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.
27 January 2007
25 January 2007
(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.
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.
22 January 2007
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.
converting CO2 to
oxygen through
photosynthesis
via plants.
naked
trees leave
the unrecycled
air cool & stale
with the scent of cheeseburgers.
17 January 2007
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.
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.
17 December 2006
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.
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.
02 December 2006
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
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.
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.
27 November 2006
24 November 2006
Coded Death-Threat Written by Small Cousins After Thanksgiving Dinner, Maryland
Dear, Googs
sweat honey iced
tea you have
backwards octopus
Zach
sweat honey iced
tea you have
backwards octopus
Zach
16 November 2006
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.
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.
08 November 2006
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.
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.
01 November 2006
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?"
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?"
30 October 2006
Maine
Nine hour drive
Hot and heavy June
With no air-conditioning
We drove with the
Mass-holes
to get to you.
Hot and heavy June
With no air-conditioning
We drove with the
Mass-holes
to get to you.
29 October 2006
28 October 2006
27 October 2006
25 October 2006
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.
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.
24 October 2006
22 October 2006
03 October 2006
Ausible Chasm
walls of stacked summer
reading--rocks carved
in the two-million-year
trickle of
blue eyes.
reading--rocks carved
in the two-million-year
trickle of
blue eyes.
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