#16
a haiku for him
eyes like opals under
sea foam gathered against salt
and peppered sand
#15
Whiplash is real.
#14
today this is all i can hope for:
After Reading Lao Tzu
by Amy Newlove Schroeder
The one who speaks does not know.
The one who knows does not speak,
wrote the old master, which perhaps describes
the situation. Meaning we were all sad.
Meaning that when you were seized by desire,
it was nothing more than flesh, bared above the collarbone
she poured the long night of herself
into empty coffee cans and cornfields
and brushed by air. Meaning: It’s chemical. So
that when the moon rears its parched head,
her eyes a mask on her face, the livestock snorting and pacing,
her absent husband…she died young
when you feel a finger grazing your neck,
it’s only wind created by the movement of
her daughter crying and lighting
fires under the bed
your own body. Downdraft. Live
stock. Because sadness is multiplied
don’t worry, she told me,
you can’t inherit this
by sadness. A cradle of no compare.
Loose conspiracy of mind and body,
dough swelling over the edge of the bowl,
the yeasty smell of it, a disease that is
a blanket over the window
a pillow over the face
known and not spoken and
also the other one,
who speaks and does not know
what to say.
#13
Can’t cover letters count?
#12
Today in SoHo, Jared Leto, my teenage heartthrob,
held my eye as we passed each other on the crosswalk.
Before that, I sat while an Indian woman expertly pulled hair
from my skin with a piece of thread anchored in her teeth.
I stopped in Century 21 for a pair of leggings-$4.95-and waited
behind a 6-foot-something drag queen all done up in gold.
I spent the next hour sweating on my yoga mat,
breathing loud as I stretched amidst a sea of limbs,
then popping next door for a falafel carried out in foil,
consumed on an uptown R train, transferring at 34th
where a tag team of cops removed a bum from a Brooklyn-bound F
while I waited for the B up to 81st and the American Museum of Natural History.
And that was only the afternoon.
# 11
In park, sitting on grass
while Myla attacks a large stick
she already managed to ram
into my pelvic bone about
two seconds before dropping it
on the exposed part of my instep,
now scraped and swollen enough
that I can’t wear my shoe.
Of course, she has no idea.
Or maybe she does, as she sits
on the side of her ass for the next
forty-five minutes, not whining once,
watching a man with no shirt so intently
that I can’t help but look too.
# 10
Everything’s in bloom, cherry and plum blossoms exploding
in a Fourth of July finale against block after block of brownstones.
Tulips in bright reds and pastel pinks, some with ruffled edges, others
still closed up tight, color just beginning to overtake their green tips.
In the meadow, a woodpecker thrusts his beak between shrill calls,
a backdrop of tree branches leafing out and up, eager to greet the sun.
Is there anything like a spring sky when your feet have been buried all winter?
Even the ivy, first dormant then presumed dead, is snaking up the fire escape.
# 9
13 Ways of Looking at the King James Bible
1.
by watering he wearieth
every green tree thou
for me than that
on the other side
require at thine hand
eyes shall be opened
2.
by the green trees
entering ye shall find
four rows of stones
of such things as
rejoice at the sound
edge of the sword
3.
brought me in to
every man his sword
fulfilled the prophecy of,
offended because of thee
rode together after Ahab
end to the other
4.
bless thee out of
even all the isles
for every one is
of the LORD against
riseth up against her
edge of the sword
5.
beheaded in the valley
even over them that
first day of the
over all, the substance
ruler of the half
earth with the multitude
6.
but with us is
elders of the priests
found them have devoured
of an understanding heart
revolt from under his
elders of my people
7.
bowed their heads and
evil in this man
for he was sore
of our fathers look
received it not as
evil in the sight
8.
be like a strong
even thus be he
for the children are
of David my servant
reigned in the land
earth after his kind
9.
behold darkness and sorrow
end of the matter
from Shepham to Riblah
of breadth shall also
render to every man
even among the Hebronites
10.
by the name of
every one after their
from the depths of
of these diseases upon
righteous and the wicked
eyes to the heavens
11.
bones of Jonathan his
every altar a bullock
fire which is under
one tenth deal for
reigned over Israel in
enter into the temple
12.
bind me with seven
earth take custom or
for ever that it
of elders were not
remember me when thou
eaten in the holy
13.
break the sherds thereof
edge of the curtain
flower as the olive
on me when it
rise up in the
earth that I desire
*generated with Tagrostics python code. Source text = the King James Bible
#8
It was before curtains and soft light, before beds and air conditioning.
In the kitchen I flattened a roach the size of my thumb with a flip flop,
moved to my room, spreading sateen sheets on an inflated thermarest,
resting my head on a pillow rescued from the glove box of the rental car
so over-full that there was nothing to unpack in increments.
I’d come out here expecting the concrete jungle, a culture in awe
of exposed brick, sidewalks that stretched away flat and buildings
that blocked out the sun. On our first night in New York, my dog and I
watched the moon move behind leaves of trees whose names I’ve never asked,
in honor of magic–or small miracles–whatever it is that returns us.
# 7
America
America and our
Many world leaders
Ever forget this
Resolve for justice
Is underway for
Committed these acts
At home and
Climate
Challenges for science
Lower atmosphere by
Is a large
Mitigation and adaptation
All of us
The fate of
Effects on ecosystems
These poems have been algorithmically generated from a python code I updated April 7th: Tagrostics.
Source Text for AMERICA: President Bush 9/11/01
Source text: National Science Foundation
#6
I’m up ahead of everything, listening to birdsong and only the occasional car.
It’s early so the sun’s not here, but the air is warm, especially for April,
in my opinion, and the windows have been wide open all night. This,
and the half hour that came before, may well be my favorite time of day,
the closest to my midnight walks, where the sidewalks are cool and empty,
the streets quiet, a light here and there showing a woman reading in her kitchen,
a man watching TV in his underwear, a handful of moments that make me feel
like I’m in a Patsy Cline song, out walking my dog in the moonlight. But we’re
here, Myla snoring like a gramma, her head resting in the valley of two pillows,
her paws curling like she could turn them into fists. She sleeps through
the neighbor’s dog prancing by our apartment, proves her city side at 7:59
when the first jack hammer attacks the ground, only barely disrupting her dreams.
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