“They’re all here,” she would say
when another odd thing took place.
Emphasis on the “aw” in “all”
as if her mouth
could enclose
the oddity.
But it couldn’t
there was still the man
playing flute on the subway stairs
and the looming third rail
Dorothy who lived downstairs
her mop, vaguely her hair
she died and no one knew for three days
the doorman from Yugoslavia
who owned a building and a black escalade
And of course
she and me
walking to school
amidst stories.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Pyramid Lake
We are tired quiet in the car
talked out
compulsive concerns aired
looming third rail.
In the valley mountains rise siblings unknown
They corral wild horses here,
for adoption I don’t suppose
I could take one
home.
We speed to see
the sun set the lake
water never escapes
terminal end of Tahoe’s tears
evaporating.
“Tufahs” rise
towers
calcium carbonate
underground springs
bubbling up
minerals deposited out.
As the lake level fell,
the deposits stopped
became exposed
around the lake
marking places where fresh water escaped.
The cartography of what is underneath
what once was full ocean
now this.
Break neck speeds
cars explore narrow roads of near collisions
bubbling up ourselves
futures yet
unknown.
Once wild
horses
feed at trophs
At a light a man dances
an intersection
holding an ad.
We move cautiously
across this connection
towards fresh water
amidst termination.
talked out
compulsive concerns aired
looming third rail.
In the valley mountains rise siblings unknown
They corral wild horses here,
for adoption I don’t suppose
I could take one
home.
We speed to see
the sun set the lake
water never escapes
terminal end of Tahoe’s tears
evaporating.
“Tufahs” rise
towers
calcium carbonate
underground springs
bubbling up
minerals deposited out.
As the lake level fell,
the deposits stopped
became exposed
around the lake
marking places where fresh water escaped.
The cartography of what is underneath
what once was full ocean
now this.
Break neck speeds
cars explore narrow roads of near collisions
bubbling up ourselves
futures yet
unknown.
Once wild
horses
feed at trophs
At a light a man dances
an intersection
holding an ad.
We move cautiously
across this connection
towards fresh water
amidst termination.
Potter's Field
Things are so ordinary
and terribly
important.
Today
a kid
called me
the best teacher ever
and the dean called me Judas.
Someone rolled their eyes,
I ate kim-chi,
my cleavage burnt and itched
beneath my blouse
leftover sunrays dancing.
The gym teacher cried
her cousin died
a drunk driver
and there it goes—
days of anecdotes
untold.
My heart’s mad,
can’t take the layers of levity
adding up to weight.
Heavy
like flesh on a thigh bone
we move through sidewalks
streets of people
unknown
Stop and say hello
Smile at the shadow of vines
Remind yourself today is full
of what could be sadness
but isn’t.
It is
lit and lovely. Smile.
Those muscles know how
to remember that luck is beautifully horrific
and all we can do
is try to trust
how potter’s field
is sewn.
and terribly
important.
Today
a kid
called me
the best teacher ever
and the dean called me Judas.
Someone rolled their eyes,
I ate kim-chi,
my cleavage burnt and itched
beneath my blouse
leftover sunrays dancing.
The gym teacher cried
her cousin died
a drunk driver
and there it goes—
days of anecdotes
untold.
My heart’s mad,
can’t take the layers of levity
adding up to weight.
Heavy
like flesh on a thigh bone
we move through sidewalks
streets of people
unknown
Stop and say hello
Smile at the shadow of vines
Remind yourself today is full
of what could be sadness
but isn’t.
It is
lit and lovely. Smile.
Those muscles know how
to remember that luck is beautifully horrific
and all we can do
is try to trust
how potter’s field
is sewn.
Ode to Joy of Sorts
How little I know
still of you,
the thoughts you had,
little boy,
lost like me
growing up someplace
between imagination and
now.
The tissue of time
pre-systemizing
us for today
you in morning
by my side.
They say the beginning was beautiful
moments after
the big bang.
Simpler,
less atomic mess.
