"Them That Reap" read it here

Read "Them That Reap" in the winter issue of Strange Machines Poetry Journal.

Now on elimae !

personal history

a progression of brainstorms

What is Iceland about?

Didn't know about the autosummarize feature until I read about it at the newer metaphysicals.

My longest work, Iceland, run at 1% reduces to this:

monday
homework
sandwich
built
folds
story
Are poems democratic?
leafs
a pile of words[NEW POEM]

machines

Suduko #8 (birds)

season three, episode fifteen: face-off

a goalkeeper can protect from
long winded. Though
compressing information for
buttons or speech is part of
the game.

comparisons. across time.

to hold memories. creating a construction
for the loss.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “cannot say dime bag onTV”

spoiled & edited language.
a freeze. to mine for information.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “commanding all his time.”

a natural gift for subterfuge. a preference for
muffins. where you pull the meaning from. a setup for Koreans.
Questions. scale drawings. dissent. Freak appearances. conversation

/ gaps. Ostentatiously high flowers--reaching & breaking
narration--indoor sunflowers, eyes of fire with

tendencies repeated.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “Oh, my.”

what are you doing here. I’m hockey. a fifteen minute
break. or missing. & running. a zamboni clean of jealousy.
quote the beach boys. on timing.

"Sports = eating.”

& moving on. the treatment of a number one girl. beyond
pining.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “An intelligence gap of monumental proportions.”

not so veiled relations. or
a new daddy instead of elegy.
Purple is the man’s colour.

to be above plastic
vision. not so iced tea.

frame a flicker (a person
a moment, love, a
memory) in concrete:

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “Add a library. Or a solarium.”

it would make a great Christmas story. or Thanksgiving. or
people coming together. much like a play by Moliere.

leftovers. some variation of
the truth. & another pensive fadeout.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa “Two words: jogging suit.”

as if days can be contained in the lines of a calendar.

a structure that can
hold weather

in order,

a system that can
order weather

in structure,

leaving.
or left.

Response to October

silence,

is a

poem.

moveable parts

outsourced:

living by watching
glowing television screens during dinner,
conversation cooked by writers in tanks,
& an affinity for sighing

at the perfect sentimental moment:

snowfall, flakes caught in a wool sweater
& music swelling to soundtrack
the scene of a thousand glistening
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasmiles

usage:

Emotion seized in a container
to evoke a pure silence; water holding memories,
small shining stones, a paper degree proclaiming:
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabecause reader’s eyes tire
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaquicker than attention spans
the transportation of bodiesaaaaamovement must be made
through seasons/states aaaaaaaanew links & methods
change in crossed borderlinesaaaaimprints of new reading styles
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahyper-explication
stealing formulas

or proving time can be
condensed, a ring in my pocket.

tanks:

containers for dreams, small snacks in zip-locked packages, or
a couplet collection of assorted pocket change

held in a model home
in the heat of summer

without conditioned air
as recorded on post it notes

following a specific blueprint aaaaaaaaaaa(dual stacked stanzas)
for love, silence, or success

a travel soundtrack documented on souvenir cups--
each time water poured a memory:

late night coffee at Luke’s dinner,
degrees of universal experience

outsourced on airwaves, familiar pattersn
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa(smile kiss repeat)

connections spanning multiple pages,
television seasons, memory drinks, post cards

to be sent (relived)
after burial.

alternative usage:

Vehicles for war
deployed

just because.

change:

payment for movement on the highway, through tunnels &
toll booths,
children in the backseat snacking on sliced apple smiles

dreaming in colour because of Abbey Road

a method of mood shedding not
to be confused with outsourcing, as
change is far more drastic & far more

likely to fail in job hunting
aaaaaaa(even with the presence of a college degree).

usage:

Once a boy found a bag of his Nana’s
pocket collections; old coins &
miniature notes written in sprawling
curved cursive weather soundtracks. They recorded leafs
falling, the crinkling crunch of snow beneath feet,
sitting on a couch covered in a
brown & orange crochet network, & summer tanks

all signed with an,

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaXOXO

smiles:

sticky with spring
an energy linking soundtracks
& television programs in
a formula to ensure
the boy understands emotional gravity.

Also expressed in excursions
(outsourced adventures for a
sphere of privacy), sunsets,
daily cups of tea, satellite imagery
mapping the perfect proposal point:
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabounced signals off space debris
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaspy down to detect traffic pattersn,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapersonal change,the construction of
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaemotion holding tanks,intersection points,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa& directions.

usage:

As recorded in the town charter
the movement must measure 35 º to be considered
truly happy.

soundtrack:

mostly Beatles mix tapes
composed by my father
magnetic vignettes rolling on plastic spools
tracing the route to Nana’s house
to a degree
aaaaaaaaaa frozen & held;
a polyphonic photograph chronicling
snow fall,aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaa, a kiss,
(whiteness to be read as “a blank space between two commas”)
an epiphany, a proposal, a change, or visits to Niagara, Newport, Monticello.

Yet somehow, one part always is less interesting;
the middle sibling holding their
tiny juice tank of behavior flavor
they will never learn,

reading only read in heads
the action of eyes outsourcing
mouth movements so the words will never
smile upon the exit of a car
with a self-chiropractic pop.

usage:

When a poet is a composer, sometimes
aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa silence
(an anthem for Silentists).

degree:

the amount of time a single daydream can sustain
aaaaaaaaaaaaaa outside an academic vacuum

aaaaaaaaa, or the ride on 24
to Levittown

where the kids sat in the other room
during meal times outsourced
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa silent.
(still, soundtracks of late 60’s change played in the boys head)

A measure of time tanks passing
in research papers & poems.

The action of burying old papers, post cards, self-help guides
in bottom desk drawers, the soil scented with old spice
& copper. After time, something new.

usage:

In every photograph
my face a slanted Charlie Brown smile (30º)
muscular movements instead internalized
to a collection of road trips, season finales,
evening walks, breakfast & the Times
in an old tea tin
state quarters shining
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (Connecticut my favorite
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the charter oak
hiding history in aaaaaaaaaaaaaaopen limbs cradling
a parchment document aaaaaaaaspring leaves on the coin’s face,
timelines for futures aaaaaaaaaasprawling silver intricacies,
spent on employment,aaaaaaaa branches cut into metal
rings, laundry, travelaaaaaaaaa centered in Stars Hollow with
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaa plenty of small town charm)
to pass us into tomorrow.

the poetry cube

side 6

structures rooted in ground; folded memories steep between clouds

side 5

eye contact under sky pens photos blurred vanilla smiles

side 4

bridges solved cold weather patterns with cross town links

side 3

defined history, hands holding. direction following red brick road

side 2

sign’s words worn thin; incorrect metro stop stuck suburban

side 1

pigeons are gray doves adoring statues, sidewalks, steam vents

a quote

Sometimes I feel ashamed that I've written so few poems on political themes, on the causes that agitate me. But then I remind myself that to choose to live as a poet in the modern superstate is in itself a political action.

~Stanley Kunitz

Remote control smile (batteries not included)

pen pal seasons (winter)

Not a painter, but a poet.

working with abstractions

big
plans bound in
words
tied in time
seem to
fade faster, melt
mean
& stick inside
more
deeper, into tuesdays
than
outlines of
first
ideas, a drive, a walk, a place
impressions
where weathered boards were bent, wood
soft
under flip flop foot
sounds
sand, a pretzel
&
an ice cream cone
small
melting in summer heat
smiles

Steps (8-2-2007)

