AND WRITING
Rise up again. Don't
work your way into
despair. Don't believe
the sun, your love, goes
down. One eye open
in a glass, the foot
beside the grave, the
dawn. The crow's black wings
grow large. They fill the
day-lit room. We shut
the door. The silent
moon stands in the drive-
way with red flowers.
Pine needles dampened
with snow! No waiting . . .
10.28.2011
10.27.2011
IN THE MIND THE JOURNEY IS FOREVER
Labels, three red tulips
brand landscape, I capture
level, look up, it all
depends . . . The thing's light
brown, or red, you have to
imagine it--moths stirred
into syrup, the tongue
like red wine sweet. There is
no decoration. A
hummingbird floats out of
the throat of the fox. It pants
in the moonlight blooming.
Labels, three red tulips
brand landscape, I capture
level, look up, it all
depends . . . The thing's light
brown, or red, you have to
imagine it--moths stirred
into syrup, the tongue
like red wine sweet. There is
no decoration. A
hummingbird floats out of
the throat of the fox. It pants
in the moonlight blooming.
10.26.2011
DON'T SIGN ANYTHING
I can live here,
angled like an iceberg
inside this cabin,
hornbeams shedding
calcium, freshly
arthritic--the
bones that are my
ankles melt from the
inside out, one
planet less than
present. The platelets
float. They rot. Let
me arrive for
you gift-wrapped, one un-
born, nutrient-
rich bag of cells,
quasi-religious
before the egg-
kissed plankton . . . The
burned out star is docked
and the spaceship
stem fractures. I'm
telling myself what
to dream, to say
it outside the
town--nor in the park,
mowed Eden--
the soft, calm face
not turned away--greed
gotten under
the clipped fine nails
of even the Holy
One--no country.
I can live here,
angled like an iceberg
inside this cabin,
hornbeams shedding
calcium, freshly
arthritic--the
bones that are my
ankles melt from the
inside out, one
planet less than
present. The platelets
float. They rot. Let
me arrive for
you gift-wrapped, one un-
born, nutrient-
rich bag of cells,
quasi-religious
before the egg-
kissed plankton . . . The
burned out star is docked
and the spaceship
stem fractures. I'm
telling myself what
to dream, to say
it outside the
town--nor in the park,
mowed Eden--
the soft, calm face
not turned away--greed
gotten under
the clipped fine nails
of even the Holy
One--no country.
10.25.2011
TOGETHER/APART
The lantern has
no tail. It's pure
emotion. The
arrows seize the
body's sound. The
pines brush lightly
the blue waters.
The sound of pin-
ball machines and
oceans mind the
little arcade,
the corner store,
the pool hall and
the pond. This is
one inwardly
lit, a morning
before, the day
before night, the
moonlit eyes you
cherish, one breath
less, dead wick of
moderation,
a feast, a feast,
one candle is
the sinking skull.
We're about to say
That's it, that's all,
the decade's glide's
a stronger star
burst than we might
have expected,
each one of us
at a time--How
are you? What are
you thinking this
late in the day?
The lantern has
no tail. It's pure
emotion. The
arrows seize the
body's sound. The
pines brush lightly
the blue waters.
The sound of pin-
ball machines and
oceans mind the
little arcade,
the corner store,
the pool hall and
the pond. This is
one inwardly
lit, a morning
before, the day
before night, the
moonlit eyes you
cherish, one breath
less, dead wick of
moderation,
a feast, a feast,
one candle is
the sinking skull.
We're about to say
That's it, that's all,
the decade's glide's
a stronger star
burst than we might
have expected,
each one of us
at a time--How
are you? What are
you thinking this
late in the day?
