho.
There is a brouhaha upon my return
because there had been some talk of
pancake house, but I could not be found.
I, for one, have never been fond of the
sounds of other's toilette, especially from
the vantage point of a hotel room cot.
Actually, it's not the sound that bothers
me, it's the inscrutable silence. I stare
into the face of a electrical socket for
some time before I rise, slip past the future
mother, brother, husband,
and bolt into
the steely dawn
trailing blood and yarn
lost and sniffing for new salts
only the tassels wave goodbye
to the sad pancakes on cold white plates.
No Hands
Can my mind make that colorful
pile in the corner swirl about in a
front loading washing machine?
pink sock pink sock
green sweater yellow
pink sock pink sock
The poets say the author is dead
and intentions don't matter. All
us adults say this too: it doesn't
matter that you did it on accident.
But look I made a washing machine
pile in the corner swirl about in a
front loading washing machine?
pink sock pink sock
green sweater yellow
pink sock pink sock
The poets say the author is dead
and intentions don't matter. All
us adults say this too: it doesn't
matter that you did it on accident.
But look I made a washing machine
Helicopter
some baby's mama is coming
in to tell us to slam his work
to remind us baby is different but
we must stop making accomodations
and be hard on him so he'll be able
to compete against the other people
if they aren't telling me to
go easier on their kids they
are telling me to go slap them
with a ruler there is a time
when all the babymamas need
to go back to work or modern
dance this time is when
the baby has pubes, mama
Faber Wear
Old coffeepot, it
wasn't that your
coffee was better
but, boy, was it
shinier. Noises
more reassuring
than this slow
drip we've come
accustomed to.
Angrily you call to us
. . . . . . . . hollowing
rock. Water wears
down the mountain
taking bits of moss
and soil and stone
to the raging ocean
to make to make with
tip me over kind of love
Retrospect
Mosquitoes are persnickety
(but we all know that).
They will find an inglenook
where it alone is unSkintastic.
To think in other places
we worried over boxelder
bugs clumping in spurge!
No-see-ums beyond belief
create invisible briar patches
every naked ankle will see.
The sun lists toward the
garden shed, untreated
and ready to fall.
Stop the Catbox
going to have
to let you go
extentable
handle extendable
handle
ask the box
what we should
do now, box
Buffalo?
I don't want
to live there
I want to
live here
FOREVER
here it comes
you can see
the meat
coming out
starts to work
even before you
wipe deliver
the biggest
one of all,
team mom
Lục Bát
Bright taste bud coup t'etat:
sprinkle cayenne on papayas.
Flitting hot pariah
dissolves sweet inside ya, cells orange
with pawpaw's dense syringe.
Juicy lunatic fringe! Mouth bulbs
blossom with astringent
puckering, pungent sugar-steel.
Tongue hootenanny stomps---then reels
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
sprinkle cayenne on papayas.
Flitting hot pariah
dissolves sweet inside ya, cells orange
with pawpaw's dense syringe.
Juicy lunatic fringe! Mouth bulbs
blossom with astringent
puckering, pungent sugar-steel.
Tongue hootenanny stomps---then reels
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
You Should Call This Allusions of Grandeur
The last pfuft-gurgle, coffee's
denoument, this ragged beat.
People of my generation are
still scared to take the carafe
off too early, even though we
know those days are over. Burnt
coffee lingers on the brain. We
are drinking beans, my friend,
dark and magic beans!
Actually, they are seeds.
Did you hear me? I said
seeds. No such thing
as a coffe bean, magic or
otherwise. It's a SEED.
I'm trying to write
a poem here, so
could you shut up?
It's like sea gulls. They don't
exist. They are just gulls.
Well, that kind of
thing ruins poems.
Sorry, I just had a Starbucks.
Did you know it's an
allusion to Moby Dick?
Did you know Starbuck
is a Quaker?
Thanks for the tip.
No problemo!
One day, will we look as ridiculous
as the people in old movies who smoke
in the supermarket or doctor's
office? At the turn of the century
a coffee joint could be found on
every corner and it was all pefectly
legal. That's what we think
when we see the pharmacy where
O. Henry sold cocaine one hundred
years ago. The Mormons say hot
drinks are not for the belly, and I
agree. They are for the mind.
Joseph Smith wrote that
in 1833. I rock! Oh, yeah!
A little early for your "turn-
of-the-century motif?" Moby
Dick was 1851. Ah, yes, I see
the logic of chronology now.
I have a logic of
chronology?
Who said that line? Hmm. .
Got it! William Sidney Porter.
This poem is over.
Oh, how clever of you. Now
what movie shows both
of the places together--
a supermarket and a doctor's waiting room? Of course, Blondie on a Budget. Did you know Rita Hayworth was married to Prince Aly Khan, Orson Welles, Fred Astaire, Edward C. Judson, Dick Haymes, and James Hill? Not in that order. A lot of people don't them all. Hey, look who's over on the right-hand side of the page now. . . .people are so stupid. Yes, it's the right-hand side. . .I can't stand when people get that wrong. Beans, ha! They don't get it.
Yoshida Kogyo Kabushililaisha
green windbreaker draft
metal zippers flown away
branches screech on window panes
steely YKKs
millions inched up from Macon
cherry blossom flies
avuncular zips
stuck on missing plastic teeth
silver power lost
forced buds are just sticks
brand new jackets are breaking
greenly cheap sorrow
January in Greensboro
What's as weird as January in Carolina? Silvesterchlaus. Click here for important 'fo on Silversterchlaus. Happy New Year to all ya'll on the Julian calendar!
Pretty Ugly
If you want to be happy for the rest
of your life, remember everyday must
be used as an adjective meaning ordinary.
Otherwise, it's every day, yes, it's arbitrary
everyday every day everyday every day
every day everyday every day everyday
every day every day every day every day
Oh, you'll have plenty of time to correct
errors of ugly wife dialect:
cooking meals, giving peace of mind.
You'll find the pretty, the perfect
your cause and effect
your every day will trump
you're everyday every time.
it's a getting closer
a-hey a-hey hey
aside nonnie
of your life, remember everyday must
be used as an adjective meaning ordinary.
