the sinister invertebrates oppose
whoever speaks to them
and appoint themselves doorkeepers
of every knowledge system
stones lie to us
professing metaphor which could
never be expressed by
the hammer and chisel
it was said that
a whiff of sulfur
escaped from his body
as it merrily burned
fossilized flesh does not
give way but crumbles
under duress and becomes
just so much dust
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Fiction [March 30th | 83/365]
He gave you a fake kitten
With a real flower perched between plastic fangs
Playfully and coyly he'd insist the kitten was real
Just as living as any other creature
Not a truth or a lie it was fiction fun and joyful
It made you think you knew when he was lying
But the lies were serious and told with insistence
And when challenged he'd imply and insinuate
He didn't understand why you had to hurt him
Now you don't go into the garden
The glimmer of the dew isn't yours
The taut vibrations of insects and the mobile shade
The smell of moisture and sound of dryness
You leave them alone along with the flower bed
Where the plants are allowed to die
In the soil they grew in
With a real flower perched between plastic fangs
Playfully and coyly he'd insist the kitten was real
Just as living as any other creature
Not a truth or a lie it was fiction fun and joyful
It made you think you knew when he was lying
But the lies were serious and told with insistence
And when challenged he'd imply and insinuate
He didn't understand why you had to hurt him
Now you don't go into the garden
The glimmer of the dew isn't yours
The taut vibrations of insects and the mobile shade
The smell of moisture and sound of dryness
You leave them alone along with the flower bed
Where the plants are allowed to die
In the soil they grew in
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Spring Haiku [March 28th | 82/365]
Sweating from a warmth
unexpected in early
spring. Birds squeal for mates.
unexpected in early
spring. Birds squeal for mates.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sometimes a Poet Has to Capitulate to the World [March 27th | 81/365]
When you are searching for topics for poetry seeing
A house wren rip meat off another dead house wren while being
Told of the clandestine lovers of Garcia Lorca
Is overkill worthy of any flotilla of orca.
A house wren rip meat off another dead house wren while being
Told of the clandestine lovers of Garcia Lorca
Is overkill worthy of any flotilla of orca.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
On a Smooth Surface [March 26th | 80/365]
to harmonize our voices
you assume our consonance
which is not always
apparent to the ear
we cut the words
and sentences out of
four other people's stories
demand ransom from ourselves
it pens us in
keeps us in check
locking the parts together
making their rearrangement illegal
we gather in song
collect voices like scraps
washed up on shore
worn smooth by seawater
you assume our consonance
which is not always
apparent to the ear
we cut the words
and sentences out of
four other people's stories
demand ransom from ourselves
it pens us in
keeps us in check
locking the parts together
making their rearrangement illegal
we gather in song
collect voices like scraps
washed up on shore
worn smooth by seawater
The Magnificent Mayflies [March 26th | 73/365]
Maggie the Mayfly
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked her mother,
but her mother was dead
(though her mother had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so Maggie the Mayfly
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Maggie the Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Maggie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Maggie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then they mated,
and Maggie became pregnant,
and then Maggie died.
But before she died,
Maggie gave birth
to Melanie--
Melanie the Mayfly.
Melanie the Mayfly
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked Maggie,
but Maggie was dead
(though Maggie had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so her daughter, Melanie,
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Melanie the Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Melanie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Melanie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then they mated,
and Melanie became pregnant,
and then Melanie died.
But before she died,
Melanie gave birth
to Mallory--
Mallory the Mayfly.
Mallory the Mayfly
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked Melanie,
but Melanie was dead
(though Melanie had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so her daughter, Mallory,
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Mallorythe Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Melanie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Melanie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then a giant hand came,
and Mallory and the stranger looked up
in the most reverent awe
that they would ever know,
for it was the last thing they ever saw,
and they knew, in that moment,
exactly what it was that they were doing.
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked her mother,
but her mother was dead
(though her mother had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so Maggie the Mayfly
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Maggie the Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Maggie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Maggie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then they mated,
and Maggie became pregnant,
and then Maggie died.
But before she died,
Maggie gave birth
to Melanie--
Melanie the Mayfly.
Melanie the Mayfly
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked Maggie,
but Maggie was dead
(though Maggie had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so her daughter, Melanie,
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Melanie the Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Melanie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Melanie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then they mated,
and Melanie became pregnant,
and then Melanie died.
But before she died,
Melanie gave birth
to Mallory--
Mallory the Mayfly.