For Kenneth Goldsmith

10 steps from top bunk to floor 6:39 a.m.
5 steps from floor to dresser 6:40 a.m.
32 steps from dresser to kettle 6:42 a.m.
2 steps from kettle to kitchen sink 6:43 a.m.
2 steps from kitchen sink to stove (electric) 6:43 a.m.
4 steps from stove (electric) to cupboard 6:46 a.m.
5 steps from cupboard to counter 6:47 a.m.
21 steps from counter to basement computer with internet 6:48 a.m.
14 steps from basement computer with internet to train room/closet
aaaaaaaa 6:50 a.m.
12 steps from train room/closet to basement computer with internet
aaaaaaaa 6:51 a.m.
15 steps from basement computer with internet to stove (electric)
aaaaaaaa 6:53 a.m.
16 steps from stove (electric) to basement computer with internet
aaaaaaaa 6:54 a.m.
20 steps from basement computer with internet to kitchen sink
aaaaaaaa 6:59 a.m.
3 steps from kitchen sink to refrigerator 7:00 a.m.
4 steps from refrigerator to cupboard 7:01 a.m.
3 steps from cupboard to drawer 7:01 a.m.
4 steps from drawer to counter 7:02 a.m.
2 steps from counter to refrigerator 7:04 a.m.
2 steps from refrigerator to counter 7:04 a.m.
2 steps from counter to refrigerator 7:04 a.m.
2 steps from refrigerator to counter 7:05 a.m.
9 steps from counter to table 7:05 a.m.
5 steps from table to refrigerator 7:10 a.m.
4 steps from refrigerator to counter 7:11 a.m.
3 steps from counter to drawer 7:12 a.m.
9 steps from drawer to table 7:13 a.m.
6 steps from table to toaster 7:14 a.m.
4 steps from toaster to refrigerator 7:16 a.m.
3 steps from refrigerator to table 7:16 a.m.
3 steps from table to refrigerator 7:17 a.m.
3 steps from refrigerator to table 7:17 a.m.
6 steps from table to kettle 7:23 a.m.
6 steps from kettle to table 7:24 a.m.
4 steps from table to refrigerator 7:24 a.m.
3 steps from refrigerator to table 7:24 a.m.
6 steps from table to kitchen sink 7:26 a.m.
2 steps from kitchen sink to kettle 7:26 a.m.
5 steps from kettle to trashcan 7:27 a.m.
4 steps from trashcan to cupboard 7:27 a.m.
3 steps from cupboard to kettle 7:27 a.m.
3 steps from kettle to refrigerator 7:28 a.m.
43 steps from refrigerator to Greg’s room computer alcove
aaaaaaaa 7:29 a.m.
1 step recorded while sitting at Greg’s room computer alcove
aaaaaaaa 8:22 a.m.
9 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to open door 8:22 a.m.
10 steps from closed door to Greg’s room computer alcove 8:28 a.m.
3 steps recorded while sitting at Greg’s room computer alcove
aaaaaaaa 9:15 a.m.
25 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to upstairs bathroom
aaaaaaaa (sitting) 9:15 a.m.
14 steps from upstairs toilet (sitting) to upstairs bathroom sink
aaaaaaaa 9:17 a.m.
15 steps from upstairs bathroom sink to Greg’s room computer
aaaaaaaa alcove 9:17 a.m.
54 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to basement computer
aaaaaaaa with internet 9:48 a.m.
24 steps from basement computer with internet to downstairs
aaaaaaaa bathroom (standing) 10:12 a.m.
2 steps from downstairs bathroom toilet (standing) to downstairs
aaaaaaaa bathroom sink 10:12 a.m.
22 steps from downstairs bathroom sink to basement computer with
aaaaaaaa internet 10:13 a.m.
20 steps from basement computer with internet to kitchen cordless
aaaaaaaa telephone 10:37 a.m.
15 steps from kitchen cordless telephone to basement computer with
aaaaaaaa internet 10:37 a.m.
2 steps from basement computer with internet to next to basement
aaaaaaaa computer with internet 10:51 a.m.
23 steps from next to basement computer with internet to front door
aaaaaaaa 11:00 a.m.
29 steps from front door to next to basement computer with internet
aaaaaaaa 11:04 a.m.
18 steps from next to computer with internet to kitchen drawer
aaaaaaaa 11:05 a.m.
24 steps from kitchen drawer to upstairs bathroom toilet (standing)
aaaaaaaa 11:07 a.m.
4 steps from upstairs bathroom toilet (standing) to shower
aaaaaaaa 11:08 a.m.
49 steps from shower to upstairs bathroom towel rack 11:17 a.m.
12 steps from upstairs bathroom towel rack to dresser 11:18 a.m.
13 steps from dresser to right closet 11:19 a.m.
5 steps from right closet to shoes 11:20 a.m.
24 steps from shoes to upstairs bathroom towel rack 11:24 a.m.
5 steps from upstairs bathroom towel rack to Greg’s bedroom door
aaaaaaaa 11:25 a.m.
34 steps from Greg’s bedroom door to downstairs computer with
aaaaaaaa internet 11:26 a.m.
58 steps from downstairs computer with internet to Greg's room
aaaaaaaa computer alcove 11:42 a.m.
18 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to Cherylin’s room
aaaaaaaa 11:43 a.m.
95 steps from Cherylin’s room to Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift)
aaaaaaaa 11:45 a.m.
21 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to garage door
aaaaaaaa (automatic opening) 11:46 a.m.
10 steps from garage door (automatic opening) to garage
aaaaaaaa refrigerator 11:46 a.m.
29 steps from garage refrigerator to Subaru Outback Sport
aaaaaaaa (stick shift) 11:47 a.m.
39 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to Hollywood Video
aaaaaaaa movie drop box 11:59 a.m.
36 steps from Hollywood Video movie drop box to Subaru Outback
aaaaaaaa Sport (stick shift) 12:00 p.m.
23 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to Wendy’s door
aaaaaaaa 12:52 p.m.
7 steps from Wendy’s door to living room armchair 12:53 a.m.
59 steps from living room armchair to Subaru Outback Sport
aaaaaaaa (stick shift) 12:58 p.m.
400 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to Writer’s Corner
aaaaaaa back room couch 1:09 p.m.
2 steps from Writer’s Corner back room couch to filing cabinet
aaaaaaa 1:10 p.m.
2 steps from filing cabinet to Writer’s Corner back room couch
aaaaaaa 1:10 p.m.
5 steps from Writer’s Corner back room couch to medium pine desk
aaaaaaa 1:12 p.m.
7 steps from medium pine desk to Writer’s Corner back room couch
aaaaaaa 1:13 p.m.
4 steps from Writer’s Corner back room couch to medium pine desk
aaaaaaa 1:13 p.m.
2 steps from medium pine desk to next to medium pine desk
aaaaaaa 2:01 p.m.
2 steps from next to medium pine desk to medium pine desk
aaaaaaa 2:01 p.m.
14 steps from medium pine desk to bathroom toilet (standing)
aaaaaaa 2:10 p.m.
3 steps from toilet (standing) to sink 2:11 p.m.
14 steps from sink to rocking chair 2:12 p.m.
24 steps from rocking chair to Brian’s office 3:12 p.m.
384 steps from Brian’s office to Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift)
aaaaaaa 3:18 p.m.
61 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to Jenny’s broken
aaaaaaa back door 4:08 p.m.
14 steps from Jenny’s broken back door to bathroom toilet (standing)
aaaaaaa 4:09 p.m.
2 steps from bathroom toilet (standing) to bathroom sink 4:10 p.m.
20 steps from bathroom sink to wood picnic table 4:11 p.m.
55 steps from wood picnic table to stick pile 4:13 p.m.
27 steps from stick pile to deck 4:14 p.m.
29 steps from deck to kitchen sink 4:17 p.m.
2 steps from kitchen sink to stove (gas) 4:18 p.m.
3 steps from stove (gas) to wall-mounted telephone 4:18 p.m.
5 steps from wall-mounted telephone to refrigerator 4:22 p.m.
4 steps from refrigerator to cupboard 4:23 p.m.
2 steps from cupboard to kitchen sink 4:25 p.m.
9 steps from kitchen sink to refrigerator 4:25 p.m.
5 steps from refrigerator to kitchen sink 4:25 p.m.
27 steps from kitchen sink to wooden picnic table 4:26 p.m.

*all steps were recorded with a free pedometer found in a Frosted Flakes box. The device was worn on my left side.

37 steps from wooden picnic table to Jenny’s red Honda Accord
aaaaaaaa (automatic) 4:27 p.m.
68 steps from Jenny’s red Honda Accord (automatic) to Jenny’s room
aaaaaaaa 4:28 p.m.
28 steps from Jenny’s room to wooden picnic table 4:30 p.m.
40 steps from wooden picnic table to Jenny’s red Honda Accord
aaaaaaaa (automatic)4:32 p.m.
60 steps from Jenny’s red Honda Accord (automatic) to Act II Salon
aaaaaaaa 4:51 p.m.
62 steps from Act II Salon to Jenny’s red Honda Accord 5:25 p.m.
28 steps from Jenny’s red Honda Accord (automatic) to pizzeria
aaaaaaaa (beverage case 5:26 p.m.
18 steps from pizzeria beverage case to pizzeria beverage case two
aaaaaaaa 5:27 p.m.
20 steps from pizzeria beverage case two to pizzeria beverage case
aaaaaaaa 5:28 p.m.
8 steps from pizzeria beverage case to pizzeria counter 5:28 p.m.
26 steps from pizzeria counter to Jenny’s red Honda Accord
aaaaaaaa (automatic)5:30 p.m.
41 steps from Jenny’s red Honda Accord (automatic) to Jenny’s room
aaaaaaaa 5:47 p.m.
12 steps from Jenny’s room to refrigerator 5:49 p.m.
20 steps from refrigerator to basement freezer 5:50 p.m.
27 steps from basement freezer to stove (gas) 5:52 p.m.
24 steps from stove(gas) to basement freezer 5:53 p.m.
5 steps from basement freezer to metal pantry rack 5:54 p.m.
22 steps from metal pantry rack to refrigerator 5:55 p.m.
21 steps from refrigerator to basement freezer 5:56 p.m.
38 steps from basement freezer to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 5:58 p.m.
4 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 5:58 p.m.
4 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 5:59 p.m.
49 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to outdoor trash
aaaaaaaa container 6:00 p.m.
50 steps from outdoor trash container to white enamel top
aaaaaaaa kitchen table 6:00 p.m.
11 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 6:01 p.m.
77 steps from refrigerator to garden green bean patch 6:02 p.m.
17 steps from garden green bean patch to wicker basket 6:06 p.m.
18 steps from wicker basket to garden cherry tomato patch
aaaaaaaa 6:07 p.m.
70 steps from garden cherry tomato patch to counter 6:08 p.m.
15 steps from counter to hutch 6:10 p.m.
81 steps from hutch to garden blueberry patch 6:11 p.m.
23 steps from garden blueberry patch to garden raspberry
aaaaaaaa patch 6:13 p.m.
20 steps from garden raspberry patch to garden green bean patch
aaaaaaaa 6:15 p.m.
127 steps from garden green bean patch to white enamel top
aaaaaaaa kitchen table 6:22 p.m.
2 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to kitchen sink
aaaaaaaa 6:24 p.m.
3 steps from kitchen sink to cutting board 6:25 p.m.
4 steps from cutting board to kitchen sink 6:25 p.m.
26 steps from kitchen sink to metal pantry rack 6:29 p.m.
26 steps from metal pantry rack to white enamel top kitchen
aaaaaaaa table 6:30 p.m.
7 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to stove (gas) 6:32 p.m.
3 steps from stove (gas) to refrigerator 6:32 p.m.
8 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 6:33 p.m.
5 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 6:33 p.m.
4 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 6:34 p.m.
21 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to computer in
aaaaaaaa master bedroom 6:41 p.m.
24 steps from computer in master bedroom to stove (gas) 6:41 p.m.
13 steps from stove (gas) to refrigerator 6:45 p.m.
5 steps from refrigerator to stove (gas) 6:46 p.m.
22 steps from stove (gas) to refrigerator 6:49 p.m.
5 steps from refrigerator to stove (gas) 6:49 p.m.
10 steps from refrigerator to garbage 6:51 p.m.
8 steps from garbage to stove (gas) 6:52 p.m.
6 steps from stove (gas) to small wooden chair 6:54 p.m.
5 steps from small wooden chair to white enamel top kitchen
aaaaaaaa table 6:54 p.m.
2 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to highchair 6:54 p.m.
3 steps from highchair to white enamel top kitchen table 6:55 p.m.
8 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to stove (gas)
aaaaaaaa 6:55 p.m.
6 steps from stove (gas) to kitchen window 6:57 p.m.
2 steps from kitchen window to stove 6:57 p.m.
2 steps from stove to white enamel top kitchen table 6:58 p.m.
3 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to stove (gas)
aaaaaaaa 6:58 p.m.
3 steps from stove (gas) to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 6:58 p.m.
3 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to stove (gas)
aaaaaaaa 6:59 p.m.
40 steps from stove (gas) to deck 7:02 p.m.
20 steps from deck to white enamel top kitchen table 7:04 p.m.
6 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to stove (gas)
aaaaaaaa 7:04 p.m.
6 steps from stove (gas) to kitchen sink 7:08 p.m.
14 steps from kitchen sink to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 7:09 p.m.
26 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to Jenny’s room
aaaaaaaa 7:12 p.m.
22 steps from Jenny’s room to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 7:13 p.m.
7 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to garbage 7:29 p.m.
5 steps from garbage to kitchen sink 7:29 p.m.
5 steps from kitchen sink to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 7:31 p.m.
17 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 7:37 p.m.
6 steps from refrigerator to counter 7:37 p.m.
15 steps from counter to dishwashing machine 7:42 p.m.
17 steps from dishwashing machine to counter 7:42 p.m.
37 steps from counter to living room stationary floral armchair
aaaaaaaa 7:44 p.m.
18 steps from living room stationary floral armchair to center
aaaaaaaa of carpet 8:04 p.m.
15 steps from center of carpet to living room stationary floral
aaaaaaaa armchair 8:06 p.m.
46 steps from living room stationary floral armchair to computer
aaaaaaaa in master bedroom 8:08 p.m.
7 steps from computer in master bedroom to next to computer
aaaaaaaa in master bedroom 8:11 p.m.
29 steps from next to computer in master bedroom to Jenny’s iMac
aaaaaaaa 8:29 p.m.
15 steps from Jenny’s iMac to refrigerator 8:52 p.m.
8 steps from refrigerator to counter 8:55 p.m.
7 steps from counter to refrigerator 8:59 p.m.
6 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 8:59 p.m.
7 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to fruit basket
aaaaaaaa 9:01 p.m.
7 steps from fruit basket to counter 9:02 p.m.
7 from counter to refrigerator 9:03 p.m.
3 steps from refrigerator to microwave 9:04 p.m.
2 steps from microwave to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 9:05 p.m.
5 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to counter 9:05 p.m.
3 steps from counter to white enamel top kitchen table 9:08 p.m.
5 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 9:08 p.m.
9 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 9:09 p.m.
4 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to refrigerator
aaaaaaaa 9:10 p.m.
9 steps from refrigerator to counter 9:10 p.m.
12 steps from refrigerator to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 9:11 p.m.
2 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to microwave
aaaaaaaa 9:22 p.m.
7 steps from microwave to kitchen sink 9:23 p.m.
7 steps from kitchen sink to white enamel top kitchen table
aaaaaaaa 9:24 p.m.
20 steps from white enamel top kitchen table to Jenny’s room
aaaaaaaa 9:37 p.m.
110 steps from Jenny’s room to Jenny’s red Honda Accord
aaaaaaaa (automatic)9:40 p.m.
59 steps from Jenny’s red Honda Accord (automatic) to Jenny’s
aaaaaaaa room 9:41 p.m.
45 steps from Jenny’s room to kitchen sink 9:48 p.m.
33 steps from kitchen sink to Jenny’s bedroom 9:49 p.m.
29 steps from Jenny’s bedroom to bathroom toilet (standing)
aaaaaaaa 10:17 p.m.
4 steps from toilet (standing) to bathroom sink 10:18 p.m.
42 steps from bathroom sink to Jenny’s bedroom 10:20 p.m.
116 steps from Jenny’s bedroom to Subaru Outback Sport
aaaaaaaa (stick shift)11:05 p.m.
122 steps from Subaru Outback Sport (stick shift) to Greg’s room
aaaaaaaa computer alcove 11:23 p.m.
23 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to Cherylin’s room
aaaaaaaa 11:25 p.m.
12 steps from Cherylin’s room to bathroom sink 11:26 p.m.
20 steps from bathroom sink to Greg’s room computer alcove
aaaaaaaa 11:29 p.m.
30 steps from Greg’s room computer alcove to top bunk 12:28 a.m.