Otherwise, it's every day, yes, it's arbitrary
everyday every day everyday every day
every day everyday every day everyday
every day every day every day every day
Oh, you'll have plenty of time to correct
errors of ugly wife dialect:
cooking meals, giving peace of mind.
You'll find the pretty, the perfect
your cause and effect
your every day will trump
you're everyday every time.
it's a getting closer
a-hey a-hey hey
aside nonnie
Presentiment
chapped lip
cut slip
beer bong
love song
smoothing on
the suntan lotion
to fulfill a
silly notion
waiting for the bus
wet kiss
gotta piss
loose hands
measured sands
everything's better
at the hill
is she really
on the pill?
Thursdays
are so slow.
--1988
cut slip
beer bong
love song
smoothing on
the suntan lotion
to fulfill a
silly notion
waiting for the bus
wet kiss
gotta piss
loose hands
measured sands
everything's better
at the hill
is she really
on the pill?
Thursdays
are so slow.
--1988
It Is
so hard to sharpen
a pencil
just right.
Even with so much
care the lead is
misshapen,
chunky. I once must
have been better
at this. An alert
bird on a wrought
iron fence. It was a
necessity, this hypnotic
centrifuge of yellow
tipped rickrack,
wooden and grayish
through a shaded
dome. This kind of
attention made it
easy to turn out
just right. Now I
push too hard, think
of possible angles
past successes
not noticing
the spiraling
party left
in my
wake.
a pencil
just right.
Even with so much
care the lead is
misshapen,
chunky. I once must
have been better
at this. An alert
bird on a wrought
iron fence. It was a
necessity, this hypnotic
centrifuge of yellow
tipped rickrack,
wooden and grayish
through a shaded
dome. This kind of
attention made it
easy to turn out
just right. Now I
push too hard, think
of possible angles
past successes
not noticing
the spiraling
party left
in my
wake.
Mnemonic
Down the basement
the Trinitronic was new.
There the Motown Anniversary Show
was a special special special.
There on the sofa of indoor
outdoor carpet texture –– me 11 she 2.
It used to be upstairs
before we needed
extra bedroom
Zoe.
My mother chickened
out at the last second
and named her Catherine
just in case she turned
out normal. Not a medical
condition, just well, normal.
I wanted to be a Cate--
so I tried to call the baby
that I also tried to sleep
in the crib. I was 9. Cate
just didn't take.
She was cumbersome:
Catherine Zoe.
She declared herself
just Zoe in the first grade.
That's when it really matters.
That's when it sticks.
That's when you are most
grateful for a three letter name.
I was in eighth grade by then
and didn't want to be
a Cate anymore. By then
I wanted to be a girl Ramone
so I'm glad I didn’t have
another sister
or a puppy.
Catherine Zoe was
right there next to me
that night on the sofa
she doesn’t know
and she doesn't
remember trying
to moonwalk.
***
So she doesn’t remember?
I’ve seen it in the
others my friends
all youngests
all my closest they don’t remember much
about how they got stray marks
or what was in their minds when––
It’s not their minds
they remember pin numbers
and phone numbers
tibia tarsus claw
turn in their taxes
on time, but––
In eighth grade, two girls I still know
made a remembering machine
It was an index card
with a rectangle cut out
of the upper left hand corner.
You could run it down
your vocabulary list or state
capitals and give yourself
a quiz before the quiz.
They named it Test Ease TM.
I thought it was funny
sounding
and geeky as hell they didn’t.
I laughed at them
said they were perverts
They didn’t get it and nothing could quell the excitement.
“Don’t you understand? A quiz before THE quiz?” thought
it might catch on make them rich.
But why feel bad?
Now when
I say, “Remember your Test Ease TM?”
They say, “You remember the
weirdest stuff.”
But somehow
it reminds them of Physics class still see Hill Street Blues
carved into my desktop
and one of them recites the Greek
alphabet says that was our first
test grade. Then the other joins in unison
somewhere around omicron
the Trinitronic was new.
There the Motown Anniversary Show
was a special special special.
There on the sofa of indoor
outdoor carpet texture –– me 11 she 2.
It used to be upstairs
before we needed
extra bedroom
Zoe.
My mother chickened
out at the last second
and named her Catherine
just in case she turned
out normal. Not a medical
condition, just well, normal.
I wanted to be a Cate--
so I tried to call the baby
that I also tried to sleep
in the crib. I was 9. Cate
just didn't take.
She was cumbersome:
Catherine Zoe.
She declared herself
just Zoe in the first grade.
That's when it really matters.
That's when it sticks.
That's when you are most
grateful for a three letter name.
I was in eighth grade by then
and didn't want to be
a Cate anymore. By then
I wanted to be a girl Ramone
so I'm glad I didn’t have
another sister
or a puppy.
Catherine Zoe was
right there next to me
that night on the sofa
she doesn’t know
and she doesn't
remember trying
to moonwalk.
***
So she doesn’t remember?
I’ve seen it in the
others my friends
all youngests
all my closest they don’t remember much
about how they got stray marks
or what was in their minds when––
It’s not their minds
they remember pin numbers
and phone numbers
tibia tarsus claw
turn in their taxes
on time, but––
In eighth grade, two girls I still know
made a remembering machine
It was an index card
with a rectangle cut out
of the upper left hand corner.
You could run it down
your vocabulary list or state
capitals and give yourself
a quiz before the quiz.
They named it Test Ease TM.
I thought it was funny
sounding
and geeky as hell they didn’t.
I laughed at them
said they were perverts
They didn’t get it and nothing could quell the excitement.
“Don’t you understand? A quiz before THE quiz?” thought
it might catch on make them rich.
But why feel bad?
Now when
I say, “Remember your Test Ease TM?”
They say, “You remember the
weirdest stuff.”
But somehow
it reminds them of Physics class still see Hill Street Blues
carved into my desktop
and one of them recites the Greek
alphabet says that was our first
test grade. Then the other joins in unison
somewhere around omicron
Kewpish
My ponytail leads me to the most fennely of
places until I'm not hungry anymore. When
is it okay to stop rolling your eyeballs? When
your peanut-butter and jelly commodity's not
so simple anymore. The ponytail's too heavy
and bunnish, lost all navigational ruddery
fun with too much underuse. The underdogs
won. Keep it on straight, don't lose it, there's
a good one on your shoulders--all the sun
shine, almost always makes me. Good one.
places until I'm not hungry anymore. When
is it okay to stop rolling your eyeballs? When
your peanut-butter and jelly commodity's not
so simple anymore. The ponytail's too heavy
and bunnish, lost all navigational ruddery
fun with too much underuse. The underdogs
won. Keep it on straight, don't lose it, there's
a good one on your shoulders--all the sun
shine, almost always makes me. Good one.