10.24.2011
THE REVERBERATING ACT
The crypt in my
brain I could hear
them living in back
rooms smoking black
cardboard huffing
aerosol bright
green red bleeding
all the colors
wind tearing at
half unbuttoned
shirts newspapers
parades under
street lights erect
dreaming through the
shadows the heart
pushes talking
where the stairs sink
toward doors and
cigarettes
I shall exist
new and with these
new hands passing
under many
conjectural
breezes moons salt
ladders wine
pianos
lungs gasoline
grape juice tears
arteries and
rope last names on
my lips scalpel
on a car floor
mat the dogs who
leave we should howl
and breathe and swim
shame flowers in
the snow dear lost
orphan come in
The crypt in my
brain I could hear
them living in back
rooms smoking black
cardboard huffing
aerosol bright
green red bleeding
all the colors
wind tearing at
half unbuttoned
shirts newspapers
parades under
street lights erect
dreaming through the
shadows the heart
pushes talking
where the stairs sink
toward doors and
cigarettes
I shall exist
new and with these
new hands passing
under many
conjectural
breezes moons salt
ladders wine
pianos
lungs gasoline
grape juice tears
arteries and
rope last names on
my lips scalpel
on a car floor
mat the dogs who
leave we should howl
and breathe and swim
shame flowers in
the snow dear lost
orphan come in
10.22.2011
WATERING THE CANNABIS
Wings, the air
balloons, the
body of
a mole, "Up-
drafts," she said,
shoveling
mud from Cress
Creek. The bright
green leaves and
flight, gliding
to rest one
bird at a
time, such slow
shining, the
water, the
thirst, the nights
and pines,
the pale stems
and breeze be-
side the gray
steel bucket.
Wings, the air
balloons, the
body of
a mole, "Up-
drafts," she said,
shoveling
mud from Cress
Creek. The bright
green leaves and
flight, gliding
to rest one
bird at a
time, such slow
shining, the
water, the
thirst, the nights
and pines,
the pale stems
and breeze be-
side the gray
steel bucket.
10.20.2011
CROCODILE
I couldn't accept it. I couldn't wait to blast into the blaze
of things--snow burning into my eyes--lying on my back
with a bucket full of ice fishing tip ups, smoking a cigarette
and then watching my breath.
The heart is ragged, wind-fueled, fish
burning under a boat-shaped shadow of blood, one final exhale,
five words I will never repeat.
You'd drilled six holes in the ice three hours earlier
but they've mostly sealed over. The single northern pike
you caught is bent. It froze that way.
You it pick up in your hand by the tail. You are alone with it.
I couldn't accept it. I couldn't wait to blast into the blaze
of things--snow burning into my eyes--lying on my back
with a bucket full of ice fishing tip ups, smoking a cigarette
and then watching my breath.
The heart is ragged, wind-fueled, fish
burning under a boat-shaped shadow of blood, one final exhale,
five words I will never repeat.
You'd drilled six holes in the ice three hours earlier
but they've mostly sealed over. The single northern pike
you caught is bent. It froze that way.
You it pick up in your hand by the tail. You are alone with it.
10.19.2011
UNIVERSE OF PLANTS
I lead then, forward-thinking--
vastly hidden in a canopied armchair--
logs, I say, all over the place
when in fact there's only one
Sand gets inside the camera, built for speed
Sugar ants, and half a Heath Bar
the wind crawls in around the lens
Log--a projectile, you might as well say
fat flatterer . . .
Might as well deep deep ocean couch of dirt
and fathom, licentious, gritty, molded back
of the hand in each room, a bed
a week old Coke in a corner
Can't you see there is nothing to lose
Unlimited Messaging
right there below the hip
The shoulders crack, the neck's yanked back . . .
The faces are barely breathing
I lead then, forward-thinking--
vastly hidden in a canopied armchair--
logs, I say, all over the place
when in fact there's only one
Sand gets inside the camera, built for speed
Sugar ants, and half a Heath Bar
the wind crawls in around the lens
Log--a projectile, you might as well say
fat flatterer . . .
Might as well deep deep ocean couch of dirt
and fathom, licentious, gritty, molded back
of the hand in each room, a bed
a week old Coke in a corner
Can't you see there is nothing to lose
Unlimited Messaging
right there below the hip
The shoulders crack, the neck's yanked back . . .