4853 steps total

22 Years in 132 Words

Life Story XXI

A waiting period, a transition, steeping.

Life Story XIX

Pen pal letter lines saving time.

Life Story XVIII

Inside-joke car ride sing-alongs.

lunch break warning

Life Story XVII

A typewriter heartbeat gifted to me.

Life Story XVI

Mountain top macaroni & cheese escape.

Life Story XV

Rock Island binding two into one.

Life Story XIV

February, a new winter, slow motion lapse.

Life Story XIII

Not a painter, but a poet.

Life Story XII

Graduated college. Now what to do?

Life Story XI

Trains in looping circles, hands held.

LifeStory X

Affinity for modernism & vanilla coke.

Alfredo Impersonator

According to the local paper
the tides should have been high
& the sun should have been up &
I should have made contact
with those who make changes.

instead

it was the evening of the day
we went to her favorite
restaurant from last year &
their menu had completely changed;
once a seafood place
with a view,
now an almost Italian bistro
with marble & mirrors.

She had read that
persistence will bring rewards
& a stranger’s compassionate remark
would stimulate her sympathy for an underdog.

instead

we stormed out,
& ate a picnic
of peanut butter & jelly
on the beach
while waiting for our
horoscopes to come true.

Life Story VII

A daisy, a trail, something repeating.

Life Story V

Affinity for up past bed times.

Life Story IV

A matchstick, a strawberry, something circling.

Life Story III

Noun & verb collector & organizer.

Life Story II

Remote control smile (batteries not included).

200th post extravaganza

Remember when ?

Or when?

Or even that time when.

Yes, it has really been 200 posts.

Six-Word Memoir

Found this site. Then I submitted.

Summer Oven Letter

Dear Nana,

The weather here, hot. Slow burning heat your
toaster oven door left open & set to full
blackness burning bagels, bread, tiny
imitation pizzas into dessicated cardboard
landscapes pockmarked & cratered, no hours of
clear water revival can revert post mark lost
stamp torn off, a pile of paper in your foyer
& puzzles tied with a twine string, just, stillness.
vacuumed silence aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sliced & served
with a small plastic cup revealing your voyages to
Colonial Williamsburg, Bermuda, or Disneyland time-traveling
mementos documenting weather patterns in letters
How many squirrels did you see today?
Certainly more than me. I have 73 channels to
flip through compared to your fuzzy five
so time exploring the yard, the garage,
the basement, memories, weather, took precedent to
TV dinners fishamajigs & a sinking slow heat
seeping through storm doors vacuum packages &
your places for hiding money--plastic children's cups
I think--palmed bills warm from your hands,
I know you saw squirrels today.
........................................................ XOXO Chris

i did not see jenny

i saw a man
cleaning out

the pond

brushing
the water

pure

dropping
the everyday
slop

a cigarette butt
a fast-food cup

to find
fish &
turtles

ecosystem eyes

honey suckle
vines

french toast
flowers
enveloping

a tree

drawing from
her water.

W.E.B. Du Bois can you really stack books that high?

aaaa I am afraid of your elevator
with dings metering a breaking
building's heartbeat

its windows popping in pressure
its roots sinking in a
design that did not account

for the weight of words

squeezing bricks
from the tower walls

in an
architecture of tears

When a weatherman speaks

people sometimes listen. At the church

turned concert hall the sign said
no flash photography, no recording devices

but she snuck in a microphone for Jenny anyway,
that distinct possibility of rain

not even an option in her eyes
blue with wisps of cloud grey,

today could be perfect.

juice box, discovery!

a recyclable
cardboard carton,
corners bent
vein lines indents

gold, yellow, sweet

absorbing the spill
a history book
my parents would
have to pay for

after running bases
brick schoolyard bully
stepped on my lunch

pasteurized, concentrated

the catalogue
of knowledge
now an
autumn breeze
from Vermont.

50 Titles (of poems I would not write)

protein pills
other natural flavors
not really a doctor
whale watching in the rain
vintage contemporaries
do not install backwards
handbook of knee surgery
rejected thank you notes
a fruit with no name
eaten straight from the box
dishes done
this bag is not a toy
bound by the conditions
nexus point reentry
a tape, not an apple
the end of aquifers
operating manual for a segue
mr. clean goes to france
i've got pop-tarts
Oh, Auden said everything
sponge identity
antisocial radar
fight night at the Lenig's
a man with a glass eye
the house that was not level
a beach with mosquitos
bedpan technician
closed doors mean secret meetings
talking behind your back
hard, modern edges
new dirt
the importance of flossing
sex, interrupted
a fruit much like a beer can
complimentary copy
there are no self-serve gas stations in New Jersey.
a day at the craft fair
LOWERCASE
income tax evasion
a conversation on speakerphone with grandma
peeling second-degree sunburn
a trail of carbon footprints
on conserving electricity
that's just too bad.
the moon in full sunlight
a can opener for poetry soup
conditioned air
landfill at noon
licking letters
not valid with any other offers

delayed breakup poem

[feeling a loss of control, I
fall back on my mother’s tendency
to clean and make lists]
..........................spending June on the west coast
..........................escaping you, I replay Honey and the Moon
..........................and remember how you never called me honey
[my mother knows diligence
and anorexia, but I
lack her self-control]
.......................... spending June up north, spinning like snow
.......................... memory on repeat of you brushing your teeth
.......................... never calling me honey
[my mother teaches me
insomnia and to hold on
for the sun]
.......................... spending June in darkness, time moves
.......................... like muted moons, eclipsing me with
.......................... your silence
[one day I find
flowers, my mother’s
favorite medicine]
.......................... leaving for green orange groves down south,
.......................... I forget you and the moon
.......................... and spend June in the sun

A Language of Afternoon

You're lying on my back, crushing the cigarettes in my shirt pocket.
A classmate sweeps across the grass
at the bottom of a hill, where puddles like to collect.
The sun has made you close your eyes
and listen to something more audible, non-visual,
and you tell me again that my work sounds like a language of afternoon.
And by the time I get up,
roll you off of me,
there's a puddle surrounding my sneakers
and this knoll is in the shade.

Warm December

Sunlight flowers in winter:
one morning you brought them to me
so I could breathe
forsythia.

Yellow salve in the sky
on Christmas Eve. (The next day gray,
we suffocated in its
congested color,

longed for yesterday.)
As if sun tea on the deck,
clear cold steeps ripe red
and yesterdays become

wept pools of snow
feeding the early forsythia.

ghostblogger

blogger forgot about me
as if i were winter
and he'd already moved
on though spring and into
the sweat of summer

in my search for self
i found three other blogs
i'd never created, but all
set to my own email address:
unwritten identities

mylashes.blogspot.com,
379.blogspot.com, and
pbandme.blogspot.com,
all with empty archives and
a total of 15 profile views

in a past life i was a
ghostblogger

Competent

One White Filter

After she leaves, there’s always one white filter in the ashtray.
Mostly buried before the next evening,
My filters are brown.

Always résumés and cover letters
And untold quantities of brown cigarette butts.
Waiting for the evening again.

I’m in the business of searching for work.
I’m in the business of waiting for her to make time.
I’m in the business of tobacco disposal.

Once graduation feasts and workweek famines
Replace a nightly routine,
Have to empty that ashtray eventually.

A pearl in a bed of cinders.
A black oyster ashtray turned ash gray.
One green-banded white paper girlfriend filter shows.

An Atlantic Engagement

The tide coming into shore slowly.

A rocky beach, for looking not swimming.

Careful steps onto outcroppings into the sound.

The sun a soup of reds & yellows.

Just enough light to reflect off of eyes &
a stone setting two lives to one.

multiple arrests

(as it is at the moment, this is the last poem in my race riot collection)

Because this is what we do when news is unreliable.
And this is how we know our language has evolved.
But that was when the papers reported for the cities.
So the next time there’s something happening, you’ll
have to ask the postman for the unbiased “scoop.”