Social Curriculum
The lower headline is a good
place to start. I work my way
up. They could be anywhere
but prefer the warmer places.
I find none. This
failure, a success.
Some know this is
not right, this
ancient and
intimate pose.
Their bowed
heads, my fingers
methodically
scurrying over
intimate flakes
and valleys.
The ones who
understand the
world have clean
heads. They are
ready to leave
their natal groups.
The ones who have
yet to get their
abstract reasoning
still only clean when
it is demanded by
the elders. There is
so much under the
surface they don't
see, but only the
clean are ashamed.
I finish my checks, a popsicle
stick baboon matriach in greasy
spectacles. If I found a bug,
would I fight the instinct
to crack it between my teeth
and swallow?
Something here is
advantageous and
still among us.
I am an Empty Bowl
sip ginger water all day to lose weight
sun salutations to ignite agni
smell your food and with each bite celebrate
the god in cauliflower and brocolli
sun salutations to ignite agni
smell your food and with each bite celebrate
the god in cauliflower and brocolli
In Grassy Hallways
she salutes
the hierachy
of sidewalks
eucalyptus hangs
obliquely in the
glandular air
today is
waiting for
one) reveille
two) peristalsis
three) omnibus
three men in
a boat, a blue
canoe
New Souths
Let hate and prejudice have no place
here on granite fountains sponsored
by the Serendipity Garden Club. You
can build all the parks you want but
what you need are people who would
rather be outside than inside, adults who
can stand being around other adults who
they have not hand-selected for freshness
and quality. Other adults who shit and
stink and pick their noses. Other adults
with other habits. Other unpredictable
adults who dream, and strive, and love
and hate.
*
A single kid swings listlessly on a ten
thousand dollar custom-designed play
set in his massive backyard errinker errinker
errinker he is safe. His trees are too
new for shade. He drags his foot. He
doesn’t have to share. He goes inside to
play Doom for the rest of the afternoon.
He's very good at it.
*
I’m sitting on a bird! I’m flying!
the children in the downtown
swingless park scream at sullen
strangers. They are in danger
down here. They have made
something out of nothing. This
world has not been childproofed.
Dogs die. The wolf wins. Take them
back to a kid-friendly bonus room
where they must rely on mom and
oil to cross six lanes of traffic to
join a nationally branded kid’s gym
where your children are our business
*
There is a Gathering Place at the
new urbanist shopping center where
you can safely loose the kids. Yes.
This is the best of all worlds! They
can run and play and eat ice cream.
It looks so safe, ensconced by high
end retail and little white lights,
lots of security guards. All the people
are so nice and clean, and the clothes!
We've never had such nice clothes here.
It’s just like being downtown but without,
you know, so it's better. They even
have programs for The Kids. I don't
know why a shopping center would
have something like that, but I like it!
*
Five boys on small bikes skid
through the park disrespecting
the granite. Some are too small
to be out on their own. Someone
should be watching them. They
jump the curb into traffic, laughing
and screaming because they are
alive. They will die early. There is
tragedy in their eyes and poetry
in their mouths. They will
have a hard time working
in a cubicle or on a computer
all day. They haven't had
the same opportunities
as other American boys.
*
Indoor cats don’t miss the outside
because they don't know it exists.
Just because I thought "catch
a tiger by the toe" was the
only version of the rhyme
doesn't mean it was.
How will the children
know what to fix if we
don't let them see any
problems? Oh, but they
see, oh say, can they see.
They see the
backward past
and it is us.
here on granite fountains sponsored
by the Serendipity Garden Club. You
can build all the parks you want but
what you need are people who would
rather be outside than inside, adults who
can stand being around other adults who
they have not hand-selected for freshness
and quality. Other adults who shit and
stink and pick their noses. Other adults
with other habits. Other unpredictable
adults who dream, and strive, and love
and hate.
*
A single kid swings listlessly on a ten
thousand dollar custom-designed play
set in his massive backyard errinker errinker
errinker he is safe. His trees are too
new for shade. He drags his foot. He
doesn’t have to share. He goes inside to
play Doom for the rest of the afternoon.
He's very good at it.
*
I’m sitting on a bird! I’m flying!
the children in the downtown
swingless park scream at sullen
strangers. They are in danger
down here. They have made
something out of nothing. This
world has not been childproofed.
Dogs die. The wolf wins. Take them
back to a kid-friendly bonus room
where they must rely on mom and
oil to cross six lanes of traffic to
join a nationally branded kid’s gym
where your children are our business
*
There is a Gathering Place at the
new urbanist shopping center where
you can safely loose the kids. Yes.
This is the best of all worlds! They
can run and play and eat ice cream.
It looks so safe, ensconced by high
end retail and little white lights,
lots of security guards. All the people
are so nice and clean, and the clothes!
We've never had such nice clothes here.
It’s just like being downtown but without,
you know, so it's better. They even
have programs for The Kids. I don't
know why a shopping center would
have something like that, but I like it!
*
Five boys on small bikes skid
through the park disrespecting
the granite. Some are too small
to be out on their own. Someone
should be watching them. They
jump the curb into traffic, laughing
and screaming because they are
alive. They will die early. There is
tragedy in their eyes and poetry
in their mouths. They will
have a hard time working
in a cubicle or on a computer
all day. They haven't had
the same opportunities
as other American boys.
*
Indoor cats don’t miss the outside
because they don't know it exists.
Just because I thought "catch
a tiger by the toe" was the
only version of the rhyme
doesn't mean it was.
How will the children
know what to fix if we
don't let them see any
problems? Oh, but they
see, oh say, can they see.
They see the
backward past
and it is us.