It must have been like breathing
when we first wake up
comprehending all there is
in front of us
by the common way we see.
still of you,
the thoughts you had,
little boy,
lost like me
growing up someplace
between imagination and
now.
The tissue of time
pre-systemizing
us for today
you in morning
by my side.
They say the beginning was beautiful
moments after
the big bang.
Simpler,
less atomic mess.
It must have been like breathing
when we first wake up
comprehending all there is
in front of us
by the common way we see.
Nanoproblem
I want to not write
this strange wish
for later.
I want to
not whist
after lyrics
unsung
I wish to be these words
lying on a page
not this body
strung out on
conceptual drugs.
I want to come home,
become the shower
and all ideals of
passionate love.
this strange wish
for later.
I want to
not whist
after lyrics
unsung
I wish to be these words
lying on a page
not this body
strung out on
conceptual drugs.
I want to come home,
become the shower
and all ideals of
passionate love.
Villanelle Attempt
If one loses hope, tell me what one gains:
false tranquility in early waking light?
There can be no true protection from pain.
Have you ever dreamt that you held the reigns
pumping your heart gently, morning to night,
but if you give up, there is nothing to gain.
Perhaps when quiet moments are such a strain
hopelessness alleviates failure, quite
truly, is there no protection from pain?
From making decisions we all must feign
for incomplete assurance leaves great fright
but if one loses hope, tell me what one gains.
Contentment in every moment ordained?
Eventually wind ceases from holding a kite.
Truly, is there no protection from pain?
Bring on the evening when sleep says my name
and I’ll fight despair with all of my might
for if one loses hope, all that one gains
is knowing there is no protection from pain.
false tranquility in early waking light?
There can be no true protection from pain.
Have you ever dreamt that you held the reigns
pumping your heart gently, morning to night,
but if you give up, there is nothing to gain.
Perhaps when quiet moments are such a strain
hopelessness alleviates failure, quite
truly, is there no protection from pain?
From making decisions we all must feign
for incomplete assurance leaves great fright
but if one loses hope, tell me what one gains.
Contentment in every moment ordained?
Eventually wind ceases from holding a kite.
Truly, is there no protection from pain?
Bring on the evening when sleep says my name
and I’ll fight despair with all of my might
for if one loses hope, all that one gains
is knowing there is no protection from pain.
I Just Really Don't Have Time In My Life
Mariachis stood still
as I slept in my mind
the subway was crowded
as we crowds blew by
Over the bridge
we go one more time
nearer to work
back into line.
The sun is rising
I can almost see,
if it weren’t for that window frame
between you and me.
I close my eyes and
the water rises
my motion picture surmounts
I feel everything shaking
maybe we’re all going to drown
Please won’t you move
take your thoughts
out of space.
Give me my morning back
out of my way
I want the east river
to swim a summer day
nothing matters
no reason to say
“Hey! The sun is rising!”
Don’t worry everyone knows
they’re all enchanted
with how the Earth goes.
That’s how my movie ends
no matter that things are a mess
we’re just floating through winter
like ice cubes in a glass.
as I slept in my mind
the subway was crowded
as we crowds blew by
Over the bridge
we go one more time
nearer to work
back into line.
The sun is rising
I can almost see,
if it weren’t for that window frame
between you and me.
I close my eyes and
the water rises
my motion picture surmounts
I feel everything shaking
maybe we’re all going to drown
Please won’t you move
take your thoughts
out of space.
Give me my morning back
out of my way
I want the east river
to swim a summer day
nothing matters
no reason to say
“Hey! The sun is rising!”
Don’t worry everyone knows
they’re all enchanted
with how the Earth goes.
That’s how my movie ends
no matter that things are a mess
we’re just floating through winter
like ice cubes in a glass.
Grading
At best, grading is like
getting a compliment you asked for.
Mostly it is like asking for a compliment
and getting stabbed repeatedly by forks,
or like editing your own poems
with no pen
the mistakes are permanent
tomato sauce on a new dress,
only space for reprimand.