The scars on the firehouse brickface can’t lie.
And the bulletholes in every other streetlamp
will be there another forty years from now.
And in 2047, someone else will lay siege to
some other public building.

Maybe a monument.
Maybe the library
Maybe the hospital.
But probably the public
High School.
And probably over drug territory.

And the best thing the police can
do is to let the mob run out into
the streets and watch the damned thing flower.

an excuse

the macaroni stuck
to the red rust
black bottom
new release boilerplate
left handed, hates snow
tried to grow a moustache
& spots showed in the
stubble in the conversation
a pause, a dent, an aluminum scrape
heating away the hydrogen
perfect penne in 11-12
silent staring at the floor
at the coil of red metal
should be doing
without a timer
leftover
in the sink
two weeks later.

all those black & white photos you take

A close-up of a single
flower in a field

stems & specks of
white in the back

& an abandoned
crumbling stone house

blurry. Just the daisy
confident, certain of the sun

in love.

Shower Gifts

There was a shower of begonia leaves from a window
box when conception came in the afternoon.
The wind ripped the petals from their sockets
and dropped them on a hammock.
Scents move errant through canals.

There was a shower of onezies, booties, and non-alcoholic
mojitos when she took her leave.
Called all her friends and mother over
to be showered with gifts and pats on the belly.
The living room was packed to the windows with boxes.

There was a shower of carnation pollen to combat that
hospital smell.
Before the carnation haze lifted, before the begonias landed,
a series of classified ads were taken out, beginning:
“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Jenny + Chris

Asteroids

Word Find 3

Jenny

A wordmonster by Jenny: Chris

Jen's Bio Paper

Aquifer awareness is
not a priority
in the realm of
conservation consciousness

pocket compost (poetry fusion with Erin & Emily)

snow melting, a grayscale
reduction to green, a drip
drop a stream sputtering a (seasonal)
war’s last bombshells.

ice shattering like teacups
against a wall, she picked
up a fragment to remember
where winter is real a

long, fat torpedo of ice
put in her pocket.
She came home to me melting,
the middle of school longing to

be mine & slipping love notes
into her pockets without eye contact
the folded sailboats float,
skimming over the ice

my latest invasion of space, the sailboats paper bouquets
slowly unzipping, memories
discharged; you brushing your teeth,
orange slice shadows—the half moons

glowing peeled &
I threw them away before you were
ready, so now you collect
a stream in your pocket, as not to forget

winter, oranges, & the moon.

WAL-MART REX, a word monster by Jenny

finger food

my fingers picked up
lunch from
the doorknob--double
bacon cheeseburger grease &
fries with mayo-- for
half price

bedtime

spring [fixer]

push through papers
white winter in reams
& listen

a shuffle a sorting
an arrangement made
to

put away the old
cold papers blanketing
the garden

no they aren't fertilizer
but a type of
scythe

to cut & paste a
way the waste
& peel

& bloom & whisper
the slow sound
of growing aaaaa .

spring [throwback SPINBALL FIGHT]

cultural currency update
while white computer screens
load
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa a walk in
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa crunching snow
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa white indents
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa foot prints
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa perfect for
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa packing
instant access
rolling down scrolling snowballing
screen
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa collecting
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa in drifts
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa each unique
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa crystal
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa blends to
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa pure vanilla
(democratic) society is
based on consensus, a
percentage of agreeability
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the tighter
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I pack flakes
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa between red
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa mittens the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa more time she
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa has to throw
just two sides shaping
policy & echo chambers
reinforcing ideas
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I am intentionally
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa missing her; snow
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa over shoulder
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa just
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the sound
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa slipping by
influencing events
through the exclusion
of information
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa she knows
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I am missing
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa & when I
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hit her in
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the back a
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa puff of snow
spin a ball of flattery
a snow job to
crystallize public opinion
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa leaning low
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa as she aims
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa for my head,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa waiting for
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa an icy
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa blast
a two-way flow
of snow
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa warm breath
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa from my mouth
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa to hers
or nothing at all.

spring [opening]

when the trees
wake up &
the grass smells
& the leaves
smell & the small
birds sing, sing &
feed their young
& sing & rain is warm
it smells & sings as it
drizzles in the sun
drops on the leaves
catches on blades
collecting in drops
it all sings

spring .

why Jenny doesn't go in the water

something at the seashore a stick
or a lost plastic toy shovel something at the
shore nipping the back of her leg a
bag swinging from her back swishing as
she walks something forgot a snack a carryall something
tapping her heal in uncomfort for a moment
when eyes close the flash image that remains
the unknown a clump in the sand unconscious connecting
cheap rubber plastic sandal while walking
splinters stuck in sand a stick for the umbrella
poking objects just below the surf & her
father pulling a three foot sandshark out
angles in the wake a pull sand over toes
on his fishing line just beyond where we swim
sure she will carry the brown bag & keep the sand out
we swim where we dodge a wave or put up a screen
a scream against the washing away the fading a
way something at the sore sun burnt shoulders toes
always burnt where the sandal slips between the
big toe & that unnamed next toe a space for skin
to peel a grape a juice box a novel something sticking
in the sand a stick or a lost toy shovel made of
yellow plastic where is the missing bucket buried
beneath lurking in the darkness the sand below the water
shed the moist brownie inside just below the surface
keep the sand out collecting in the bag bottom
flushed away washed away torn out a subscription
the hook remained in the spotted shark’s skin a
hermit crab carryall a grape peeled sun burnt skin
the castle that we built washed away the next morning with
the tide carrying bags a snack chairs water wears glass
dull a grape without the skin blushing nipping
fingertips while swimming putting up a screen
invisible line between hook and hand
a juice box a sandal slipping from aloevera
between the toes the ground looks brown behind
glasses dropped in surf scuttle like a crab
white on top pulled reeled like a plastic toy
a stick a shovel a castle made of sand white
underneath cloths shorelines in skin never
on a boat without a life preserver a stick
plastic probably a safety whistle to call
for help an invisible line snagged in surf footprints
one missing a sandal plastic slipping away
half a print overexposed toe red severe sun burnt purple
grape great gatsby on the beach read something
sappy something juicy candy a stick of gum with
a whistle plastic inside that you dropped in the
sand put at the top as a flag foot for the castle
a slip up a tide shift the music of a vendor in
a refrigerated truck novelty dug deep brownie
coloured to protect the eyes reuses the grains
a little cake made with the hands a foundation
glass with edges worn dull pulling the pop
dug deep from the leaking steaming cold
spritz splash the noise of a wave crash lurking refrigerated
juice box a stick with chocolate frozen to it
a drop clumped in the sand snagged the hook sunk
a bucket looks lost without a plastic shovel a toy
a tradition a snapping a roar as the shark breaks free
as the beach renews with tide tables a white shoreline
brownies near the surf near the wake a fading footprint
a scuttle a skirmish running away from a stick, a shovel
or a shark.

greg on the typewriter

so small
his fingers
could not
put enough
pressure
on the keys
to form
language.

Word Find Fun #1

The refrigerator is empty

& I stand
frozen &

waiting with
the little bulb

reflecting off
the blank

white corners
groceryless.

Class Notes: Rule #35

RT476

on my lap
over yesterday's Times
I pour,
from a silver
magic thermos
bullet container,
tea.

eighty
miles-per-hour
forty
sips-per-minute
photosynthesized &
dried leaves delivering
a fix.

two hours in a
car, the bead seat
cover becomes you,
& I forget where
I am going
if the audio book
is good.

all driving
distances
should be diluted--
a scoop of sugar
& stirred with
crème--a voice
reading to me

old bedtime stories,
a tale of a whale
the highway washing
headlights & redlights
as landfalls
in crystal blue
eyes.

Class Notes: A Communication Model

the goose at 589

Canada has covered the field
with a gaggle of goose, not geese.
Passports not valid,
vacation in the states.

Citizenship shifting,
a honking sound
traffic on 84 North shifting
to 15 North honking at the border,

What is the purpose of your visit?
What are you here to see?
Travel is more instinct, seasons change
& people must move.

the birds at 586

the lawn is covered with birds
black-feathered birds, not blackbirds.
not in this state,
not on this vacation.

the lawn is covered with seeds
bird-attracting grass seeds
they must have been planted on the roof
because that is where the birds congregate.

the birds have hollow bones
that people hardly think about.
keeps them afloat,
makes their voices higher.

How I passed the Comprehensive: Lights out at 7:30, a poem.

Top drawers no longer
mine filled with

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa socks too small
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa for my feet.

he is growing up
He is growing out
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa His space extends
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa beyond bunk beds.

The bookshelves are packed
stacked with old volumes

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Sherlock Holmes handed down
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa & blocked out by a plastic fire truck.

“I lost my first tooth today”
pressed under a pillow

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa that smells of apple juice
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa not sweat.

a first grader who wants
to be a fireman (not a writer)

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa HE is growing up
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa HIS brother is growing out.

Ring around
the rim
a tea-stained
history

waking up & putting the
water on to boil

a new day viewed on old computers

coffee instead of tea

finding an escape from lines of houses

going to sleep past your bedtime

no, it was just an ordinary day
no idea of suburban choke
no way out of a street named after a
president whose name sounds
like a candy.

no, it was building in routine
the time it takes to travel to from a lab &
back & to sweep the floor of a church
for an extra hundred dollars a week.

no, it was growing up, or growing out
remodeling a railway that died in the
sixties, keeping track of hockey players stats
cards that consoled when lined up

and never running away from shadows

It might have been the carpet in the funeral parlour that
flashed and made you hesitate and remember. That design
you haven’t seen since seventh grade and never before.

Or the darker shade of brown
they dyed your father’s hair,
it annoyed you just enough to form a memory.