Old Years
0. Prairie Home Companion
1. Northern Liberties Fireworks
2. Charades and the Tunnel
3. Philly Alley Wrapping Paper Tube
4. Andrew and Julie's Basement
5. Emily's Macado's
6. Mary Finn's Scary Leprechaun
7. Millennium Apartment Party
8. Sheehes
9. Bardo
10. Someone drinking out of Alison's Shoe
11. Mexican Restaurant/Bedrock
12. Bedrock
13. Nancy's and Emma's with Dave
14. Star Dress! Harmon/Hormone Party
1. Northern Liberties Fireworks
2. Charades and the Tunnel
3. Philly Alley Wrapping Paper Tube
4. Andrew and Julie's Basement
5. Emily's Macado's
6. Mary Finn's Scary Leprechaun
7. Millennium Apartment Party
8. Sheehes
9. Bardo
10. Someone drinking out of Alison's Shoe
11. Mexican Restaurant/Bedrock
12. Bedrock
13. Nancy's and Emma's with Dave
14. Star Dress! Harmon/Hormone Party
Resolutions
1. Stop saying "back in the day"
2. Stop saying "old school"
3. Start saying "one of these days I'm going to get organizised"
4. Aim high
2. Stop saying "old school"
3. Start saying "one of these days I'm going to get organizised"
4. Aim high
First Footing
showers tapering off army
drab walls timer beeps
until you wait it out, you
can do it, or press a button.
it's time now
first day in a bubble
gum pink suit size 10
good ol size 10 brown
stack heels oh no white
hose waiting for the
tall dark visitor with
a lump of coal and
a cigarette, Oprah,
a huge glass of water
at the end of the day.
Look at them all they suck
the energy out of you you
could do it forever if you didn't
have to do it five times every day
and then go home and do your
paperwork. It's time for those
dreams about going back. No
one will listen. You forget
a lesson plan or pants. If it
were real you'd have that dream
five times a night and not be
able to get to the ladies room
or have a beautiful restaurant
style glass of ice water all day
long. You will answer parent
emails your whole planning
period then race to finish making
the copies. And you will miss it;
there is no blonde stranger here.
showers tapering off army
drab walls timer beeps
until you wait it out, you
can do it, or press a button.
it's time now
drab walls timer beeps
until you wait it out, you
can do it, or press a button.
it's time now
first day in a bubble
gum pink suit size 10
good ol size 10 brown
stack heels oh no white
hose waiting for the
tall dark visitor with
a lump of coal and
a cigarette, Oprah,
a huge glass of water
at the end of the day.
Look at them all they suck
the energy out of you you
could do it forever if you didn't
have to do it five times every day
and then go home and do your
paperwork. It's time for those
dreams about going back. No
one will listen. You forget
a lesson plan or pants. If it
were real you'd have that dream
five times a night and not be
able to get to the ladies room
or have a beautiful restaurant
style glass of ice water all day
long. You will answer parent
emails your whole planning
period then race to finish making
the copies. And you will miss it;
there is no blonde stranger here.
showers tapering off army
drab walls timer beeps
until you wait it out, you
can do it, or press a button.
it's time now
To the Last
Hurry up
Destiny I
got to get
the beans
home to soak
come down
from there
before I
smack you
upside your
pretty head
Gorp
Susan thought the dumbest thing she had ever done was puking in a wicker wastepaper basket. She remembered this as she stared into her morning gorp. It wasn’t officially gorp, but that’s how Susan thought of it--as her own personal gorp. She spooned a banana penny dripping with yogurt and granola into her mouth and felt stupid, not because of the puking thing, but because she couldn’t remember 1) if gorp was really an acronym and 2) if so, what the hell for? Susan’s recipe went like this: plain yogurt, cereal, cinnamon, and a cut up banana. It wasn’t as good as it could be, and that, along with its viscosity, is what reminded Susan of the wicker. She never enjoyed her breakfast because she knew it was all wrong. She could be using soy yogurt, grated cinnamon sticks, and real granola instead of the boxed kind. Susan knew she was lazy. As she reached the bottom of the bowl, she visualized herself having to wash it, dry it, and put it away. This filled Susan with dread.
Hear a classy robot narrate Susan's thoughts
Hear a classy robot narrate Susan's thoughts
Runcible Toes
Before it fell out I treated
it like royalty where the hell's the spoon
I’m on the road to success
eat my cold slaw
it's like one of those Hollywood plastic nails
I nearly cried
Wilma wanted to doctor it everyday
damn I couldn’t touch it it was near the end
Dropped a wrench on mine
a different one in the Navy
taking a transformer out
heavier than I thought it was
hit a ledge came down
on my foot boom
what’s in cold slaw anyway
I don’t know can’t touch the stuff
goddamn apple is mealy, you know
Wilma’s in Seattle now
what about Beulah
nobody stays here anymore
Running Back
I moved away,
but took you with me.
What good is that?
We left it all out there:
Janet Jackson’s nipple
antimacassars
It’s harder to wonder now
about the world you aren’t in.
I think I'm Southern
You think you're Western
Let’s call the whole
thing Omaha.
It’s kick off time.
but took you with me.
What good is that?
We left it all out there:
Janet Jackson’s nipple
antimacassars
It’s harder to wonder now
about the world you aren’t in.
I think I'm Southern
You think you're Western
Let’s call the whole
thing Omaha.
It’s kick off time.
In Mahwah, the Rhododendron
grow as tall as dogwoods
but no one believes in
New Jersey anymore.
Kilmer’s trees and tracks
much more lovely than his
rest stop where I call
from to say I’ll be there
soon. Payphone feels as
old as granite. The crisp
pressure of neat squares:
A Job To Do. Each number
issues its own report. Digits
remembered as design;
triangles and crosses.
Go ahead and finger the
cool ribbed snake, speak
into the gray, pick up so
much left by other hands
and mouths. The slick-umed
man in khakis circles but
keeps his distance. This
is to know your limits, your
effect on others. Back home
my rhododendron droop in
humid mulch. They are so
young and disconnected--
never ever having had to
stop to make a phone call.
but no one believes in
New Jersey anymore.
Kilmer’s trees and tracks
much more lovely than his
rest stop where I call
from to say I’ll be there
soon. Payphone feels as
old as granite. The crisp
pressure of neat squares:
A Job To Do. Each number
issues its own report. Digits
remembered as design;
triangles and crosses.