I search
for the line
to make my reflection
what I wish,
I want to see how brilliant
I have been,
but mostly I am not.
And you have so carefully written
all of these essays
I have to read
with no hope of going counter clockwise
to when I could have said
“Wait, before you write that,
think about this.”
But that moment is gone,
so now I must be
constructive.
“Nice handwriting,”
I could helplessly say,
and then sometimes I laugh—
you have been humorous
revealed yourself somehow
in this stilted form
you went beyond my limited
expectations.
Joy.
getting a compliment you asked for.
Mostly it is like asking for a compliment
and getting stabbed repeatedly by forks,
or like editing your own poems
with no pen
the mistakes are permanent
tomato sauce on a new dress,
only space for reprimand.
I search
for the line
to make my reflection
what I wish,
I want to see how brilliant
I have been,
but mostly I am not.
And you have so carefully written
all of these essays
I have to read
with no hope of going counter clockwise
to when I could have said
“Wait, before you write that,
think about this.”
But that moment is gone,
so now I must be
constructive.
“Nice handwriting,”
I could helplessly say,
and then sometimes I laugh—
you have been humorous
revealed yourself somehow
in this stilted form
you went beyond my limited
expectations.
Joy.
How Precarious
We argue over dinner,
still my mother watches
as I bike down second avenue
wavering still
like I am five
on the first cyle.
Once home
the mirror reveals
white hairs
on my head.
I pull them
one by one.
I am too young
for this
(Hair dye was too recently
saved up in change
at the drug store
to piss you off).
I do not cry out in pain when I cut my myself
over the avocado.
It is precarious
when we bike down streets
and no one is adequate
for the thoughts we dream
and the things we know
must be possible
if we want them.
We sleep on pillows
scream silently in sleep
and hope no one opens
that street side door
and stops us from storming
in the presence of others.
Things that could have been
lose themselves
like drops in a puddle.
still my mother watches
as I bike down second avenue
wavering still
like I am five
on the first cyle.
Once home
the mirror reveals
white hairs
on my head.
I pull them
one by one.
I am too young
for this
(Hair dye was too recently
saved up in change
at the drug store
to piss you off).
I do not cry out in pain when I cut my myself
over the avocado.
It is precarious
when we bike down streets
and no one is adequate
for the thoughts we dream
and the things we know
must be possible
if we want them.
We sleep on pillows
scream silently in sleep
and hope no one opens
that street side door
and stops us from storming
in the presence of others.
Things that could have been
lose themselves
like drops in a puddle.
Reno's Seduction
He tells me the mountains
are to the North,
the bedroom gets Southern light,
a real-estate gesture or two
and we are through
the apartment.
“Well-lit,” I say.
“Actually,
southern light is weak,”
he marks.
“Right,” I manage
to stifle a giggle
(In Brooklyn,
North is 125th St.
and South, Bay Ridge.)
He mentions something about a river,
a damn?
So cavalier
I should not be
back up
in the air
I was intrigued
by the crop circles
like a thumbtack
finds interest
in a map.
I’ve been here now,
scarcely six hours
waiting for you
to storytell this corkboard
into a heart
I’d never puncture.
A place I would love
if you alone told me.
are to the North,
the bedroom gets Southern light,
a real-estate gesture or two
and we are through
the apartment.
“Well-lit,” I say.
“Actually,
southern light is weak,”
he marks.
“Right,” I manage
to stifle a giggle
(In Brooklyn,
North is 125th St.
and South, Bay Ridge.)
He mentions something about a river,
a damn?
So cavalier
I should not be
back up
in the air
I was intrigued
by the crop circles
like a thumbtack
finds interest
in a map.
I’ve been here now,
scarcely six hours
waiting for you
to storytell this corkboard
into a heart
I’d never puncture.
A place I would love
if you alone told me.
Brain Image Scanner
Our brain imaging today
is like Galileo’s view of the moon
ancient telescopes
determining what we do.