But I remember that was in the time when Dunkin’ Donuts
had a brown tile floor and a countertop with stools
like some kind of donut saloon,

which made it easier to remember, harder to forget, because
the place had the smells, sounds, and carpets of a funeral
parlour, but the windows and light fixtures of a dive bar.

the track shifted &
connected to a refinery, a plant
to process the sweet particles
for children's confections

a before & after image

the race riot poems (a series)

(1) hydewood park in plain view

quiet stars leading ordinary lives, yellow, average, middle aged
our galaxy is suburban
afraid to go to preschool
nurseries streaked with black dust
energetic infants
rosette nursery
voraciously consuming her fuel
enveloped in a cloud of its own material
in a heap on the playground
so big and diffuse that it leaks into space
astronomers call the distance “personal space”
ambition pushing out meets gravity pushing in
and that’s its undoing
a brick and a shop window
a dwarf in a smoke ring
drive out the cops and reassemble in the park
rob the gun factory
and this one has wings, blown into the shape of a butterfly
by ferocious winds
a ship in a bottle
a legacy visible in this actual picture
another with more extended lobes
one of the most beautiful, the demise of the giant
lower right
a picture taken with a right-handed pencil
companion leads a busy life
spinning thirty revolutions per second
time lapse shows the shockwaves
elegant tantrums, citywide
light fantastic
only super stars go supernova


(2) a disturbance at white star diner

in 1967, a supernova blows
it’s taken eighteen years for the flash to cross the river
the silver coin, a spiral like our own
but Front St. is different, a whiter one like a basketball
a darker one, edge on
a cluster of 70 thousand
groups part of a cluster, clusters part of a super cluster
statewide unrest
standard candle
bolts and fades as regular as clockwork
and the flash intensity is always the same
new standard candle
the measurement of red shift is our greatest tool
radio is noisy, but less energetic
tape deck is valuable, but harder to remove
two spirals don’t collide, but swing through each other
like pendulums
like antennae
at their center, a firestorm of starburst
urban marching orders from the diner
the intruder has passed right through the other
cartwheel to the right


(3) Rift

This is a race riot, call a reporter.
From a speck smaller than an atom emerged matter, space, and time;
particle soup.
This is the officer who shot at your little nephew.
Matter and anti-matter destroy each other and start again
but matter wins by one particle in a billion.
This is a hambone, a mattress factory, and trace amounts of gunpowder.
This is an atom-smasher,
shifted to microwave.
This is Koby,
make sense of the hiss.
This is a Chrysler
towing away the solar system,
a chaotic dance.
This is a mature spiral
teeters and reverses.
Hansom cab in the Queen City.
Terminal crunch,
chaotic crease everlasting.


(4) woolworths

90% invisible
undetectable
quite wrong
the colors of the Doppler effect
visible dust
interaction hints at a presence
100x more than what we see
draws matter from its partner
before the age of hand-held walkie-talkies
orbiting an empty space
crazy lens bending parks in the courtyard, siren turning
multiplying its image
reveals at the center
less symmetrical smears of light
such a swirl in pursuit of a rabble-rouser
a float
thought to spawn
celestial dancers
formed when the cores unite
and here’s another, just as big
surrounded by an accretion disc
by the brink at the shockwave in the vortex
the equivalent of 4 earths
two and a half billion suns
a great plume
the jet plainly visible
looted chain department stores
disenfranchised


(5) forty year-old stolen handguns

take out the visual
and radio reveals what it brings to the picture
radiation beams
warm dust pawn shop
blinded by its own emissions
unveils vast clouds
FBI martial law
in ordinary light
in infrared
in x-ray
changing wavelengths
in the pangs of stellar birth
still in infrared but closer to home
a comet’s heart is obscured
an eye on the invisible
by contrast, famous for the invisible
peripheral too
uncovers carbines forty years old
forty years used
radiating ultraviolet
unmasking its churning surface
the same guns are still killing people
but no longer cops
at the pivot of two jets
evidence that it once consumed another
discovers a double core
but no longer a siege
on the fire department
city hall spies the suspect and a remnant
scars of creation
the milky way in x-rays
pancakes in a batter of syrup

his model railway had
stopped running--plastic people
frozen, dust collecting on their
caps--the times tables
redrawn

nine years since the meltdown

watching time pass in piles of snow

the long weekend, enhanced by snowfall

a disruption, days change meaning, zodiac signs
2,ooo years off in the sky determine
my daily, readable mood

solar flares

Describe an outerspace sterility and I’ll show you to the satellite
an optical microscopy splits nanometers, cleaves atoms down the center.
The mayor placed a calendar of impressionist paintings in the time capsule
and expected his moustache to grow back like his twenty-five year face.
In 1967, the region saw destructive race riots, spawned exponential
quiet stars leading ordinary lives, yellow, average, middle aged
astronomers call the distance “personal space” but therapists disagree
galaxy suburban, nurseries streaked with black dust slush
voraciously consuming her fuel, the ship runs aground in the middle
of yesterday’s ocean, swells as hydrogen runs out, meets gravity pushing
in, and that’s its undoing. A dwarf in a stellar smoke ring
blown into the shape of a butterfly, a ship in a bottle, a legacy
visible in this actual picture. The dog’s nose explodes as a nova
ten times the mass of the sun, its debris is the nebula. A pulsar
survives, matter jetting from the poles, a disc close to the speed
of light, propelled by the force of polar jets. Only super stars go
supernova.

scooped with tea, while waiting for channels to change

a silent sky of snow falls like static, muted

Caught on my tongue, words melt.

START/END

Sugar, when five pounds piled, looks like snow but tastes sweeter.

Anniversary Extravaganza

we have been here
one year--
one hundred thirty-three
posts--

one site
grounded
in cyberspace.

a vist, a walk, a history lesson

warmups & fabric wraps to keep out the wind off the river of ice lined with unnamed statues, so that we all can be a preacher or puritan if we want, or maybe no one remembers the names of those people anymore, they are locked away in archives & literature tests, street-names & the foundations of churches & squares easy pairs like mittens or socks that match, wrap & hold together feedback upon themselves crystalizing at the right temperature to hold time.

delinquent blogger updates

I will make my home

in a southern state (a blue state,

but warm enough to burn cheeks

red)

a home where we’ll name our

hurricanes

like children

watch them go:

Kyle breaks every window on the first floor

Emily smashes the car

the next year Victor floods the basement

a foot and a half of

ocean and rain

and busted pipes

(as long as they don’t break our hearts)

we’ll hang their satellite pinwheels

on the refrigerator

and sigh

they’re only young so long

before they’re gone

taking the basketball,

the cat,

and the

sound from the wind chimes

I’ll be old here

among orange trees, fruit rats, and the smallest

geckos we’ll ever see

darting

under

Spanish moss covered trees

dying like

ballerinas

covered in silver ribbons

pirouetting off a dark stage

gentle and beautiful,

quiet

like sleep

swing

we swing
aaaaaa with such an appreciation for snow
against gravity
aaaaaa it was in her nature to forget people’s first names
so many books you couldn’t breathe
aaaaaa soon she began to call everyone
john or betty
chains holding us tight
aaaaaa this is the kind of winter i can bear
when we would get a rip in out panty hoes
aaaaaa a free newspaper everyday
an apparent lack of colour leads the imagination to think of spring
aaaaaa green was his favorite colour
she would send us to the nurse to put an ace bandage on it
spring swing sing
aaaaaa i returned three books on & about Robert Lowell to the shelves
cheeky is not an American word
aaaaaa two flannel shirts the same colour, but with different designs
he tried revising poems years later
aaaaaa push me
an exploration of white space
aaaaaa cities are works of pure happenstance
the tilt of the earth causes climates causes biomes causes
aaaaaa concrete (poetry) to be less concrete & more free than paper
he highlighted texts
aaaaaa A MOVE OF THE CURSER NOT THE SCROLL
(nearly all the words so what was important
aaaaaa went unknown)
renaming the earth to reflect its watery nature
aaaaaa spacing comes into play, but not in the sense of
open field composition, but rather arbitrary fun.
aaaaaa perhaps using the wrong interpretation
half off all books lured me inside
aaaaaa a tale of going around or over the bar
the wood door to her room is broken
aaaaaa but you need the space to breathe
when escaping from a car that has driven into water do not panic
aaaaaa a misuse of vocabulary words
assembling is half the fun
aaaaaa a lock that won’t close
the circulation of air, hot rising, cool falling
aaaaaa a fist size shattering of wood
the top of the coffee tasted like roasted marshmallows
aaaaaa i saw my teacher in the bookstore
wait till the pressure has equalized before opening the door
aaaaaa a rush of wind, a gulping sound
windows will not crack from kicking or keys
aaaaaa a safe stocking stuffer
her room became warm because the thermostat downstairs was set to 75
aaaaaa things i forgot to do
yellow leaves on my floor with writing on them
aaaaaa perhaps you should have purchased that safety hammer from wal-mart
it was awkward and still, me with my hand on a book about Ezra Pound
aaaaaa old post it notes with the glue failing fall
winter without snow
aaaaaa you can make a sentence academic by inserting a term
a topic to write on
aaaaaa a list of due dates past
her mind always shut down when I started to talk of schools of poetry
aaaaaa i could collect them, pressing their patterns between book pages
after my teacher left i had a conversation with him
aaaaaa fascists can be fun sometimes
the cover is orange
aaaaaa cut into wedges, like a soccer game snack
frost in Florida
aaaaaa there in the crowded stacks warm with winter coats on
I bought a book by T.S. Elliot (I know Steve will be mad)
aaaaaa so to avoid a price hike we bought two bags
salt had been spread to keep students safe
aaaaaa a landing pad in the grass
but his poems were illustrated by Edward Gorey
aaaaaa a small peel goes well with wheat beer
the wood shook from the transfer of weight
aaaaaa not because it was cold, because it was alive.

set swing

Despite the sanding of wood &
tightening of screws, the swing
set in the backyard always
creaked & gave splinters.

Buried in slippery summer
hands--raisin pruned from the
pool or sweaty from a game
of tag--the shifting wood

fragments could be ignored

or brought to mother for surgery.

swing set (earth&memories)

ground between fingers after jumping
from the swing set, a landing pad
pierced the grass a

small cloud or poof of dust--
I can jump farther than you
higher than you

longer than you I am better
than you run faster than
you--rises & disappears

but we always land on the ground.

(retelling) hit and run

It wasn’t snowing but it certainly was grey
the way in which concrete reflecting off
concrete reflecting off steel can be &
my knee shot out--a bruise that shook through
The frame of a 70’s Schwin--limping not walking
gasping not breathing
after the accident.

911 took 40 minutes to come &
I wanted to ride in the back of the police car--
child locks and metal
mesh gratings a clear division of
power-- but the police are not a
public taxi service, even for those
with hit & run

busted bike wheels.

hit and run (tentative title)

That last time, I bought a candle from the grocer
and it burned like coffee cake, like filbert ring,
that day after a car had run me down in the center
of a busy intersection, I was bruised just badly
enough that I should have gone to the hospital,
every tim ebefore that, the neighbors spend their
afternoons praying on their porches.
Those weekends deciphered, end of weeks spent
wasting, days on trains and hours waiting for them,
the baker sells bread by the pound, not the loaf,
but the candyman sells nuts by the bag,
unmeasured and never shelled
A thank you note with genuine feeling, written
on the stationary that was the gift itself,
checkered tablecloths that only make sense in the kitchen
will pour out all the parkway traffic from a large family's
picnic basket hinged wicker and rations, on Boxing Day,
you gave me a book by Dylan Thomas, but Christmas was
for fairy tales and you insisted that I write my wishlist
on the back of that grocery recerpt for candles and the
sunday paper, I remember the candle better than the books
and I remember the weather better than the news that day,
especially the weather in Green Bay.
From the seat of my pants
in a daze that bewildered every
passerby association
the man who ran me over
swore and hit the gas
and I stumbled to a
stoop to make myself
invisible
and swore.
You're not the one I called,
but you're the one I wanted to tell first.
And you were so mechanically sympathetic
that I thought you were choking on a
something because over the phone
these things never translate well enough
but I understood well enough when you
said that you liked the shape of Orangina bottles
but preferred the taste of orange juice.