Go ahead and finger the
cool ribbed snake, speak
into the gray, pick up so
much left by other hands
and mouths. The slick-umed
man in khakis circles but
keeps his distance. This
is to know your limits, your
effect on others. Back home
my rhododendron droop in
humid mulch. They are so
young and disconnected--
never ever having had to
stop to make a phone call.
Christmastime in Washington
The wine is in
the basinette.
Have you seen
the carafe?
The Koran?
No, the carafe,
goddamn it,
the carafe.
Check the
sideboard.
Baby Jesus is
in the candle
holder on the
mantelpiece.
You can put him
in the manger now.
Conveniently Yours
My problem
centers around
my ex-wife and
Kemp Mill
Records
breaking
its own
record
everyday
but it ain't
over til the
fat lady sings
whatever you
want think
Belmont or
call USA-1000
I'm Captain
20, flying
without an
airplane, right?
Wrong. No one
can fly without
an airplane
not even down
to Waxie Maxies,
Mr. Ray's or all
six Mortons.
Captian 20
Bullets
The Best DC Commercial Ever Made
Sound Advice
If you find a few sets of realistic and well
made scrubs, you may never have to really
get dressed again. Scrubs also generate
respect in our society! Sadly, this not
always true of our pajamas. In case of
emergency, shout I’m sorry, I’m a
vet. tech unless of course, it is
a cat who is dying—
then run.
Audio Link
Garbage Bread
Roll it up and pop them in the oven,
while Rachael shows you how wine should riddle.
Every mother's child, gay as a penguin,
is at risk of playing second fiddle
to John Hickenlooper and white Denver's
population increase come September.
The solace, Lady Elaine's palaver,
can be found if only you remember
to feed fish and listen for piano.
Even here the screen is covered with junk:
a call letter kangaroo's grin aglow.
A child reads between the lines for our bunk
before he finds out he's Italian
or a ovo-vegetarian-American.
while Rachael shows you how wine should riddle.
Every mother's child, gay as a penguin,
is at risk of playing second fiddle
to John Hickenlooper and white Denver's
population increase come September.
The solace, Lady Elaine's palaver,
can be found if only you remember
to feed fish and listen for piano.
Even here the screen is covered with junk:
a call letter kangaroo's grin aglow.
A child reads between the lines for our bunk
before he finds out he's Italian
or a ovo-vegetarian-American.
Soul Assist
Here we make tree
balls. Chicken wire
spheres wrapped in
lights, thrown in
branches, attached
to fly fishing line
and stubborn orange
extension cords. A
canopy of wild light
hangs high above
our boxy houses.
There is something
very insistent inside
that compels us to
eat the fat, suck the
bones, and light up
the night, light up the
night, for God's sake,
light up the night right
now, lest we all
fall down, one by
one and together. Hush
hush, the tree balls say,
these oaks will bloom
again. Here, where
looking an azalea in the
face will make you laugh
out loud and the noisy
green of spring burns
phosphorescent, we band
together and work extra
hard to convince ourselves
it will all come back again.
Yes, the tree balls say, from
these same skinny sticks, from
these blank and sorrowful skies.
Humour Seeker
This is the day (this is the day) that the Quakers make me bring a handmade gift and my mock liver pate to the staff party. Most
teachers seem to be involved in a cottage industry. They knit complex hats, hand-dip candles, make America's top pies. I melt
a record, attach it to a copper pipe and call it a Rockin' Robin Birdbath. It's so Catholic. There are others like me, but not here. I am
red-cheeked and corpulent, optimistic and irresponsible. My inner light longs to joan on your inner light without worrying
about your feelings. Your light so dim it takes it two hours to watch 60 Minutes. Like that. My pate tastes perfunctory. I'm not saying
I'm sanguine, but I can't deny the liver much longer.
Someone Left A Cake Out in the Rain
Food gifts are the worst. You feel obliged to eat them. I am fat, so everyone assumes I am wild about sweets. I am not. There are better ways to do it. I love beer, cheese, and wasabi peas. Last year, I had to throw out a whole cake. You really should check with a person before foisting an entire cake on her the day Winter Break begins. It's nice and all, but I could be leaving for Turks and Caicos, you don't know. Why not test the waters first with a cupcake, something reasonable? Something meant to be consumed in one sitting by one person? A cake is a commitment; it is not a personal gift. A cake is a death wish. A cake says, "Grab a fork, curl up under the afghan, turn on the t.v, and treat yourself...with cake. You don't have to share; it's your cake." If you want to give me a present that is bad for me, try cigarettes. And not just a pack, mind you, get the whole carton.
Potterville
Mary spells Frankenstein
incorrectly, at least the Frankin
part. Ernie and Bert appear. George
single-handedly invents sprawl, but
I enjoy these dramatic ironies.
What I can't stand is using the dead to
hock Kay diamonds in the midst of it
all. Everytime Audrey Hepburn sells a pair
of skinny jeans, an angel gets his dividend.
Simple Gifts
Homework ruins lives. Cut
back on homework today!
Teachers give homework
because they have so much.
Teachers think it is normal
to leave their classroom at five
with a spectaculary corny bag full
of two hours of papers to grade
at home. Teachers pass that
toting un-lifestyle on to you.
Up with babysitting jobs and play rehearsals!
Down with two paragraph reading responses!
Teachers like seasonal things:
eggs, snowmen, bushels of wheat:
We aren't bad people. We just bought
into thinking that the good ones give a lot
of homework. We actually think the home
work will only take 15 minutes to complete.
We desperately want to be one of
the good ones. We think the parents
will think we are bad if the parents
don't see their offspring doing lots
of homework. This is a hot mess (dipped
in secret sauce, as the kids say). So
I will give long-term reading deadlines! I will
assign essays, papers, and short stories that
will be worked on at home, and that
is enough (plus revisions). That is plenty!
Students will study for tests at home!
I will not assign worksheets! I will not
make bullsheets specifically
designed for shady homework
related purposes. If I want them to
keep a journal, I will have them write
during classtime. I will give quizzes
instead of insipid homework questions!
And my integrity will be damned and
my integrity will be praised, every
single day that I am a teacher, no matter
what I do. Why not do what is right until
I call the whole thing off and can stay
home and do nothing but my own home
sweet homework, all the live long day, yo?
