A Bar of Hotel Soap
Remind me how much I hate spring.
Skunking the dog. Melting the drive.
Potholes torn straight through to Hades,
evidenced by steam rising. This poverty.
A bar of hotel soap I might consider
a gift at this juncture.
A stone, a leaf, a bitter olive rolled
under your foot. Crushed, slivered,
it would depend on the spirit
in which it is offered. A crown, a clot,
baby's heart on a stick. Don't take it
personally--name no simulcurm this
token of my esteem
What a fine mesh
you've gotten us through this time,
Ollie.
I see myself in the airport hotel
alone, desolately glamorous, B-
movie magic lounging on cushions while the jets
taxi loudly below in meaningless urgency,
holding back all that power of
ascent and gunning
while runway position is assured.
Which sounds inside the room with the great bed
of engine noise. A great debate of dinosaurs.
What brutal concrete.
I signed a non-disclosure agreement with
reality. I am the desperate one driven to deals,
debtor and survivor. I am the one
who with raw need most keenly sees
what must be done. And shaves
the point and splits the hair, loads up
on hotel soap like currency-- you're the one
could get this past security. You
wonder you, you pay
for everything with your good looks.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Without Transport
Variation One
What they said is true: in the moment, no fear.
I heard a scream--a long no-o-o-o!
from my own throat, that would have sounded like terror, like suffering,
to anyone if anyone heard--even I listened with concern,
from that other place where I was turning the wheel
and leaning with the car's flight from one slick
snowbank on the left of the road down the chute
of ice to the other side of the narrow road,
thinking thank god no one coming...as the car flipped on two wheels
and righted itself and spun again going faster.
I heard the long cry unwinding and saw the world
coming toward me at odd and immediate angles, and I steered
steering well adept as I am but unable
to slow the speed at which the steep pulled
the heavy car down the spiraling sides the ice but there
was no fear, just infinite wonder at how the moment unwound
itself in parts, immense surprise and an opening
of time which happened all at once and still in telescoping stages.
Come to rest, I looked up at the sky
because the car was pointed slightly upward, as if broken.
The engine growled and the headlights went out.
I closed my eyes then, knowing nothing
to be done. I leaned my head against the seat
and went to sleep, I had never been so safe.
Variation Two
It's true if you had heard me screaming, hurtling downhill,
and if that had been the last cry and I hit the bank, went over
and never wakened, it would haunt you to listen
over and over in your mind, to someone screaming
her way to death, you would say "terror" you would say died
suffering, cried out, it would hurt you and make you cold
inside and so afraid I would never be able to tell you
it was not like that, that the cry that roared from my throat
was all the animal's surprise and fierce knowing... These
cries, I heard them too, as the world rushed
forward at such unusual angles, faster than
thought and yet discrete, it all happened just inside
a life I was pushed away from at that moment to witness--
If you had heard you would not have known there was no fear
that I was one with every turn and spin and hurtle, safe within it,
as I had never been safe before.
That all that moment blossomed violent and terrible only to amaze.
Variation Three
It was so interesting. Flying out of it.
Glass and lights, and gasoline spilled on the snow.
Today is a ditch.
I've had nothing to eat. I'm not dressed.
There's a smell of skunk under the window.
I remember how much I hate spring.
What they said is true: in the moment, no fear.
I heard a scream--a long no-o-o-o!
from my own throat, that would have sounded like terror, like suffering,
to anyone if anyone heard--even I listened with concern,
from that other place where I was turning the wheel
and leaning with the car's flight from one slick
snowbank on the left of the road down the chute
of ice to the other side of the narrow road,
thinking thank god no one coming...as the car flipped on two wheels
and righted itself and spun again going faster.
I heard the long cry unwinding and saw the world
coming toward me at odd and immediate angles, and I steered
steering well adept as I am but unable
to slow the speed at which the steep pulled
the heavy car down the spiraling sides the ice but there
was no fear, just infinite wonder at how the moment unwound
itself in parts, immense surprise and an opening
of time which happened all at once and still in telescoping stages.
Come to rest, I looked up at the sky
because the car was pointed slightly upward, as if broken.
The engine growled and the headlights went out.
I closed my eyes then, knowing nothing
to be done. I leaned my head against the seat
and went to sleep, I had never been so safe.
Variation Two
It's true if you had heard me screaming, hurtling downhill,
and if that had been the last cry and I hit the bank, went over
and never wakened, it would haunt you to listen
over and over in your mind, to someone screaming
her way to death, you would say "terror" you would say died
suffering, cried out, it would hurt you and make you cold
inside and so afraid I would never be able to tell you
it was not like that, that the cry that roared from my throat
was all the animal's surprise and fierce knowing... These
cries, I heard them too, as the world rushed
forward at such unusual angles, faster than
thought and yet discrete, it all happened just inside
a life I was pushed away from at that moment to witness--
If you had heard you would not have known there was no fear
that I was one with every turn and spin and hurtle, safe within it,
as I had never been safe before.