We drive on through
forests outskirting Reno
discombobulated
no common view
finder.
You say, “I just want to know
if he really loves me,”
For hours we’re replayed
Each anecdote
like football play
reviews.
At some point
the call must be made
There is only one first step
on the moon.
is like Galileo’s view of the moon
ancient telescopes
determining what we do.
We drive on through
forests outskirting Reno
discombobulated
no common view
finder.
You say, “I just want to know
if he really loves me,”
For hours we’re replayed
Each anecdote
like football play
reviews.
At some point
the call must be made
There is only one first step
on the moon.
Ingrid Alexander
My high school boyfriend and I
decided on a name
for our child to be.
It seems so naïve now
I cringe to write it down,
laugh nervously.
But this was not funny to us then.
It was serious.
We would get married,
and be together, forever.
Like most hackneyed thoughts
it too dissipated
into other humdrum
clichés of college romance.
After we separated,
the moments gathered
like streakers on a college campus
exploding through my green
mind when someone new laid me
down, but now it’s many more years later
and even those images
of flash photography
fade.
Except I remember
we were supposed to name her
Ingrid
Alexander.
Had she been real
what else might I remember,
have missed
or forgotten?
What embers of hope
would still glow
in my thinned
faith in love?
decided on a name
for our child to be.
It seems so naïve now
I cringe to write it down,
laugh nervously.
But this was not funny to us then.
It was serious.
We would get married,
and be together, forever.
Like most hackneyed thoughts
it too dissipated
into other humdrum
clichés of college romance.
After we separated,
the moments gathered
like streakers on a college campus
exploding through my green
mind when someone new laid me
down, but now it’s many more years later
and even those images
of flash photography
fade.
Except I remember
we were supposed to name her
Ingrid
Alexander.
Had she been real
what else might I remember,
have missed
or forgotten?
What embers of hope
would still glow
in my thinned
faith in love?
The Super
Frankie tells me
“Our building is like a church—
not just nobody can come in.
It’s my job to protect it.
I live here 50 years.
There was a young couple
like you,
but he was not one of us
she brought him from the street
they fight a lot.
She come downstairs
2:30 AM want to ‘use my microwave,’
and I let her in,
you know she’s in my building,
but I don’t want no part
of no domestic abuse
but my building’s my building.
I take care of people.
Nick downstairs
he stays to himself
and people talk.
But I pay him some money
to help me with the garbage.
Me?
I’m not a well man
but God don’t want to take me yet.
I got 70 years.
It was a good life.
One time I knew a man,
he had nowhere
so I tell him
‘come here,’
but then he wouldn’t leave
so I had to threaten him
with my gun.
I worked for Nixon once,
man those guys could party!
Good times we had
up til three in the morning
back up cleaning the next day.
That’s why God’s gonna take me
soon.
My wife, ay, I feel bad
she has to get up
the middle of the night
my medicine, ay,
God should take me
soon.
I have a bad knee
when it’s raining.”
“Our building is like a church—
not just nobody can come in.
It’s my job to protect it.
I live here 50 years.
There was a young couple
like you,
but he was not one of us
she brought him from the street
they fight a lot.
She come downstairs
2:30 AM want to ‘use my microwave,’
and I let her in,
you know she’s in my building,
but I don’t want no part
of no domestic abuse
but my building’s my building.
I take care of people.
Nick downstairs
he stays to himself
and people talk.
But I pay him some money
to help me with the garbage.
Me?
I’m not a well man
but God don’t want to take me yet.
I got 70 years.
It was a good life.
One time I knew a man,
he had nowhere
so I tell him
‘come here,’
but then he wouldn’t leave
so I had to threaten him
with my gun.
I worked for Nixon once,
man those guys could party!
Good times we had
up til three in the morning
back up cleaning the next day.
That’s why God’s gonna take me
soon.
My wife, ay, I feel bad
she has to get up
the middle of the night
my medicine, ay,
God should take me
soon.
I have a bad knee
when it’s raining.”
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