In the meantime, teachers,
take a deep breath and give
less, give less, give less,
every so often give a twelve
year old the gift they really need
(instead of your neurosis). Give
the gift of nothing.
back on homework today!
Teachers give homework
because they have so much.
Teachers think it is normal
to leave their classroom at five
with a spectaculary corny bag full
of two hours of papers to grade
at home. Teachers pass that
toting un-lifestyle on to you.
Up with babysitting jobs and play rehearsals!
Down with two paragraph reading responses!
Teachers like seasonal things:
eggs, snowmen, bushels of wheat:
We aren't bad people. We just bought
into thinking that the good ones give a lot
of homework. We actually think the home
work will only take 15 minutes to complete.
We desperately want to be one of
the good ones. We think the parents
will think we are bad if the parents
don't see their offspring doing lots
of homework. This is a hot mess (dipped
in secret sauce, as the kids say). So
I will give long-term reading deadlines! I will
assign essays, papers, and short stories that
will be worked on at home, and that
is enough (plus revisions). That is plenty!
Students will study for tests at home!
I will not assign worksheets! I will not
make bullsheets specifically
designed for shady homework
related purposes. If I want them to
keep a journal, I will have them write
during classtime. I will give quizzes
instead of insipid homework questions!
And my integrity will be damned and
my integrity will be praised, every
single day that I am a teacher, no matter
what I do. Why not do what is right until
I call the whole thing off and can stay
home and do nothing but my own home
sweet homework, all the live long day, yo?
In the meantime, teachers,
take a deep breath and give
less, give less, give less,
every so often give a twelve
year old the gift they really need
(instead of your neurosis). Give
the gift of nothing.
Box Tree
drop the shampoo &
a little Hindi, indoor
rainstorm of the morn
sealed in a caulked box
next to most of the
time or hardly ever
or White, just check
the least wrong box
tiny brown faces hold
all my worries and
sleep inside a yellow
box. Take me away
tempting boxes
beside delete: I
can't hear you, chores
or mega-penis pill offer
dead bird in a box
under the eaves, cat
who killed the bird
in a box in a box
talk into a box and
they can hear you
very far away but
you are not there
the playwright says this
is how the living do life.
I want to smash it with
Righteous Uniting Fists
but I am too craven
to come off this soap
box to squawk and
squeeze. Tomorrow
shall be my
dancing day.
Little pink boxes
for you and me.
a little Hindi, indoor
rainstorm of the morn
sealed in a caulked box
next to most of the
time or hardly ever
or White, just check
the least wrong box
tiny brown faces hold
all my worries and
sleep inside a yellow
box. Take me away
tempting boxes
beside delete: I
can't hear you, chores
or mega-penis pill offer
dead bird in a box
under the eaves, cat
who killed the bird
in a box in a box
talk into a box and
they can hear you
very far away but
you are not there
the playwright says this
is how the living do life.
I want to smash it with
Righteous Uniting Fists
but I am too craven
to come off this soap
box to squawk and
squeeze. Tomorrow
shall be my
dancing day.
Little pink boxes
for you and me.
Comes the Dawn
panicky mothers panicky mothers panicky
mothers play high pitched pan pipes full of
knicknacks with your name on them and
want you to do what is wrong for their kid
(or everyone else's) panicky mothers gotta
death-grip on a precious potato that could
be part of a delicious soup. They won't let go.
It is their last or only potato and without it they
will surely starve. This makes Strega Nona sad.
Your kid knows it is not the end of the world.
Your kid knows she started it. Yes, you had the
world's best sock, underwear, and homework
organization system at your house when she
was little, but after ten years of faithful compliance,
she won't follow it anymore. Yes, you did make your
healthy Friday couscous, which she used to love,
and it still gets polished off at every potluck, but
now your daughter is thirteen and her room is
a mess, her boyfriend is a secret and she is rolling
her eyes behind your head when you tell me she
would never willfully . . . She is smiling
when you finally yell, "don't you know she
can't do deadlines?" Oh Mama, your daugther
can do way more than you think.
mothers play high pitched pan pipes full of
knicknacks with your name on them and
want you to do what is wrong for their kid
(or everyone else's) panicky mothers gotta
death-grip on a precious potato that could
be part of a delicious soup. They won't let go.
It is their last or only potato and without it they
will surely starve. This makes Strega Nona sad.
Your kid knows it is not the end of the world.
Your kid knows she started it. Yes, you had the
world's best sock, underwear, and homework
organization system at your house when she
was little, but after ten years of faithful compliance,
she won't follow it anymore. Yes, you did make your
healthy Friday couscous, which she used to love,
and it still gets polished off at every potluck, but
now your daughter is thirteen and her room is
a mess, her boyfriend is a secret and she is rolling
her eyes behind your head when you tell me she
would never willfully . . . She is smiling
when you finally yell, "don't you know she
can't do deadlines?" Oh Mama, your daugther
can do way more than you think.
The Center for Informed Decision Making
All implied premise is dubious:
adjectives end in ous
ostentatious ends is ous
ostentatious is the adjective
You can't create a specious poem
without a lot of dubious words and we
certainly have a long way to go before
we can call ourselves specious. So
during this time of giving. . .
Let's call the whole thing lavish:
you, reader, are no Lindsay Lohan.
Nothing is so poor and melancholy
as an art that is interested in itself
and not in its subject, but I didn't
say that. You didn't hear it from me.
Aurora Musis Amica
sleeping in until dawn
makes me late all
day but at least the
birds are singing:
it is decidedly
the lark and there
is no one around
to argue about it.
makes me late all
day but at least the
birds are singing:
it is decidedly
the lark and there
is no one around
to argue about it.
from The Charge of the Handbag Ladies
Banal to the mom of her,
Banal to the wife of him,
Banal leopard stole
Botox'd and plucker'd
Shopped at with card and cell
Barney’s she holds and tells. . .
Onto the Ave. to Lunch
Onto the bridge to Modells
She holds the bowels a’crunch!
Banal to the wife of him,
Banal leopard stole
Botox'd and plucker'd
Shopped at with card and cell
Barney’s she holds and tells. . .