The faces are barely breathing
10.18.2011
THE RULES OF HIATUS
I didn't experience a loss of faith,
I couldn't--the long necks of the deer
swimming, the dreaming charioteers
oh everyone was dying all summer
campfires--woodsmoke smell in flannel
other peoples' babies first, then leaf-light
they crack their whips under nine feet
of water, steel verbs, the straining forearms, the
deer with determination, cracking bones
across long rows of bricks, if they make it
tongues decomposing little by little,
your brother, his second mother, she pries
back the fingers, the wheels are just rims
like the bone around an eye, faith like the pleasant
turning of the seasons, new car smell, a
yard swelling with softening walnuts, darkly clutched
smoke rising gently, it catches in wind
written this date via "rules of conduct"
no indignity after
the larger souls could barely remain in one shadow
I didn't experience a loss of faith,
I couldn't--the long necks of the deer
swimming, the dreaming charioteers
oh everyone was dying all summer
campfires--woodsmoke smell in flannel
other peoples' babies first, then leaf-light
they crack their whips under nine feet
of water, steel verbs, the straining forearms, the
deer with determination, cracking bones
across long rows of bricks, if they make it
tongues decomposing little by little,
your brother, his second mother, she pries
back the fingers, the wheels are just rims
like the bone around an eye, faith like the pleasant
turning of the seasons, new car smell, a
yard swelling with softening walnuts, darkly clutched
smoke rising gently, it catches in wind
written this date via "rules of conduct"
no indignity after
the larger souls could barely remain in one shadow
10.16.2011
ET CETERA
The day shifts, the
record of where you'll
be dissolves . . .
All my life, the air
crushed by misinformation . . .
The lawns hit the houses.
The water falls straight like it
says it will. The sky
you can touch, or it dis-
appears. The day
finally arrives when there
are no longer echoes . . .
The day shifts, the
record of where you'll
be dissolves . . .
All my life, the air
crushed by misinformation . . .
The lawns hit the houses.
The water falls straight like it
says it will. The sky
you can touch, or it dis-
appears. The day
finally arrives when there
are no longer echoes . . .
10.15.2011
WELL, YOU KNOW, I COULD FEEL THIS
COMING . . .
(This post has been revised)
No less than a miracle, and all that, blah blah . . .
(When I wrote the above I was a fool.)
Not official but it's pretty damn official.
(Oh, it's official. 15 runs for Texas and counting.)
Rangers had a nine run inning. What a total drag.
(Just the beginning . . .)
I was surprised the Tigers made it this far, actually.
(But how sad to go out this way.)
They were so hot for so long, and you could feel
the momentum fizzle out during this series, leaking
through a tiny hubcap-shaped hole. Getting almost
there does count for something, admit it, but it don't
feel that way right now . . . do it.
(It do not.)
There's a minuscule insect on my laptop screen.
(The insect died when the fifteenth run came in.)
(If there are more to come (runs) other insects
will surely perish . . . )
On the bright side I'm looking forward to Jim Jarmusch's
new vampire movie, due next year.
A new Wes Anderson coming as well (starring Bruce Willis).
Rainy around these parts, with lightning last night.
I'm trying to forget what I just witnessed by thinking of
other things. The new glasses I bought at CVS. The fact
that my next book, Things Superficially So Unlike Us, has
been picked up by Four Way Books. That's a ways off,
after the slightly delayed Coldest Winter appears (relatively
soon).
That's all for now.
COMING . . .
(This post has been revised)
No less than a miracle, and all that, blah blah . . .
(When I wrote the above I was a fool.)
Not official but it's pretty damn official.
(Oh, it's official. 15 runs for Texas and counting.)
Rangers had a nine run inning. What a total drag.
(Just the beginning . . .)
I was surprised the Tigers made it this far, actually.
(But how sad to go out this way.)
They were so hot for so long, and you could feel
the momentum fizzle out during this series, leaking
through a tiny hubcap-shaped hole. Getting almost
there does count for something, admit it, but it don't
feel that way right now . . . do it.
(It do not.)
There's a minuscule insect on my laptop screen.
(The insect died when the fifteenth run came in.)