Mallory the Mayfly
woke up one morning
alive
and wondered
what that meant,
so she asked Melanie,
but Melanie was dead
(though Melanie had died
with her huge fly eyes open,
so her daughter, Mallory,
could not tell).
After several hours of silence passed,
Mallorythe Mayfly asked her father
about being alive,
but the conversation was just
the same.
So Melanie the Mayfly
asked a stranger
who was also a mayfly,
"Stranger?
What does it mean that I'm 'alive?'"
and the stranger,
who was also alive,
said, "I was going to ask you the same question."
And Melanie the Mayfly said,
"That's funny."
And they sat there in silence
for several hours,
and then a giant hand came,
and Mallory and the stranger looked up
in the most reverent awe
that they would ever know,
for it was the last thing they ever saw,
and they knew, in that moment,
exactly what it was that they were doing.
The Presence of Death [March 25th | 79/365]
the cable news blares
while the middle aged
men gossip passionately about
distant family and friends
the schnauzer barks incessantly
until he is leashed
which is when he
starts gnawing on furniture
the not so old
woman in the wheelchair
behind her there are
flowers in a vase
the pink flower occupies
the center and draws
the eye in like
water up a stem
while the middle aged
men gossip passionately about
distant family and friends
the schnauzer barks incessantly
until he is leashed
which is when he
starts gnawing on furniture
the not so old
woman in the wheelchair
behind her there are
flowers in a vase
the pink flower occupies
the center and draws
the eye in like
water up a stem
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Army Ranger's Wife [March 24th | 78/365]
the old Parisian dame
in her trompe l'oeil
sweater has trouble explaining
her loss to Americans
she's spent sixty years
in Rhode Island suburbs
and she still stumbles
wearing a foreign tongue
her husband who's radiantly
powerful in old photographs
retreats upstairs dragging his
feet when company calls
the front gate is
grown over with moss
her dogs make sorrowful
noises when it's opened
in her trompe l'oeil
sweater has trouble explaining
her loss to Americans
she's spent sixty years
in Rhode Island suburbs
and she still stumbles
wearing a foreign tongue
her husband who's radiantly
powerful in old photographs
retreats upstairs dragging his
feet when company calls
the front gate is
grown over with moss
her dogs make sorrowful
noises when it's opened
Monday, March 23, 2009
Only Fiction is Realistic [March 23rd | 77/365]
I can feel you
like an alien flag
planted in my skull
piercing through the flesh
we enter this fiction
gladly allowing our thoughts
to slather narrative structure
over life and chance
there is only motion
just the one but
then all is moving
like a shook bottle
the shape of trees
suggests randomness that does
not exist in nature
only structure and choice
like an alien flag
planted in my skull
piercing through the flesh
we enter this fiction
gladly allowing our thoughts
to slather narrative structure
over life and chance
there is only motion
just the one but
then all is moving
like a shook bottle
the shape of trees
suggests randomness that does
not exist in nature
only structure and choice
Sunday, March 22, 2009
WORD REEP URPU SING [March 22nd | 76/365]
pour thep aper owwt
ofth eshr eder into
ther eesy klin gbin
itsb ettr that wayh
city bilt nsaw dust
ahau scon stru cted
ofpa king mate rial
coff nsre turn home
stry ving toop iece
toog ethr pree used
matt erin tusu mthn
pers onal toou stwo
ihoa pwee fayd each
inth eoth rsme mory
like disn tegr atin
phoe toas ofth dead
ofth eshr eder into
ther eesy klin gbin
itsb ettr that wayh
city bilt nsaw dust
ahau scon stru cted
ofpa king mate rial
coff nsre turn home
stry ving toop iece
toog ethr pree used
matt erin tusu mthn
pers onal toou stwo
ihoa pwee fayd each
inth eoth rsme mory
like disn tegr atin
phoe toas ofth dead
Night Invades the Other [March 22nd | 75/365]
the paintdrums of dawn
lie covered while we
think back to past
dark nights in bed
all colors are faded
in rooms without light
even white and black
are seemingly less themselves
our pupils feel like
they're wider than irises
straining against the flesh
which surrounds the eyes
past the reflective surface
there is darkness no
light to illuminate the
inner surfaces of eyes
lie covered while we
think back to past
dark nights in bed
all colors are faded
in rooms without light
even white and black
are seemingly less themselves
our pupils feel like
they're wider than irises
straining against the flesh
which surrounds the eyes
past the reflective surface
there is darkness no
light to illuminate the
inner surfaces of eyes
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Causes of Insomnia [March 20th | 74/365]
The brick-eyed dogs run through my mind
Crunch junkyards with gemmed teeth
Rivers seep through scar and sudden cities
Leeching salt from radiating newspapers
Arrythmic marching bands saunter sleepily