Onto the Ave. to Lunch
Onto the bridge to Modells
She holds the bowels a’crunch!
Biconvex Buffet
Livin on lentils
Manfredy eats a
burger and bursts
into tintinnabulation
................................
.................................
bell, book and candle
echo from exposed
beams, ending in
a potato roll
Cease the Day
Sleep is a form
of memory, built
to spill. I must run
through marmalade,
please destill me. I
move much too slow
and have only this
one slice of orange
(I am Manfredy)
peel to peel.
Manfredy sits under
the pecan tree and
listens to the low
pressure shake
bamboo. Meteorology
killed the weather.
It's nothing but a
traffic pattern for
water molecules now.
My backyard ceases
to be romantic. Oh, Manfredy,
why are you so constipated?
You need something sublingual
to loosen this syntax. Goodbye
I, Goodbye traffic and weather
together on the eights--awake?
Awake. And still preserves.
State
Propped up in your extra-long and
filthy bed, we read library books
by strings of Christmas lights.
Eighth floor dorm room heat releases
the odor of long ago spilled laundry
detergent. A little joy not available
to the more thorough cleaner-uppers.
From an outside, so far
away from us, we hear the cold
and do nothing. I think
I could do this forever &
I do.
'Tis a Gift to Be Simple
6 AM
blessed be the alarm
clock, the automatic
thermostat and preset
coffee pot with thermal
carafe. The hot water
heater, China, indoor
plumbing, companies
that make breakfast
bars. The internet, the
wireless card, and the
laptop. The combustion
engine, and people who
email instead of call.
2 PM
. . . Thornton Wilder, xeorox
machines, whoever made
that pen I like to mark
papers with, light-bulb
eyes, kiddie-Loxitane,
Winter Break, deodorant,
not being thirteen, the
kid who brings up the
theory of relativity in
Act Three, the kid who
doesn't, elementary
school teachers, recess,
the parents who read to
all these kids and didn't
let them eat paint chips,
the outside, the women
who vacuum and mop
this room each night,
George Fox, the word
lugubriousness,
the earthworm.
8 PM
a kiss with a back
crack, early pajama donning,
a new magazine, Mr. Kotter,
flannel, blowing off grading
a stack of papers, the utter
stay-still-ness of The MacNeil
Lehrer Report (whatever it may
be called these days), cussing,
soy tacos, everything not-kid
friendly, tomorrow's test that
I will make in the morning,
Charles Olson, wearing knit
hats in the house, Colbert
Report re-runs, thinking
about Christmas but not
doing anything about it yet,
being an aunt, daughter,
sister, cousin, niece, friend
and wife. Not leaving the
house until it's tomorrow.
blessed be the alarm
clock, the automatic
thermostat and preset
coffee pot with thermal
carafe. The hot water
heater, China, indoor
plumbing, companies
that make breakfast
bars. The internet, the
wireless card, and the
laptop. The combustion
engine, and people who
email instead of call.
2 PM
. . . Thornton Wilder, xeorox
machines, whoever made
that pen I like to mark
papers with, light-bulb
eyes, kiddie-Loxitane,
Winter Break, deodorant,
not being thirteen, the
kid who brings up the
theory of relativity in
Act Three, the kid who
doesn't, elementary
school teachers, recess,
the parents who read to
all these kids and didn't
let them eat paint chips,
the outside, the women
who vacuum and mop
this room each night,
George Fox, the word
lugubriousness,
the earthworm.
8 PM
a kiss with a back
crack, early pajama donning,
a new magazine, Mr. Kotter,
flannel, blowing off grading
a stack of papers, the utter
stay-still-ness of The MacNeil
Lehrer Report (whatever it may
be called these days), cussing,
soy tacos, everything not-kid
friendly, tomorrow's test that
I will make in the morning,
Charles Olson, wearing knit
hats in the house, Colbert
Report re-runs, thinking
about Christmas but not
doing anything about it yet,
being an aunt, daughter,
sister, cousin, niece, friend
and wife. Not leaving the
house until it's tomorrow.
Inspection
They research school systems, crime,
taxes, upcoming road projects, the
the airport's noise cone. They are
aware of the danger of being blinded
by the glitter of cosmetic features.
They look for horizontal
cracks (bulges and
deflections may
indicate serious
structural problems)
They are wary of a home where there is evidence
of deferred maintenence. They test underground
tanks for integrity. Look for signs of water
etrusion. Suggest X-ray evaulations of
surfaces painted prior to 1978
and they marry
for love
taxes, upcoming road projects, the
the airport's noise cone. They are
aware of the danger of being blinded
by the glitter of cosmetic features.
They look for horizontal
cracks (bulges and
deflections may
indicate serious
structural problems)
They are wary of a home where there is evidence
of deferred maintenence. They test underground
tanks for integrity. Look for signs of water
etrusion. Suggest X-ray evaulations of
surfaces painted prior to 1978
and they marry
for love
Poya Day
Under the full moon,
a sapling is brought
to Serendip. It still
stands and I dream
of mango, monkeys
This is a good one,
a Monday, for Berula
wattalapam, a bottle
deep in a beach bag
but here it is only
the Full Cold Moon
a sapling is brought
to Serendip. It still
stands and I dream
of mango, monkeys
This is a good one,
a Monday, for Berula
wattalapam, a bottle
deep in a beach bag
but here it is only
the Full Cold Moon
Once Favorite Wall
got a paint job,
yellow with a mint
green diagonal stripe
like a high school hallway
still called the new wing
thirty years later. Complete
with cafetorium--everything
is fine now--doors to
nowhere are not right
under our pastel-washed
squeaky mean surfaces.
MCMLXXXVI
It was more fun making fun of
people for being 34 than being 34.
"Thirty-four Year Old Teen Idol"
I wrote a song called that and
drank hoppy beers with my muse
at a dark bar as it closed. We ran
into a man called Baby-Dave.
People get stuck as one age
in my brain. Chris and Brian, 34.
My mom, 33. Claire, 19. Whole
families do this to themselves.
They freeze where they peaked,
that year when everyone
was at home and they took
the trip to Disney World, got
the kitchen redone. If this year
was 1986, the home is still full
of mauve wall-to-wall carpeting.
My students do stay the same
age: persistently thirteen.