(If there are more to come (runs) other insects
will surely perish . . . )
On the bright side I'm looking forward to Jim Jarmusch's
new vampire movie, due next year.
A new Wes Anderson coming as well (starring Bruce Willis).
Rainy around these parts, with lightning last night.
I'm trying to forget what I just witnessed by thinking of
other things. The new glasses I bought at CVS. The fact
that my next book, Things Superficially So Unlike Us, has
been picked up by Four Way Books. That's a ways off,
after the slightly delayed Coldest Winter appears (relatively
soon).
That's all for now.
10.14.2011
10.12.2011
THE PATTERN
Comes at the bottom of the hill,
the stones piled up, your door damaged
in the sunlight, two lungs, or hands,
thighs slick with disappearing dogs,
and one light bulb. The hands, one after
the other--everyone has heard. They lose
the words to live. Is nothing doing, sharp-toed
boots, the heelprints appearing before winter?
Each window's not a jail. Nor tenderness, defined.
Comes at the bottom of the hill,
the stones piled up, your door damaged
in the sunlight, two lungs, or hands,
thighs slick with disappearing dogs,
and one light bulb. The hands, one after
the other--everyone has heard. They lose
the words to live. Is nothing doing, sharp-toed
boots, the heelprints appearing before winter?
Each window's not a jail. Nor tenderness, defined.
10.11.2011
10.08.2011
STUFF
When did I last direct attentions toward work, online or
otherwise. Here's a poem in Boxcar Review. Here's one
in Sixth Finch. several poems in diode. Poems have either
appeared (within the last few months) or are soon appearing
in Denver Quarterly, American Poetry Journal, Kestrel,
Barn Owl Review, Pleaides, Chattahoochee Review, Passages
North, Permafrost, and Cimarron Review. Just fyi. Buy a few
poetry magazines. Come on!
When did I last direct attentions toward work, online or
otherwise. Here's a poem in Boxcar Review. Here's one
in Sixth Finch. several poems in diode. Poems have either
appeared (within the last few months) or are soon appearing
in Denver Quarterly, American Poetry Journal, Kestrel,
Barn Owl Review, Pleaides, Chattahoochee Review, Passages
North, Permafrost, and Cimarron Review. Just fyi. Buy a few
poetry magazines. Come on!
TIGERS
Another rain delay, poor Verlander. And the game's not
going well. Rangers 3, Tigers zip, but it feels worse than
that.
Hope everyone is enjoying this summer in October.
Found a walking stick, not the piece of wood, the unusual
insect, on part of my porch. Like the praying mantis, there
seems to be a human being trapped inside (not necessarily
unhappily inside) and they watch things, and look at you,
and think everything over, as if over each crested hill can be
found a new universe.
Another rain delay, poor Verlander. And the game's not
going well. Rangers 3, Tigers zip, but it feels worse than
that.
Hope everyone is enjoying this summer in October.
Found a walking stick, not the piece of wood, the unusual
insect, on part of my porch. Like the praying mantis, there
seems to be a human being trapped inside (not necessarily
unhappily inside) and they watch things, and look at you,
and think everything over, as if over each crested hill can be
found a new universe.
BIG MESS
Thank you to all at the Big Mess Reading Series, esp.
Nick Sturm. Annabell's was (is) a delight. Thank you as
well to Lesley Jenike, Joshua Butts, and Tony Vickers.
A little Hart Crane, Weldon Kees, and Liam Rector
made it out over the PA system, in honor of the current
national protest over Big Money and Wall Street.
Great grilled cheese, and tater tots.
Thank you to all at the Big Mess Reading Series, esp.
Nick Sturm. Annabell's was (is) a delight. Thank you as
well to Lesley Jenike, Joshua Butts, and Tony Vickers.
A little Hart Crane, Weldon Kees, and Liam Rector
made it out over the PA system, in honor of the current
national protest over Big Money and Wall Street.
Great grilled cheese, and tater tots.
