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.

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.