Homage to the Olive

In thickness, there is something of viscosity.
Winding branches,
extractions of porous secretions.

On the shelf in the basement,
in a can the shape of turpentine.
From the Greek for “amber brown,”
From the Spanish for “pimento,”
From the Italian for “unseasoned.”

In an olive there is fiber,
and oil, a sardine,
and so much satisfaction.
Turkey and/or Tunisia describes
itself as virgin and/or extra
firmly pressed from a wreath
with pits removed and the essence
squeezed.

walk on campus (not a state poem but a rest stop for a snack)

The carbon cycle includes
converting CO2 to
oxygen through
photosynthesis
via plants.

naked
trees leave
the unrecycled
air cool & stale
with the scent of cheeseburgers.

There's no place like Kansas

There’s no place like
sunflower fields as far as the eye can see
the great plains where
people of the south winds
once hunted buffalo &
houses could fly from black & white
to colour.

There’s no place like
oceans of wheat
bending in the breeze
equidistance from
the Pacific & Atlantic,
a convenient central point
to start maps from.

There’s no place like
sharecropping in circles
and negros who speak of rivers
flowing from the state in
rural flight leaving
6,000 ghost towns
to the wind.

There is no place
like home.

a return to old projects: A celebration of 50 years

50 years ago they
were married,

Brooklyn NY & a
church with dancing.

Two years later Hawaii
became the 50th state.

Now they visit
in celebration of passing time

& bring coconut banks &
hula dolls back

for all their grandchildren.

early mornings in the house my father built

early morning and the sound of my dad's work shoes on the kitchen floor

leaving behind my great-grandmother's quilted coccoon for
orange slice shadows in the hallway and the cold wooden banister gripped
with tiny fingers so i wouldn't slip on the stairs in my
red flannel footie pajamas that haven't asked me to grow up, yet

six a.m. and bleary-eyed, my dad and his brief case in the kitchen
reading from a box of raisin bran with milk spilled on his tie
all grown up with three kids and a house he built himself
my mom still upstairs in their bed sleeping in his warm imprint

bright kitchen light and heat from the woodstove hot on my cheeks
standing on the botton stair, my voice squeeky with leftover sleep
my messy hair, curly like his, smoothed by his freckled hand
my dad calls me by a nickname that tells me i haven't grown up, yet

putting his brief case on the counter and cereal bowl in the sink
the volkswagen rabbit running rough, warming up, waiting for my dad
padding butter on a slice of white bread for me, crumbs fall snowy
on the sleeve of his navy blue suit, the one my mom says matches his eyes

early mornings i woke up for bread and butter and orange air
my grandmother's quilted coccoon waiting warm for me to return
with crumbs on my footie pajamas and a calmer collection of curls
after sharing my dad with the hot woodstove and quiet house

now i wake early mornings grown up, listening to my own work shoes on the kitchen floor

a NEW REVISED break in continuity, unless we consider frank from a state such as ohio; Frank on shoes:

why don’t you try on those shoes honey, they are nice, I mean I think they would be nice on you, look good & all, & probably comfortable like Sunday afternoon watching a movie like, what’s your favorite one? you know,

um, Must Love Dogs or something right? well, maybe sleeping, you know, sleeping late…long drives in the passenger seat with, with your feet up, going to the lake hmmm…what a fantastic Italian print on that one…Chinese food, you know, you know how the leftover stuff taste better somehow,

and being curled up on the couch with a movie or bagging a buck, huge rack and all, on the first day of the season or, or relieving like that time you thought I was cheating on you cause I was staying out late & lying & you found that little bottle of perfume in my pocket & everything, but, but then it was your birthday, it was real nice,

real relieving because I had been out late getting you all those nice gifts you know and maybe these shoes, these shoes they would be comforting like that or like coffee, morning coffee with all that flavored crap you like, you know the creamers caramel latte or peppermint twist stuff,

maybe like cleaning the house or when we put Frankie Jr. to sleep, I mean that wasn’t a good thing, but he was always snarling at children & too old to see you know, falling down the stairs & everything so it was kind of, it was kind of relieving to put him out of that pain, not have to worry or clean up after him anymore, & well I mean comforting

kind of like that TV show you watch all the time, you know, “What not to Wear” where they take all the person’s ugly old clothes & the shoes that the person thinks are nice but are nasty they are just awful & they throw ‘em out, well I hope they don’t throw ‘em out maybe just give ‘em to a Sal-Val or something like, even if the clothes are ugly a homeless guy could use ‘em, but you know those crazy hosts on that show Stacy & Clinton, they fix the person up right & neat & it’s fancy & then they are made over & everything is good like a big party because, you know…new shoes.

Black Friday, but for the sake of continuity, we'll call these new jersey (even though new jersey was the first one we did in this sequence)

stones hold stalks
upright
threatening shawls or
rather
blankets shrouding the
obese
behind tomorrow's consumer
trends
now the department
floods
with sales assistants
customers
scatter as soon as
help arrives.





dear standard issue,
weld your shanks onto something seasonal.
dear ms stiletto,
so slender
why are you shopping for
snowboots in this aisle?
dear canvas rivet,
how young must i be to purchase your footwear?





towering shoes
shoes overbearing
canopy of laces&soles on
platforms, standing pillars in the desert
stacked shelves, library style
to order&catalogue your
footwear.
geometric, italian leather,
prints fantastic.

a poem from black friday: Jen at Macy's

Coded Death-Threat Written by Small Cousins After Thanksgiving Dinner, Maryland

Dear, Googs
sweat honey iced
tea you have
backwards octopus
Zach

those square states

Colorado,

rivers and
mountains

bisect your
regions

deserts and
forests

resist your
habitation

but your
borders

all run
longitudinally

your cattle
fences

all stand
latitudinally

upright in
protection

wide open
containment

parallel and
consistent

with the
curvature

of merriam
webster.

Wyoming,

jewel of
volcanoes

volatility national
park

shaped by
outskirts

of natural
overgrowth

and seismic
activity

geysers spurt
sulfur

to rounded
corners

of yellowstone
park

but squared
corners

are bone
dry.

Utah,

you have
been

bitten by
something

with a
squared

mouth of
jagged

rectangular teeth
which

left your
land

barren but
beautiful

which left
your

people isolate
but

oddly hopeful
which

left your
culture

fundamentalist and
nonessential.

South Dakota,

your capital
bears

the french
stamp

of catholic
loyalty

your largest
city

bears the
name

of native
dakotans.

on the Oberst's refrigerator

crayon, washable in looping squiggles,
not quite a rainbow, not quite a person
but a family none the less, together.

taken down.

connect the dots ripped
out of a couloring book
after learning how to count.

taken down.

a tracing of a hand, fingertip
feathers yellow, red, &
blue with a beak on the thumb

taken down.

an A- state spelling test
Mississippi & Missouri correct
but Coneticut caused problems.

taken down.

I want to be a fireman, I
want to be an architect, I want
to be a musician.

taken down.

a bundle of receipts, yellow &
white, crumpled & signed
to keep track of the money going out

taken down.

my family is reduced to names
on a shopping list, one square of
wants & a hope for a phone call.

for the sake of continuity, this could count as PA--a poem called: The Student Union

The fountain in the Alumni Plaza is
shut off. Its faux-riverbed dry.
All the pennies have been scooped out,
wishes spent.

Six sickly trees have given their all to fall
& trampled
dusty remains
gather in the fountain’s base.

The only rumble now is passing traffic,
& the shuffle of students steps on
a mud line cut through dying grass,
always rushing five minutes before, or after class in

shields of iPod interference--sound tracked
bubbles--& cell phones stringing invisible
electric laundry lines for all to hear:
(insert cliché here)

The students stacked in trailers
behind Lytle Hall will soon move
to the academic forum; a giant glowing
17 million dollar fishbowl filled with

goldfish eyes in 200 seat amphitheaters,
the teachers
will never have to
learn my name again.

The dry recycled air echoes
recycled ideas pounded into
five paragraph containers
reused in the library, wasted computer printout

pages, all grades
the same--one
pen stroke pass
or fail--like
finding a parking space

five minutes before class.
We are (the new) Penn State
repackaged in another field, in
another ground broken ceremony

high-rise honeycombed dorms,
where a single room is now a triple
in a numbers game of how many students
can we jam in one place, for one price

& still get away with it. Better yet--
put a food court in the forum so
they can buy Freedom fries. Please just
keep the Republicans away from bake sales.

The turned up corn fields give again--
the illusion of space--like
the fairgrounds on a weekend,
& diversity is half the population

taking a bus back to the city,
taking a truck back to the country.
Monday thru Friday we walk in streams but
never pool into a student union,

it’s just myspace now, faux
facebooked friends & waiting
for the season to slide by,
a fountain filled again.

Californ-I-A

"you gotta see the west coast,"
she said. her acrylic nails were
red and the color slunk into the
whites of her eyes. "there just
ain't nothing like the blue sky
in california." a cough hacked
from the cracks in her chapped
red-lined lips. "you gotta see
those people. they got these bright
white teeth and blue convertibles."
"something about it," she said.
"god bless america, you know?"

Maine

Nine hour drive
Hot and heavy June
With no air-conditioning
We drove with the
Mass-holes
to get to you.

for the sake of continuity, this could count as NY

Bozeman

In 2063,
first contact
between humans
& Vulcans will be
made in Montana.

to the panhandle states

Turning tricks
in the northwest
corners of your eye.
Periphery county
geography.

As Florida
lays claim to
the Gulf, Okalhoma
decapitates
Texas.

The phallus
and the cowboy
hat of America.

land of 1,000 gophers

Extremes
in climate
contrast with
the moderation
of Minnesota’s people.

here we IDAGO

Idaho protects black cats
& keeps their Satan worshipers
on a short leash.

LOOK AT ME ALASKA

In New Jersey we live stacked
1,134.4 persons per square mile,
frozen in a block of humanity.

In American Russia, where no
road leads to the capital,
1.1 people per square mile

breath fresh, Alaskan Air.

