Month: April 2007

• I Was Going to Use the Typewriter

  We turned the chairs to face each other.
  In a moment there were memory of sound.
  The scraping of leaves against the birds,
  against windowsills.
  When I was a child I was most afraid
  of opening the curtain to a face on a ladder.
  Between the keys of the typewriter is untold depths.
  A watchmaker god, the clock wheels spinning.
  Often I am permitted to return to a meadow.
  There the boughs bend but never break into song.
  Attributed to caterpillars, facing a journey of grass.
  The violins are changeling into crickets, into species.
  The shellac is rusty from a dog begging for treats.
  Winter came late this year, at least we told ourselves.
  If there are raisins in this dish I’m not having it.
  You’re crying because the guitars accused of genius.
  Wait to decide on college until you’ve found
  the right pond.
  Across the gate there’s different road noises, untold.
  The holes in this paper make concentric circles.
  If you pull the window shade too quick, you’ll never
  get it down, and won’t you be sorry
  when the time comes for you to be making love.

  April 8, 2007

  ---

• Easter

  difference
  defers fence
  our first fruits
  reverence

  April 8, 2007

  ---

• Blent

  I blend into two
  refract a mosaic

  circle a vast sphere
  limitless

  now museum
  now you don’t

  outside the snow persists
  inside the blanket

  if skin diminished
  its element

  light only a mirror
  poor dust languishing

  under the carpet
  cardboard doubles

  witness to years
  these piles will topple

  under the weight of
  their leaning

  I give in
  to blending

  April 7, 2007

  ---

• Scripture

  Do not
  put on

  the cross
  he is

  the king
  but that

  he says
  he is.

  I have
  written

  that which
  I have

  written.
  It is

  finished.

  April 6, 2007

  ---

• We’re Doing

  We’re turning the orchard
  into a planetarium.

  We’re producing the film to fulfill
  the promise of mass communication.

  We’re taking down the altar
  and putting up a stationary bike.

  We’re meddling in the lives of others
  who have no business in others’ lives.

  We’re making sand castles
  out of melting ice cream.

  We’re circling the spire
  under a canopy of cauliflower.

  We’re putting the computer
  to sleep.

  We’re asking for repentance
  or perhaps dodecahedrons.

  We’re withering under the weight
  of shoelaces and air conditioners.

  We’re separating the colors
  before the spin cycle.

  We’re masking our tutelage
  with rice and other delectables.

  We’re showering gifts
  on unsuspecting umbrellas.

  We’re spacing the margins
  evenly with not a little guilt.

  We’re pulling the drawers
  and replacing them with escalators.

  We’re tightening the screws
  and fitting the frames.

  We’re basking in sour slices
  of unripened tarragon.

  We’re working our way
  back to beginnings or something.

  April 5, 2007

  ---

• Roadwork

  They’re performing superficial renovations on the pavement. Some make do with a face. Some swear by a hubcap. Reach the speed limit. Parkway. Closed for destruction. Acres of dotted yellow lines. Sign here for deregulation. A matter of swollen debris. Potholes reveal years of patches. A definite curve tending to slope in the center of the road. See we’re above the sidewalk. Measuring distances between two points. Surveying the landscape. Terrible thing they had to tear down those trees. It hurt me something terrible. I swear since they cut through this town I haven’t been able to sleep at night. Day neither. If only they’d put up a light or a sign. Do you think that would make a difference?

  April 5, 2007

  ---

• Have At It

  another still
  life tragedy

  sunset face down
  in the rotunda

  you mailbox me
  orange lens

  shift to vague
  mouthful of house

  dear sweet olive
  branching to kiss

  my skull match
  flame slate trail

  April 4, 2007

  ---

• You Are Here

  Concentrate on
  your position

  or the undertow
  will pull you in

  that’s what it does
  the weigh of its how

  and there is no
  escape, or glance

  the sun stands still
  resolute, solution

  not unimaginary
  but separate

  leaving existence
  to detritus, the muck

  that pulled you out
  of the ocean, friend.

  April 4, 2007

  ---

• “Leave Empty”

  said the sign on the library shelf
  said the last page of the book
  said the glow of the television screen
  said the chair
  said the symphony hall acoustics
  said the path to enlightenment
  said the signifier
  said the question to the questionnaire
  said the page not found error message
  said the last few years
  said the vacuum cleaner
  said the half eaten apple core
  said the cardboard box collapsed
  said the broken vase full of flowers
  said the fullness of time
  said the pulse to the blood
  said the eye to the window
  said the pie
  said the last stop of the bus route
  said the grocery bag
  said the current
  said the holes in the cement
  said the ink cartridge
  said the button to the buttonhole
  said the shirt to the torso
  said the evacuation procedure
  said the body
  said the picture frame
  said the patch to the rip in the fabric
  said the weakest link in the chain
  said the flower to the sunrise
  said the blowhole to the whale
  said the verb to the noun
  said the pot of gold
  said the corn to the husk
  said the raindrop to the cloud
  said the glue
  said the plot of land
  said the narrative
  said the duck to the goose
  said the wave to the microphone
  said the light to the flash
  said the hallway to the stairs
  said the mausoleum
  said the stain
  said the brick to the mortar
  said the ring
  said the mouth
  said the last words
  said the empty.

  This space left intentionally blank.

  April 3, 2007

  ---

• The Dancing

  All this choreographed
  falling, a series
  of dives

  in search of pattern
  by way of seeking
  restless

  fluttering seams
  pirouette
  a turn

  the motion is set
  silhouette
  in front

  behind the kick
  step lightly
  against

  your partner, alone
  in parts attended
  by tempo

  or this: you’re so clumsy
  if you threw
  yourself

  to the ground, I’m sure
  you’d miss
  at least.

  April 2, 2007

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