That all that moment blossomed violent and terrible only to amaze.
Variation Three
It was so interesting. Flying out of it.
Glass and lights, and gasoline spilled on the snow.
Today is a ditch.
I've had nothing to eat. I'm not dressed.
There's a smell of skunk under the window.
I remember how much I hate spring.
The Accident
Last night's crash was yesterday's poem. I am home today recovering my spirits and courage. I woke feeling I had just sacked Troy. Today's poem begins soon.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Radio Jazz
This is the most depressing song I ever heard-
Sophistication what a word
drums with no dire, trying to rise up
to heaven without heat, scales and lazy arpeggios
--just cuz I'm stoned
don't say I'm stupid. I found you
jazzing here,
spiteful as a girl--there isn't piss enough
to tell your story. The walls are a-crawl
with the sound of solipsism. The hills
of New Hampshire are jive.
Anonymous email says she's
got your husband now. He's
a skunk. She's a leg trap.
Blow his head off
and don't get too close when it
hits (P U)
home. Seems they're playing that
same old song. Big finish.
[OMG this is tied up too tight...I hope I get past this cryptic phase!]
Sophistication what a word
drums with no dire, trying to rise up
to heaven without heat, scales and lazy arpeggios
--just cuz I'm stoned
don't say I'm stupid. I found you
jazzing here,
spiteful as a girl--there isn't piss enough
to tell your story. The walls are a-crawl
with the sound of solipsism. The hills
of New Hampshire are jive.
Anonymous email says she's
got your husband now. He's
a skunk. She's a leg trap.
Blow his head off
and don't get too close when it
hits (P U)
home. Seems they're playing that
same old song. Big finish.
[OMG this is tied up too tight...I hope I get past this cryptic phase!]
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The Farmer Takes a Wife
The Farmer Takes a Wife
What seeds have you started, the gardener
asks the gardener?
The kids down the hill shacked up, dogs and
snow-shoes. Long mornings heaven
on earth then, and the woodpecker with his bright cap
tips his gaze, contemplates abundance,
suet in a cage and off he flies in snowy air.
A certain friendship ends
when to apologize would be to admit too much.
She did so mean me harm. Seed
of my discomfort, stone in the shoe, rock me
down snowmelt, boulders rising black furnaces
storing nuclear heat of space, fields shrink back revealing
bare ground of blast site. What I lack
in subtlety make up in violence.
Snow-fields glaring light on such
a dark day. Black cups of soil, under bulbs'
fluorescent urge, seed sprouts root hair
that splits the rock
upending earth, oh what have you
done this time
What seeds have you started, the gardener
asks the gardener?
The kids down the hill shacked up, dogs and
snow-shoes. Long mornings heaven
on earth then, and the woodpecker with his bright cap
tips his gaze, contemplates abundance,
suet in a cage and off he flies in snowy air.
A certain friendship ends
when to apologize would be to admit too much.
She did so mean me harm. Seed
of my discomfort, stone in the shoe, rock me
down snowmelt, boulders rising black furnaces
storing nuclear heat of space, fields shrink back revealing
bare ground of blast site. What I lack
in subtlety make up in violence.
Snow-fields glaring light on such
a dark day. Black cups of soil, under bulbs'
fluorescent urge, seed sprouts root hair
that splits the rock
upending earth, oh what have you
done this time
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Fool's Prayer
For of pure presence a moment
is all
needed--oh, given!--this
say what I want and have it --scares away -- doubt
the world knows.
Poor fools crying we don't
live forever when most of us don't even want
to live today. The morning a cloud chamber,
snowfields sublime in wet air, scarves unwinding
to heaven, pure
matter ascends. Tug Hill erased,
edges smudged in cloud tops. A crow coughs, tubercular,
then three racing geese go making sky
palpable as they approach and flash into
vision and out.
All night night held me in her arms and cherished
breath I gave away. Freed, I am not needed
here--it's all just offering. If spring
comes, it will be for love.
is all
needed--oh, given!--this
say what I want and have it --scares away -- doubt
the world knows.
Poor fools crying we don't
live forever when most of us don't even want
to live today. The morning a cloud chamber,
snowfields sublime in wet air, scarves unwinding
to heaven, pure
matter ascends. Tug Hill erased,
edges smudged in cloud tops. A crow coughs, tubercular,
then three racing geese go making sky
palpable as they approach and flash into
vision and out.
All night night held me in her arms and cherished
breath I gave away. Freed, I am not needed
here--it's all just offering. If spring
comes, it will be for love.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Watch This Space
This space is being reconfigured and started up for NaPoWriMo starting on April Fool's Day!
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