Alerting squirrels to the onset of mating season
Nothing indicates the silence of the clock on the wall
Quiet icons replaced with sagging nails
Crunch junkyards with gemmed teeth
Rivers seep through scar and sudden cities
Leeching salt from radiating newspapers
Arrythmic marching bands saunter sleepily
Alerting squirrels to the onset of mating season
Nothing indicates the silence of the clock on the wall
Quiet icons replaced with sagging nails
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Simple Rules for Living [March 19th | 73/365]
don't live in solitude
don't hurt without dying
don't bear but make
don't work for yourself
skitter against invisible barriers
cover yourself with seed
reach for the nectar
swarm with your siblings
your flight is lonesome
your weight bends flowers
you're caught in webs
your sight is compound
dance with a purpose
put away the honey
stab one last time
die among crushed leaves
don't hurt without dying
don't bear but make
don't work for yourself
skitter against invisible barriers
cover yourself with seed
reach for the nectar
swarm with your siblings
your flight is lonesome
your weight bends flowers
you're caught in webs
your sight is compound
dance with a purpose
put away the honey
stab one last time
die among crushed leaves
Spring Haiku [March 18th | 72/365]
Inside the split drum
there is nothing. My breath melts
the snowflakes slowly.
there is nothing. My breath melts
the snowflakes slowly.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Spring Haiku [March 17th | 71/365]
I was sick in bed
when the last snowpile melted.
Snails moving through dirt.
when the last snowpile melted.
Snails moving through dirt.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Daily Pattern [March 13th | 70/365]
The soft voiced middle-aged liquor store clerk making lewd gestures as he sells me beer has the same timbre to his speech as the 98-year old woman who thanked me for fixing her television and the same cadence as the disappointed man in his thirties who sounded like he was twice as old when he realized that I would not be able to solve his problems.
The other day everyone I met had dissimilar eyes.
We make characters out of people but we don't base them in reality so much as realism and that's how we can understand that just because it's untrue it doesn't mean it's a lie and that's how religion was eroded not by the sword or by technology but by the understanding that all can be text and story and allegory even truth.
We make patterns and we think they're beautiful and profound.
The other day everyone I met had dissimilar eyes.
We make characters out of people but we don't base them in reality so much as realism and that's how we can understand that just because it's untrue it doesn't mean it's a lie and that's how religion was eroded not by the sword or by technology but by the understanding that all can be text and story and allegory even truth.
We make patterns and we think they're beautiful and profound.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Exchanging Words Around Me [March 12th | 69/365]
the female undergraduate telling
the male undergraduate that
she wasn't into him
for the right reasons
the Bosniak arguing with
the Austrian about whether
there exists a tradition
of Islam in Europe
the party guest disbelieving
a Rhode Islander's origin
you're from New York
you have to be
and yet they all
left my presence chatting
amicably without any rancor
but with some awkardness
the male undergraduate that
she wasn't into him
for the right reasons
the Bosniak arguing with
the Austrian about whether
there exists a tradition
of Islam in Europe
the party guest disbelieving
a Rhode Islander's origin
you're from New York
you have to be
and yet they all
left my presence chatting
amicably without any rancor
but with some awkardness
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Spring tanka [March 11th | 68/365]
The dirty snowpile
resting against my office
building is all that
remains of winter's last storm.
It seems triumphant to me.
resting against my office
building is all that
remains of winter's last storm.
It seems triumphant to me.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sonnet After Catullus After Sappho [March 10th | 67/365]
A delicate trembling of the senses
A sweet burning on the tongue
A pressure behind the eyes
That was the first meeting
That was passing through your gaze
A silent hum inside the ears
A wet taste against the touch
A lack of presence to the smell
That was my brain reacting
That was the release of chemicals
Who do you think you are, Kári?
Copying old love poems as if
Other people's words describe you
But they do, Kári, they do.
A sweet burning on the tongue
A pressure behind the eyes
That was the first meeting
That was passing through your gaze
A silent hum inside the ears
A wet taste against the touch
A lack of presence to the smell
That was my brain reacting
That was the release of chemicals
Who do you think you are, Kári?