When ex-ones come back to visit ,
they have wrangled control over
themselves; braces off, proportional
heads and feet. I show them old
pictures and they can't believe it,
or how small the new ones are.
Only one year ago, they
were some other specious.
The parents of younger children
avert their eyes when they see
middle schoolers, like this
will stop it from happening
to their Cornelia and Bradley.
You can't remember much
about really being thirteen,
even if you think you do.
Among the mitochondria,
Roman numerals, indirect
objects, total embarassment,
and Anne Frank, there is a
you you would hardly recognize.
You can't know what you really
thought then because your brain
was still moving. Now it has largely
stopped. Oh, sure, you still
grow bushy dendrites when
you do your taxes, but mercifully
your amgydala and pituary gland
have stopped interfering with
the act of walking down the street.
They were born in 1993,
many can't read clocks.
Someone once thought
the same thing of your
year. How can you ever
know anything, born in a year
like that? I am here among
them, weird woman-child
guide to the other side.
Childhood's Charon. The
puppies are becoming dogs.
I have to walk in both worlds
(in my cabbage rose
draperies with matching
wallpaper boarder)
waiting for it all
to come back.
people for being 34 than being 34.
"Thirty-four Year Old Teen Idol"
I wrote a song called that and
drank hoppy beers with my muse
at a dark bar as it closed. We ran
into a man called Baby-Dave.
People get stuck as one age
in my brain. Chris and Brian, 34.
My mom, 33. Claire, 19. Whole
families do this to themselves.
They freeze where they peaked,
that year when everyone
was at home and they took
the trip to Disney World, got
the kitchen redone. If this year
was 1986, the home is still full
of mauve wall-to-wall carpeting.
My students do stay the same
age: persistently thirteen.
When ex-ones come back to visit ,
they have wrangled control over
themselves; braces off, proportional
heads and feet. I show them old
pictures and they can't believe it,
or how small the new ones are.
Only one year ago, they
were some other specious.
The parents of younger children
avert their eyes when they see
middle schoolers, like this
will stop it from happening
to their Cornelia and Bradley.
You can't remember much
about really being thirteen,
even if you think you do.
Among the mitochondria,
Roman numerals, indirect
objects, total embarassment,
and Anne Frank, there is a
you you would hardly recognize.
You can't know what you really
thought then because your brain
was still moving. Now it has largely
stopped. Oh, sure, you still
grow bushy dendrites when
you do your taxes, but mercifully
your amgydala and pituary gland
have stopped interfering with
the act of walking down the street.
They were born in 1993,
many can't read clocks.
Someone once thought
the same thing of your
year. How can you ever
know anything, born in a year
like that? I am here among
them, weird woman-child
guide to the other side.
Childhood's Charon. The
puppies are becoming dogs.
I have to walk in both worlds
(in my cabbage rose
draperies with matching
wallpaper boarder)
waiting for it all
to come back.
Dog Bite
sagebrush on chest hair
money order sangria
pomegranate horseshoe crab
tied up
with string
boise downey ocean
barrow pit N. C.
money order sangria
pomegranate horseshoe crab
tied up
with string
boise downey ocean
barrow pit N. C.
Dark Six
The lunch
was made
by me and
includes
one perfect
tangerine.
I made it in
the passive
voice.
There is no
agency in
your underwear.
Trains whistle
salads bag
fruit perfects
birds sing
by me
not because of.
It would be enough
to stand right here
dark six to dark six
and watch the swirl.
was made
by me and
includes
one perfect
tangerine.
I made it in
the passive
voice.
There is no
agency in
your underwear.
Trains whistle
salads bag
fruit perfects
birds sing
by me
not because of.
It would be enough
to stand right here
dark six to dark six
and watch the swirl.
Middle School
I was not made to teach seventh grade
or drive the trucks that carry cars.
Both jangle my nerves with too much
inherent responsibility: carrying around
all those shiny things on your back, not sure
if it matters if you teach grammar in
context or not. It's too hard to tell and
you're not making sausages, the sages
say. At least in the car-carrier I could
have some space to myself, a coffee,
and eventually arrive at a destination.
When I see a car carrier on the road
my heart flutters and I hope never to
drive one. People always tell me
it's not likely, but I know better.
or drive the trucks that carry cars.
Both jangle my nerves with too much
inherent responsibility: carrying around
all those shiny things on your back, not sure
if it matters if you teach grammar in
context or not. It's too hard to tell and
you're not making sausages, the sages
say. At least in the car-carrier I could
have some space to myself, a coffee,
and eventually arrive at a destination.
When I see a car carrier on the road
my heart flutters and I hope never to
drive one. People always tell me
it's not likely, but I know better.
Feedback
There's difficulty in seeing Jon Heder's head
as the center of one of Mesmer's swirls;
so many allusions and CLICK HERE
my disk has slipped--I've jumped
the demographic broom
hurlyburly's done and my nose is large
moneypenny gadgets all came true
no use in swooning over cameras in
pens no more I can't
JOIN YOUR COMMUNITY
don't believe in blinking things
and the promise of customizing
"Customs make the same and
options are an end game,"
the hedge-pig whined.
as the center of one of Mesmer's swirls;
so many allusions and CLICK HERE
my disk has slipped--I've jumped
the demographic broom
hurlyburly's done and my nose is large
moneypenny gadgets all came true
no use in swooning over cameras in
pens no more I can't
JOIN YOUR COMMUNITY
don't believe in blinking things
and the promise of customizing
"Customs make the same and
options are an end game,"
the hedge-pig whined.
Danville
everything bagel repeats stick tree
after stick tree biggest traffic days
replete with speed traps and rage
/muffled life through
automatic windows (no muscle needed) go limp
yellow diggers on the shoulder bright and strong
I was surely meant to commandeer you:
pull certain levers make important holes
yellow diggers with only drivers' seats
windowless yellow diggers
this shotgun could kill me
after stick tree biggest traffic days
replete with speed traps and rage
/muffled life through
automatic windows (no muscle needed) go limp
yellow diggers on the shoulder bright and strong
I was surely meant to commandeer you:
pull certain levers make important holes
yellow diggers with only drivers' seats
windowless yellow diggers
this shotgun could kill me
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