100th post extravaganza

Amy & Greg visit & illustrate poems.

adventures in stolen forms

Lilacs live in yards,
shy away from roses
(mimicry of Lyn Hejinian's My Life)

Old photographs, before the perfection of the Polaroid camera, bring the back-
ground to the forefront and wash away scenes of development. Before all the
grass in the back yard was consumed by the invading squirrels, my mother made
good use of her minimal training in photography, and captured as much as she
could. A picture of me still remains in the frame leading up the stairs in my grand-
mother’s house, wriggling my toddler torso between the kiddie gate, blocking off
the kitchen from the dining room. Bumblebees have no stingers, I was told by
our sage-like neighbor next door. Warren made that clear. They cannot harm
you if you are not afraid of them. And so I buried my face into a lilac blos-
som and drew in deeply. Bushes occasionally bent their branches over like
arches, making each bough into its own roof-like appendage. In a house with-
out tents. “Let’s go camping, honey!” And off we went to the backyard lilacs
with lunch in a sack and a military sleeping bag. Beach umbrellas erected on
the patio. Plastic picnic table, yellow and green, screen printed with a like-
ness of Big Bird. Dear foreman, dismantle that above-ground swimming pool
as soon as you possibly can. Dear Bagelmaster, where are the ashtrays, turn your
damned hat around. Take off your glasses, honey, and wash your face off with
the garden hose. A day later, the pool was removed and all the grubs, slugs,
snails, and earthworms shriveled in the sunlight. Those that did not escape the
treads of the demolition crew were zapped into raisins within seconds of their
exposure. Dragonflies in the afternoon. The Pope spoke at Giants Stadium
later that year. Bulletproof glass Pope-Mobile.




I Remember:
(Mimicry of Joe Brainard's I Remember)

I remember a fence that cut straight through the middle of my back yard because the people who owned our house before my parents used to have a pool. They did away with it in before putting the house on the market because pools lowered property value.

I remember, in 8th grade, developing an infatuation with the shape of a woman’s shoulder blades and how that was the first part of the body that I ever found attractive in a woman. I still think shoulder blades are sexy.

I remember the most expensive thing I ever stole. It was a souvenir keychain from a Jersey shore resort boutique.

I remember Saturday morning cartoons and how when I got old enough to feel fatigue at the end of the week and began sleeping through them, I assumed that they were just taken off the air.

I remember the doctor making smiley faces out of the marks that the hypodermic needle left on my upper arm when I went in for booster shots. The feeling of his fountain pen scraping against my skin to draw the nose, mouth, and other eye hurt more than the injection.

I remember when my mother allowed me to walk home from school by myself for the first time, but after school let out, I got cold feet and didn’t want to leave the playground without my mother. She anticipated this and waited for me around the corner, watching. She didn’t go to the playground to get me, but hid and waited until I gathered the courage to leave on my own. She met me half a block away from the school.

I remember grocery shopping on Saturdays with my father at “the store that takes for hours” (ShopRite).

I remember when I briefly wanted to be a soldier when I grew up because I thought it would bring me closer to my grandfather, who served in World War II. My grandfather hated the military for the things they made him do.

I remember that the only war stories that my grandfather ever told were about how terrible war is. They were the most horrific, disturbing things I’ve ever heard. He wasn’t proud of anything he did between the years of 1939 and 1945.

I remember the time my mother miscarried. I also remember the way my father tried to explain it to my brother, sister, and I. “A baby died inside your mother’s tummy,” he said.

I remember accidentally knocking out my sister’s tooth with my elbow during a fight. She was afraid of me for days. I bought her a crackerjack ring at the school fair and she forgave me.

Boston by way of New York

Like mescaline, I’m still living your dreams
between Manhattan port authority and Boston south station
Trans-Hudson traversed neighborhoods, interstates,
rural route X, Y, and Z
Like mescaline, I’m falling asleep
there’s a drunk in the back of this bus
makes poetry impossible
pit stop shorter than a cigarette, but we don’t need gas
Like mescaline, I’ve donated to your tragedy
eyeballed business cards
embossed charity: New York, Boston, Los Angeles
with North Jersey area codes
Like mescaline, this engine echoes like transit
mobile glow, mobility hesitates
I am William of Orange
wigwam the silent, wishlist the 3rd
Like mescaline, lights bend with the wind
half like self-respect
brownstone-bound, Jersey City Catholic all-girls school
the other half out of sheer philanthropy
Like mescaline, these lights project and multiply in the rain
Like Queen Elizabeth, you’re wearing mink from goodwill
the truth is, I’m not very busy this weekend
I’ve got your card; I’ll call you on Saturday

Ausible Chasm

walls of stacked summer
reading--rocks carved

in the two-million-year
trickle of

blue eyes.


a new paragraph

the tree on the hill drops ¶
that roll down & gather by
my back door.

A yellow bird lives
in the tree & sings

¶ ¶¶ ¶ ¶ ¶

in the morning, the tea
¶ out of the kettle ¶
spilling into autumn
air ¶

changes the weather

¶ ¶¶ ¶¶ ¶

clouds that part at lunchtime.

¶ to open Campbell’s tomato soup

the can crunched & reused into ¶

Colon: Semi Colon’s Straight-laced Brother

Colon has lips that press together so tightly that sometimes he catches himself holding his breath. When he fills his lungs with large, lonely gasps, tears seep from Colon’s eyes, dotting his pages with lists of things that would make him happy. Colon weeps: “Things to do: Remember to breathe, learn to smile, speak in exclamations and expletives, fall in love.”

Time passes for Colon, slowly, because he has many lists and sleeps poorly. His dreams are typed on keyboards, rhythmic heartbeats, and his lists are scratched deeply into his heart. One day, finally, climactically, and gloriously, Colon crosses an item off his list: Colon falls in love.

Her name is Parenthese and she is beautiful and sweet and kind. Parenthese sees Colon first (he doesn’t see her, yet). She likes him right away (but isn’t sure why). When Colon finally notices Parenthese, he’s not sure whether she’s looking at him or the small painting of a dog over his head (he is very dense and Parenthese finds it endearing).

Colon and Parenthese fall in love as soon as Colon realizes that Parenthese is looking at him and not the painting. Together, they spend the day crumbling bread for the ducks in the park and eating fettuccini alfredo cross-legged in Parenthese’s apartment. Over time, Parenthese teaches Colon to relax a little and Colon teaches Parenthese to be a little more organized.

One night Colon and Parenthese have a fight. While they have loved each other for a long time, some issues have been simmering and have finally come to a boil. Colon yells at Parenthese to grow up and stand for something real. Parenthese cries and calls Colon a controlling bastard. Colon sleeps on the couch that night and Parenthese has to pee for nine hours straight because she doesn’t want to walk past Colon to get to the bathroom.

The next morning, Colon and Parenthese walk to the park and feed the ducks together. Each gets a little defensive — Colon scoffs and Parenthese rolls her eyes — but in the end they talk and learn that while they can’t always understand the other, they desperately want to help the other understand as best they can. Parenthese presses Colon’s hand to her lips and thanks him for keeping her grounded. Colon hugs Parenthese tightly and whispers into her hair, thanking her for reminding him of what’s important.

Colon and Parenthese both feel so complete in their love, so full of hope, they decide to have a child. Both agree it’s a little soon, a little unplanned, but Colon and Parenthese believe no child could enter a world filled with more love than the world they have in their hearts to offer.

When the child comes, he is strong and certain like Colon and beautiful and sweet like Parenthese. They name him Comma.


Alternate pop-culture ending: Colon and Parenthese have a child who is everything they could ever want her to be. They name her… : )

sem;colon

i see semicolons in my sleep; i hear the sound
of the semicolon ringing in my brain as i walk
to the store; the voice of the semicolon's slight
pause, its hesitation, its hollow intake of breath,
its change of tone punctuates my thoughts; i
see an avalanche of semicolons bearing down
on me, falling from the peaks of the appalacian
mountains; rivers of semicolons bisect the city
of my birth; rivers spanned by steel bridges
assembled with semicolons as the rivets;
semicolons stealthily sneak through my
windowscreens at night and implant their
larvae in my inner ear before flying off to infect
their next host body; semicolons swirl down the
drain, floating on a bed of soapsuds after i get
out of the shower each morning; semicolons
have infested my apartment; i have semicolon
traps set behind the refrigerator; on cold days,
i make myself a bowl of semicolon soup with
crushed semicolon crackers, served with a cup
of boiling herbal tea, made from the most delicate
leaves in all of china; semicolons and colons
replace zeroes and ones in the binary sequence
of my operating system until the sentence
finally ends, three pages later.

debating the usage of a semi-colon;

kitchen sink full
of last weeks dishes;

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa no comments or postings
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa for the blog today;

wet socks &
book bag on back;

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa full of theory, less
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa living during the week;

schedules of movement
without bells ringing;

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa washed face, brushed
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa teeth & walked;

cold feet in conversation,
silence on the turnpike;

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa laundry day is coming.

Inventory 21 Sept.

response

lab assistant, young with the periodical table in
her eyes, readable & open intentions--protons
rotating around the nuclease at
greater & greater speeds--
element stacked upon element,
centrifuged & distilled to a
small electric spasm.

Now whenever she sees the widower scientist,
eyes to the ground.

The Grandfather of Modern Biology

(about Erasmus Darwin: doctor, scientist, poet, grandfather of Charles Darwin and muse of Liz Willis's new book, Meteoric Flowers.)


A widower scientist found himself in love with a
married woman and had no appropriate way to tell
her. The nineteenth century was all about letter
writing. Clandestine delivery methods devised
and conspired. The intellectual hobby of costal
gentrymen, celebrated after hours, by candlelight,
revered in volumes with dust already growing on
their ideas. Scrap the sentiments and graft the
titles. Scientists can publish anything they want.
Never has such a thinker been resurrected in bronze
at the center of Birmingham. Moonestone marble,
dust-caked no more.

Buds Burn Cool and Commentary

(a response to Liz Willis's book Meteoric Flowers)


Pastoral rhymes with ancient. Meteors in meter
with blocks; phrasal miracles glance behind them-
selves at brick-shaped blooming. Whitespace sinks
and in its place the prose floats. Bound to make
things interesting, the way we obsess over yester-
day’s accomplishments. Tomorrow, we may be content-
ed by something much less profound, but satisfying
in its own right, nonetheless. What makes a muse
more than another Greek M-word? What supplants a
bulb in the place of a knotted root? Everything
rhymes with gimmick besides idea. Everything synch-
ronizes its orbit with the tempo of splitting atoms.

copy cat copy

a no homework night for no reason at all
(sleep deprivation builds to lack of attention)
though now I sit down--old desk, green walls--
(the ones i can hear Jared’s music through)
& check my email to find a form let down
(hey that was one of your due assignments today!)
letter with an opening salutation,
(Thank you for your submission to Sigma Tau Delta publications.)
followed by the “buffer zone” to keep me reading
(This year we had a record number of submissions, which made the editorial )
on & on, months I forgot I even submitted,
(selection that much more difficult.)
sent my tiny old poems out
(when i still was writing a lot)
& had hope beyond getting through the week
(more than just repeated patterns)

Bad: A Bitter List

sunday night and too much caffeine for no reason at all
(i am full of bad ideas).
jittery and pissed off at a semester of spanish three homework
(someone else's bad idea).
email to ex-boyfriend is returned with unusual curtness
(i assume this means something bad).
friend's new boyfriend is a decade older
(i try not to assume this is bad).
best friend left for a semester in london on saturday
(before my bad (sun)day).
credit card bill is over a thousand dollars
(suddenly i'm a bad spender).
two weeks in and no fingernails left
(another bad habit to break).
want to go to an artists' colony and sleep and sleep and sleep
(no bad dreams).