Copying old love poems as if
Other people's words describe you
But they do, Kári, they do.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Spring Haiku [March 8th | 66/365]
The silent mist soaks
the awning. Cleaning the ledge
I find a dead bee.
the awning. Cleaning the ledge
I find a dead bee.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Random Motion Across the Between [March 8th | 65/365]
Accelerating I find it harder to swerve in time to believe that there is such a thing as time when statistically speaking there only need to be distance to explain what happens in the world fills with the twisted motion of a ribbon floating down from a sixth floor skylight which makes it seem so easy just to align with the vicissitudes of flow but then meaning has a way of arriving out of nowhere seeking accidents by swerving personalities through a static crowd as the syllables flitter in my mind but they don't mean what I want them to mean and alight on you and even if they did they are skewed with averages when values for distance where worked into the mathematics of the language we use to hide meaning under words and dance and connections.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Nothing Changes with Time [March 6th | 64/365]
He was pregnant with youth
Creating a thickening tissue of past
Out of scant fractions of life
There are two incompatible versions of a body
One views him as a handy measure
To the other he is the inescapable function
Something has to sound like a lot of noise
Arms flailing purposefully in dance
A familiar recital like tied with string
Like people speaking into the wrong mouth
Tonguing the wrong sentences and why
Creating a thickening tissue of past
Out of scant fractions of life
There are two incompatible versions of a body
One views him as a handy measure
To the other he is the inescapable function
Something has to sound like a lot of noise
Arms flailing purposefully in dance
A familiar recital like tied with string
Like people speaking into the wrong mouth
Tonguing the wrong sentences and why
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Kids in Their Crawling Dragon [March 4th | 63/365]
In a slow repeat they stare
At flares which illuminate a wasting
They are slow to understand
So that they will not retain
Any memories
It is best to forget
Until it is best to remember
Tigers hunt at night
Alone and from ambush
It's dragons that travel in packs
Lighting up the sky with fire
At flares which illuminate a wasting
They are slow to understand
So that they will not retain
Any memories
It is best to forget
Until it is best to remember
Tigers hunt at night
Alone and from ambush
It's dragons that travel in packs
Lighting up the sky with fire
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I Have Seen Photographs of the Aftermath [March 3rd | 62/365]
At first thought it seems like an apt metaphor
We were the Tunguska Event
The meteor exploding seconds before contact with the Earth
But once thought through it becomes untruth
More instantaneously than the median metaphor
We certainly did not flatten Siberian fir for miles around
No one has entertained the idea that we were a UFO
Or a mystery to be solved by paranormal methods
We would have made for boring novels and movies
No
Any metaphor that applies to us
Must be without events
We were the wait between an e-mail being sent and read
The first thoughts after waking under an unfamiliar ceiling
That moment before a meteor explodes above the Siberian tundra
We were the Tunguska Event
The meteor exploding seconds before contact with the Earth
But once thought through it becomes untruth
More instantaneously than the median metaphor
We certainly did not flatten Siberian fir for miles around
No one has entertained the idea that we were a UFO
Or a mystery to be solved by paranormal methods
We would have made for boring novels and movies
No
Any metaphor that applies to us
Must be without events
We were the wait between an e-mail being sent and read
The first thoughts after waking under an unfamiliar ceiling
That moment before a meteor explodes above the Siberian tundra
Mies van der Rohe Thought Today Would Be Orderly [March 3rd | 61/365]
The grain silos of the future
Stare at young presidents
Waiting restlessly for an architect
To fashion modernity out of them
The ageless president sits among the people
Rather the representatives of the people
Selected to look like the people
Like to think the people look like
Stare at young presidents
Waiting restlessly for an architect
To fashion modernity out of them
The ageless president sits among the people
Rather the representatives of the people
Selected to look like the people
Like to think the people look like
Passerby's Advice [March 2nd | 60/365]
"Please remember
To take your glasses off or stumble blindly."
My tracks are snowed in seven steps behind me
Like ash on embers
To take your glasses off or stumble blindly."
My tracks are snowed in seven steps behind me
Like ash on embers
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Tanka [February 28th | 59/365]
I am afraid to
say that I have a poem
to fit this structure.
The dirt under the basment
concrete appropriates us.
say that I have a poem
to fit this structure.
The dirt under the basment
concrete appropriates us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)