10.06.2011
10.04.2011
10.02.2011
THE LIONS
Oh, the poor Lions. That's all you can say. Followed by
Way to Kick Some Ass! Because after being down by
24 points they came back AGAIN, and beat Dallas. It's
a bit much on the old ticker. Score 34 to 30.
The Lions are 4-0. Only other team to remain
undefeated is Green Bay . . .
And the Tigers, after almost giving the game away to
the Yankees tied things up for the series 1 to 1.
It was a good day to hover over a medium size carp, like
a heron--such focus just watching, waiting--and then--in
what one likes to imagine as lightning fast speed--reach
through the water and grab the fish. I got it. But since I
wasn't going to swallow it whole, like someone else I know
around here, and since I've seen enough carp up close
to not really feel the urge to examine another one, I just
place him back in the water. He'd flopped around a bit
in my hands. But I think he was cold, slow heart rate,
etc. Nine out of ten times I would not have "got it" by
the way. I was as surprised as the carp, I'm sure.
It was a sign. I'm looking forward to a year of peace.
Oh, the poor Lions. That's all you can say. Followed by
Way to Kick Some Ass! Because after being down by
24 points they came back AGAIN, and beat Dallas. It's
a bit much on the old ticker. Score 34 to 30.
The Lions are 4-0. Only other team to remain
undefeated is Green Bay . . .
And the Tigers, after almost giving the game away to
the Yankees tied things up for the series 1 to 1.
It was a good day to hover over a medium size carp, like
a heron--such focus just watching, waiting--and then--in
what one likes to imagine as lightning fast speed--reach
through the water and grab the fish. I got it. But since I
wasn't going to swallow it whole, like someone else I know
around here, and since I've seen enough carp up close
to not really feel the urge to examine another one, I just
place him back in the water. He'd flopped around a bit
in my hands. But I think he was cold, slow heart rate,
etc. Nine out of ten times I would not have "got it" by
the way. I was as surprised as the carp, I'm sure.
It was a sign. I'm looking forward to a year of peace.
10.01.2011
FROM A STARBUCKS
There are homeless people--they have a guitar, and a dog--
living in the shrub line along the railroad tracks on Lincolnway,
but it looks like the police rooted them out. I'm on my way to
see if sandhill cranes have arrived in Battle Creek yet. I saw them
(homeless) earlier, on my way to get some milk (must have milk),
and then on the way back the cop, he's there, his lights going, and
he's down in the bushes there giving them a talking to. On my way
back north they were sitting down, thumbs out, sort of hitchhiking.
Also, on a walk this week, saw the following sign in a driveway:
"Trespassers will be Shot. Survivors will be Shot again." After that
I walked around and looked at the vacated and eerie drag strip
with its torn up banners and checkered flag thingies flying, and the
front gate 90 percent knocked over. I steered clear of the passion-
ate gun owners' place, although I could see some kids--teens--
and a couple dogs playing in the shaded front yard (I think--unless
they were small adults pretending to be playful teens).
I liked the silence, in the sun, cooling off toward autumn, the still-
ness and the quality of light, the bright absence, its quality, linger-
ing, but not long enough.
There are homeless people--they have a guitar, and a dog--
living in the shrub line along the railroad tracks on Lincolnway,
but it looks like the police rooted them out. I'm on my way to
see if sandhill cranes have arrived in Battle Creek yet. I saw them
(homeless) earlier, on my way to get some milk (must have milk),
and then on the way back the cop, he's there, his lights going, and
he's down in the bushes there giving them a talking to. On my way
back north they were sitting down, thumbs out, sort of hitchhiking.
Also, on a walk this week, saw the following sign in a driveway:
"Trespassers will be Shot. Survivors will be Shot again." After that
I walked around and looked at the vacated and eerie drag strip
with its torn up banners and checkered flag thingies flying, and the
front gate 90 percent knocked over. I steered clear of the passion-
ate gun owners' place, although I could see some kids--teens--
and a couple dogs playing in the shaded front yard (I think--unless
they were small adults pretending to be playful teens).
I liked the silence, in the sun, cooling off toward autumn, the still-
ness and the quality of light, the bright absence, its quality, linger-
ing, but not long enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