Subway 8:46 a.m. September 11.

In a tunnel under the Hudson
riding to work, the first impact was
a subtle shake.

A shift of seismic energy
on the Richter scale,
a 2.3 magnitude shudder.

The subway did not stop,
but continue towards the
burning towers.

It rolled, without rushing,
under anchored beams, through the
station, and slid safely

back to New Jersey.



Inspired by the book , American Ground Unbuilding the World Trade Center
by William Langewiesche

how to make paper fly

How to make paper fly.

September, nine million square feet of office space.

Step one: fold the paper in half. It doesn’t have to be any particular size,
just big enough to fold.

Ninety percent air, ten percent building.

Step two: open the paper & fold the left top corner diagonally towards the middle, along the vertical fold made in step one. Repeat with the top right corner.

Two 767 airplanes 137 tons.

Step three: fold the top left corner diagonally towards the middle again along the
vertical fold made earlier. Repeat with the right side.

Two flashes thirty six minutes apart

Step four: fold the mirroring sides into itself along the first horizontally folded line.

Twin ten second pulses, the south tower at 9:59, the north at 10:28.

Step five: make wings by folding an edge along the entire paper from angled nose
to square tail.

it rained office paper all day.

Step six: throw.

september snow globe

Greg likes snow globes.
The way the world encapsulated
in a bubble can slow,
& each plastic flake
falls, glides to the ground,
settled.

I have one of the city—
the Empire State, the Statue
of Liberty & the Twin Towers.
It’s his favorite.
He shakes it up--arms flailing
as a four year old who hasn’t
fully figured how his body works
does--& waits with breath held
for the ten seconds
of falling to be
over.

“The snow never sticks to the towers,”
Greg says. He tells me:
“It’s because they are so tall,
so tall they are part of the sky.”
They are Greg.
They are.

tea time two

This is what the poem tea time eventually became.




thanks again to cherylin.

reREvealed

in the WHITE space
between
where we high like on the ceiling when not looking/reading a book or in a good thought light
the thoughts broken down
coloured in
remembered, outlined
structured for belief.

it is watching these things
unfold, become (OPTIONAL THOUGHT--more than) a
novel

metallic chirping the sound (of a typewriter) when you finish a line
the quickness sloppy on a PLASTIC keypad

looking through photo albums found on closet floors next to
crumpled up flannel

holes in the walls from thumbtacks, a white space of the HEART
the internal hidden life of the wall in odd places
what were they hanging?
what were they holding up that was so important & needed

TO BE SEEN?

return to New times.

systematically dis-
assembeling the news-
paper cut &
opened sections be-
tween the lines

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa fireside lounge, brown
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa couch, no fire, just
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa papers. tons of papers.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa torn papers with doodles
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa all over the edges.

while its new
unfolded, dented, creased,
packed from a plant
traveled across highways
typed in New York
city.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa a story with so much
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa narrative it smelled
laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa like fresh paint,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa not ventilated,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa a headRush.

already

headache and a
distinct lack of
protein return me
to a back to school
state of mind.

already procrastin-
ating a first day's
homework because due
dates are two weeks
from today.

and
already
i
miss
your
smile.

maybe

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa thick, soupy mist
floating above
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sun burnt,
heated street
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa peeling,
high beams reflect
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa pale white lines
off of
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa circles under eyes
the cloud
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa 2 a.m. driving home
that cannot
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa stay awake or
fly.

SecondNight

the cardboard is packed
(not stacked or absorbing the sounds
of a television
downstairs.)

so this is what my
computer is like.

it took two hours
of looking at all labels
(no meat &
the cheapest goods)
to save twenty-four
dollars.

tomorrow maybe
a haircut.

tea for two to start
the day (waking up
to dick
who came to remove
the hot tub.)

green walls no longer
blue

i can go to bed with
the Gilmore girls
& a bed stuffed
with animals.

(comments included with
placement of TV.)

conversations
across
the room.
half in computer,
half spoken.

we can forge
a new family
in the space between.

FirstNight

Music filtered
through sickly trees
through open doors
bar on the corner
an amateur
jazz band performs
sounds but not smells

permeate this poor
polluted neighborhood
backlot barks and growls
find their way inside
my bulky
muted
headphones.

atclosingtime
backlotwindow
breezescarry
smog.
homebound pollutants
suspended in the wind.
scents without voices.

empty refrigerator
(lonely freezerbox).
INVENTORY.
eggo waffles (freezerburnt),
frozen cod sticks,
wawa ice cream
(lonely emptybox).

nextdooor windows,
wide without curtains.
nextbuilding neighbor
beats his girlfriend
girlfriend never leaves.
makes love loudly
weekend earlymornings.

cable appointment
tomorrow afternoon.
search the AM dial
for the mets broadcast
in baseball withdrawal
swing and a drive
HOMErunHOMErunHOME

run home.

For German friends (für Deutsche Freunde.)

hands aaaaaaaaaaa Hände
stretched aaaaaaa dehnten

over aaaaaaaaaaaa rauhe
rough aaaaaaaaaaa hölzerne

wooden aaaaaaa übermäßigtabelle
table aaaaaaaaa zwischen

between aaaaaa Abendessen
dinner aaaaaaa u.

& aaaaaaaaaa Nachtisch
dessert. aaaaaaa aus.

tea time

back broken by the lifting of lumber, jack could
do nothing but rest & wait for the return of po-
sterity through a slumbering regiment; sticky p-
otato chip hands, hot dogs eaten raw from the f-
reezer, falling asleep in his brown arm chair,
jack, white wrapped in long john coveralls, dri-
ed in the heat of the electronic hearth glowing
three’s company & draining battery lives till no
remote could change the arid airwaves—like sand
through an hourglass so passed the days of jack’
s life—just watching the same channel over & ov-
er & over again till it all was rerun & he could
predict the future & control time in thirty min-
ute intervals & in a symphony of board, hammer,
nail, jack was foreman once more molding from m-
emory a true HOME for the next generation, the
next lonely lovers to live in peace & comfort c-
oming together in a room of brady bunch sinceri-
ty, making the world a tv land once more.

telephone 8

telephone 7

telephone 6 and 6.5

i can only handle one friend who was
just broken up with (over the phone)
at a time. voice mail: "joe and i had
another fight and i'm just calling to
talk." in person, the cell phone in
the grass, lying flat on our backs
in the park: "bryan said he didn't want
to be with me." i wait for my phone
to beep, telling me ian returned my
text message, which i told myself i
wasn't going to send, but did anyway.
i can't call her back; i can't make her
feel better in the grass (and the mos-
quitos are coming out); he doesn't text
me back.

let's only talk in person from now
on, because it's too hard not to see
your face and i already forgot how you
smile. i don't know you well enough
to be comfortable text messaging you
when i want to know how you're doing
and be able to see it come from your voice
without the static on the line and the
roommate in the other room with the tv
on, but i don't want to have the 'where
is this going?' conversation, because
i'm trying really hard to see if this
new thing could work, but you live too
far away for me to be okay with not
hearing from you until i see you on
the weekend and we aren't clear with
anything. let's just talk in person (and
have the 'where is this going?' con-
versation).

telephone 5

the entire
electronic universe

strapped &
cased,

leatherbound &
belted,

to brown
khaki

pants that
never

ring.

telephone 4

telephone 3

pick up some milk & OJ
keep the mobile device & its antenna
pop tarts, waffles, & cranberry juice
2.5 centimeters (1 inch) from your body

do you need anything else?
nearly every electronic device is subject to
no, i just wanted to know
Radio Frequency (RF) energy interference from external sources
where you were & when
if inadequately shielded, designed, or otherwise
will you be coming home?
configured for RF energy compatibility

in a little while, I have to go to
the Specific Absorption Rate (SAR) limit for
the gas station & get fuel for the
mobile phones used by the public
lawnmower & then I will be on my way
is 1.6 Watts/Kg averaged over one gram of tissue

telephone 2

telephone 1

addicted to the telephone
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa tetherphone
i am always a phone call away
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa never away
just in case my car breaks
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa down

the sweat crackle of her voice
(it actually sounds different)
& i am ever seeking the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sound of sweetness
aaaaaaaaaa giddy cute talking to animals & babies voice

that is the closest thing to
a smile i can get--
the intonation the
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa reflection--
bounced off of clouds & filtered
through the cosmic microwave background

an invisible (time elapsed) embrace.

I remember when I didn't hate young children.

I remember when I didn't hate young children
and resent them for every time they sat on their glasses
or ate someting they knew they're allergic to
or threw a tantrum because they lost in four-square,
threatening to kill and dismember other campers.

Back in June,

When I still had hopes for a literary summer.
Before Craigslist.com burst my bubble of ambition
and sent me back to Jersey, jobless. Enter Camp Harmony:
Resumé not required. References mandatory.
Experience with children optional.

A normal sleeping schedule.

I remember when I was still a vegetarian.
No hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken wings, or #3 at Just Subs.
When I was determined to quit smoking for good
and drank only occasionally.
Workwithoutvices. Viceswithoutwork.

I remember my summer reading list.

I still have overdue books from the Philly public library.
45 days at a fee of 25 cents per day.
John Banville, Virginia Woolf, William Carlos Williams.
I remember writing poems because I felt it was my duty to do so
I carried spiral notepads in my jacket pocket.

Thoughts composed in verse

I remember kneeling at a riverbed, panning for gold.
The responsible poet catches all the nuggets in his sieve
but saves enough silt to enhance it's sparkle.

I remember when I scorned cheesy metaphors.

Hey, remember when I had an original thread?

hey, remember when…

i knew how to start a poem?
read a book?
not plan life around TV?

i took walks in the woods?
pictures of my shoes?
more than just journal entries?

i only wrote dripping prose without punctuation bent over computer lab keyboards before every procrastinated paper deadline outlining the final fall of self crashing into volcanoes of colour or robotic battle grounds?

i had fake glasses?
a desk where there wasn’t crayon writing on the wall or a civil war calendar next to me?
punctuality.

hey, remember when we would post?

hey, remember when...

i had fingernails?
a boyfriend?
three whole months of summer left?

i used to go to the pool?
to the beach?
skipped work?

i noticed the first fireflies?
the beginning of wineberry season?
but not that time was passing?

i knew how to ride a bike?
paint with watercolors?
end a poem?