spring morning
delivering a more compelling entrance
warming the back of my neck nape
sunscreen will be in order soon
protection for this winter-withered mass
the wan pall of non-dairy creamer
getting around to making a point
but not quite—still
i am loved by the sun
aroma of spring’s first hard thaw
120-plus nights of defrosting dog shit
temporarily holding hostage promises interred
within soft, damp front/back yards and gardens
remembered
but not quite—still
i am loved by the sun
broad magenta-edged luminous green superheros
groan forth from their villainous graves
lazy autumn thoughts about last rites
about futility
tease a humile smile onto my pasty countenance
all have survived
but not quite—still
i am loved by the sun
Friday, April 18, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
thursday 10 apr (bethanie's birthday)
younger sister’s birthday
the one i fought with
tormented
cried with
fomented rebellion with (failed)
always fomenting
like good cheese, improving with the passing of time
in dark places
melancholy is a term useful for the description of poetry
too shopworn for the construction of poetry
a critics’ word
prepackaged in its own gestalt
a can of linguistic Spam
yet i am enjoying it fried (with eggs) this morning
almost 42 sitting miles apart from 39
contemplating the uncataloged natural forces
pushing us apart, physical distance once again providing
a frictionless vacuum
child’s experiments
with emotional fields of common polarity
pushing us apart
i miss you
i miss the relationship i imagined for us
the straight line i drew from our common
childhood to what should be ours
(not the un/shared present)
today,
i wish for you all the non-dairy cheese (fomented soy)
and joy that you can consume
some day,
our glorious rebellion will succeed
che and cheese will be made proud
happy birthday.
the one i fought with
tormented
cried with
fomented rebellion with (failed)
always fomenting
like good cheese, improving with the passing of time
in dark places
melancholy is a term useful for the description of poetry
too shopworn for the construction of poetry
a critics’ word
prepackaged in its own gestalt
a can of linguistic Spam
yet i am enjoying it fried (with eggs) this morning
almost 42 sitting miles apart from 39
contemplating the uncataloged natural forces
pushing us apart, physical distance once again providing
a frictionless vacuum
child’s experiments
with emotional fields of common polarity
pushing us apart
i miss you
i miss the relationship i imagined for us
the straight line i drew from our common
childhood to what should be ours
(not the un/shared present)
today,
i wish for you all the non-dairy cheese (fomented soy)
and joy that you can consume
some day,
our glorious rebellion will succeed
che and cheese will be made proud
happy birthday.
Friday, April 04, 2008
two trains
south:
red line
longitudinally bisecting
bisecting the city
until you leave the city
south into the urbanity
where it forks in two
like a fork in the road
requiring a road map to confirm
reconfirm: to validate bearings
like the road map itself
bright red line indicative of
representative of an important
roadway intersecting with
intersecting with
the perpendicular red and blue solid
and black crosshatched lines
symbolic of this red line
left to points east: right towards the american archetype
or maybe a snake’s tongue
too much vanity and fear in the young man
(old boy really)
no questions asked continuing his ride south
to where he thought he was going
the train emerges from the bowels
of a successful 20th century capitalist society
into the harsh daylight
of a successful 20th century capitalist society
he’s lost, he knows it
he thinks he’s the only representative of
ambassador of brave new world ancestral migration
remaining on the train
they’re staring at him
boring holes in him
mocking him
them with their dark eyes
anger, amusement, resentment, curiosity:
who can say what the non-
anglo saxon mind
might be thinking
certainly not this old boy
outside, ruins of a society that used to be
desolation remaining
resulting from an unwillingness
to share
rejection of empathy
it wasn’t meant to end this way
his trip to the end of the line
was supposed to be
through better neighborhoods
north:
halfway across the human accumulation
of worry and regret
riding the evening commuter
it’s a quiet journey
punctuated by the rustle and snap of
journals, tribunes, times
serving crisp counterpoint to the
basso thrum of steel wheels
rolling on steel rails
no-one staring
they know he belongs here (or think they know)
understand their common objective
home without incident
nearing his locality of
shrubbery and unlocked doors
(not everyone of course: you can’t be too careful)
he feels the anxiety creeping
creeping (again) up the back of his throat
on its way to overwhelm his mind
same fear as before (as always)
but older, more worldly, fat
on a lifetime of unfulfillment
having to turn sideways to pass through doors
your safety is our highest priority
together we can make us all more secure
the recorded father figure smoothly entones
the statements a nightly mantra
an unachievable ohm
never within reach
not for him
nor for his fellow fortunate
on this ride home
safe. he’s back home safe
red line
longitudinally bisecting
bisecting the city
until you leave the city
south into the urbanity
where it forks in two
like a fork in the road
requiring a road map to confirm
reconfirm: to validate bearings
like the road map itself
bright red line indicative of
representative of an important
roadway intersecting with
intersecting with
the perpendicular red and blue solid
and black crosshatched lines
symbolic of this red line
left to points east: right towards the american archetype
or maybe a snake’s tongue
too much vanity and fear in the young man
(old boy really)
no questions asked continuing his ride south
to where he thought he was going
the train emerges from the bowels
of a successful 20th century capitalist society
into the harsh daylight
of a successful 20th century capitalist society
he’s lost, he knows it
he thinks he’s the only representative of
ambassador of brave new world ancestral migration
remaining on the train
they’re staring at him
boring holes in him
mocking him
them with their dark eyes
anger, amusement, resentment, curiosity:
who can say what the non-
anglo saxon mind
might be thinking
certainly not this old boy
outside, ruins of a society that used to be
desolation remaining
resulting from an unwillingness
to share
rejection of empathy
it wasn’t meant to end this way
his trip to the end of the line
was supposed to be
through better neighborhoods
north:
halfway across the human accumulation
of worry and regret
riding the evening commuter
it’s a quiet journey
punctuated by the rustle and snap of
journals, tribunes, times
serving crisp counterpoint to the
basso thrum of steel wheels
rolling on steel rails
no-one staring
they know he belongs here (or think they know)
understand their common objective
home without incident
nearing his locality of
shrubbery and unlocked doors
(not everyone of course: you can’t be too careful)
he feels the anxiety creeping
creeping (again) up the back of his throat
on its way to overwhelm his mind
same fear as before (as always)
but older, more worldly, fat
on a lifetime of unfulfillment
having to turn sideways to pass through doors
your safety is our highest priority
together we can make us all more secure
the recorded father figure smoothly entones
the statements a nightly mantra
an unachievable ohm
never within reach
not for him
nor for his fellow fortunate
on this ride home
safe. he’s back home safe
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