Poll: U.S. Household Television News

Free writing, News, Poetry, Uncategorized
  1. Did your parents watch television with you as a child?
  2. Did your parents watch television news with you?
  3. Did your parents explain the news to you? (Explain.)
  4. Which parent listens more and who holds the remote?
  5. Did your parents take you to the movies? Whom more often?
  6. Did your parents ever run track?
  7. Did your parents let you decide for yourself?
  8. Did your parents ever run Amok?
  9. Do your parents smoke?
  10. Did your parents escape from somewhere far away?
  11. Did your parents escape from somewhere far upstate?
  12. How old are you?
  13. How old is your mother?
  14. How old were you when your first pet died?
  15. Did your family bury pets?
  16. Where are they buried? (Be specific.)
  17. Describe the dimensions and character of any one.
  18. Do your parents keep old photographs?
  19. Do you intend to keep them too?
  20. Did your parents have old photographs to keep?
  21. Where were you born?
  22. What state do you live in?
  23. What state? (Be specific.)
  24. Which US State do you live in?
  25. What US? (Explain.)

Seventeen Wednesdays

Free writing, Poetry, Uncategorized

illicit solicitations from a foreign enemy

harmless contacts, couches, cuss-words, coffee

under your breath, just a note of restraint

one trillion tons of the Larsen Sea ice shelf

broke off and let surrounding waters run a ribbon

along the clean inexperienced edge, the fringe

of the continent no shortage of data or places

to sit in your apartment. Your room needs a bed.

Some of your song finds that buoyant frequency

 

I’ve practiced over and over in my throat

the only test I worry about is one of patience.

AM I sick to be revived by this?  I think it

 

harmless, I am more careful now.  You Jump

Into the tall lit frame of the window, you tell me

I didn’t look scared.  I retire, warm with my love

a bit bunched slum, limbs were eaten up

by his clothes a few sizes too large, face

bathed in a curious storm of blue light

 

in her sleep.  Furious today, a first peek of vulnerability:

Jupiter’s Big Red Spot, captured by scientists,

fetishized by psychologists, and canonized

by Quantum Field Mechanics heaving toolbelts

of infinite use and possible interactions

small modifications can bring you closer to

the result you want, without ever reaching

complex interaction, walking an integral path

“perhaps the most elegant equation ever devised”

 

I crop up in your rearview, no hands

“one hug” executed deliberately as a button up

or my hot step, guilty but not disgraceful

like masturbating with dirty fingernails

or cumming on the basil plant every morning

no measure of human suffering is not precise.

 

 

ox/N

Free writing, Poetry, Torn Black Paper 'Notebook', Uncategorized

TO BUILD a little boat of experiences

and set it out without a tether

to lose your father’s childhood

attention to the red sail, are my

fixations and yours the same?

Giving you all my undue attention as

unwarranted televised back-un-forths-

unwage unwar unward unknow it uni-verse

unsung unspeaking unheard-of this day-un-age

 

Inane and uncouth generosity bifurcates as it plays too abruptly

to the thoughtless tune of Labor Day Mattress Sales commercials

tricast untelevised lightning storms ungulfing us unside,

 

as a wild boar flares its nose hairs in frustration

as impatient as cremation, as understudies beeline,

 

as I (underlined) afflict others by being

earthly-ever untethered to the undead

 

you, nowhere unceasing never (don’t say it) still

ever quietly alive and affixed to my name.

Seagram’s Gin, $22.99

Poetry
 
I don’t drink gin
anymore.
I once drank gin
and nearly drowned
in the hedges, not again
my guts, in the hedges, swimming
pools are floating bodies
living, digesting bodies, but in me
nothing stays down.
If I could
swim to the bottom and stay down
dig up these hedges’ roots and take their bed
or at least keep these aggressive flies
from nesting in my ears, no thanks
I haven’t touched the stuff in years.
 

 
2012

Newsflash: Bees

Free writing, Poetry
They hide it well.
Poised, their apocalypse arrives on time as promised.
We all know the real story is far more sinister than collusion or Russian hackers (or hookers). Our collapse revolves around the bees.
And while I may scurry to a corner of my balcony upon their approach, I revere them.
Yesterday’s news brought wind of pesticides that trickle into bee colonies. It gets inside them and makes them forget to clear out their dead from the hive.
Is that laziness or reverence? Human beings, before we buried our dead, kept their bones in our living rooms.
Your father’s skull dry-rotting into a smile on the Terre Cotta mantle. Summer brings a smell about him. Insects praise his complex structures with moving mandibles.
We had reached a point of sentimental animation. The machine doesn’t move anymore but the component parts still recall uncanny movement. Something’s gone, but something remains alive and working.
It’s hard to underline the moment the light goes out. That’s because, as you feared, it doesn’t. Not all at once. We imagined that the spirit ascends. Out of proximity, we had begun to learn it’s dispersed.

Chunk of Ice the Size of Delaware

Poetry
Experts now advise
I catapult my computer screen through the ice-
shelf of the endangered Larsen Sea, study all cracks
mostly underwater, at depths of 600 feet
I could signal collapse
steady droplets ascend into safer solids, my apocalypse
frozen, speechless at the poles as if
we put it there on purpose
and left it there to think over its destruction
ages ago, kept far at bay. Well,
in about two weeks,
we’re set to un-shelve it like we once would a dictionary
Thumbed open to “ACC–ACE,” too late
we locate and better identify
synonyms for acceleration.

May I please recuse myself?

Free writing, Poetry
Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ testimony before the Senate Intel Committee revealed one thing. Well-rehearsed anger is less effective than genuine disgust.
 
With the proper training, Mr. Sessions would have been an effective extra in a cop movie. Some wide-eyed rendition of an officer bewildered by the scene.
 
One imagines a Russian spy thriller like a Tolstoy story, cold and overcast with a metallic sheen. Names are less important than looks.
 
I see our current predicament more like a movie by Fritz Lang. Blunt and nauseating at times, but always skipping along as if the world is big enough for everyone to speak.
 
Our narrative’s characters have started talking. The impending arc begins assuming real shape. When does our omniscient author intervene to tie things up? Unknowable still as of today.
 
The storm gathers to a point and swallows itself. The last page is missing, torn from the annals of history like a ruptured appendix. The quiet is numbing. The connections, maddening.
 
I had to shut it off. Despising shallow waters.
 
How obvious is all this? How predictable? Inevitable? This world should enjoy a shake-up of its senior writing staff. It’s the least we could hope for. Some grace note to tether us to someplace we can call home.
 
The United States of America is remiss by definition. What becomes of the derelict with self-denial encoded in its genetic fingerprint? I do not recall. I didn’t keep notes for most of these things.
 
As appropriate, I will disclose the documents. I’m not able to make an opinion of that without clear approval from the president.
 
Canyons may crumble without prior notice. Department of Justice will not be open on federal holidays, and why not? It’s not wrong. Even if it was wrong it still wouldn’t be.
 
The irritated General waves down a helicopter on the roof of the U.S. capital building. It’s his dear friend Sergey Kislyak, and he’s brought a thoughtful basket of warm biscuits!
 
Underneath these biscuits lies the key to this whole puzzle. It is warm and sterile, solving all our inquiries like an unnamed bank teller in the last scene. He smiles as the culprits withdraw their allowance before closing the bulletproof slider.
 
All comes together without a single speck of dust. We’re in on it. Not everyone is. This brings us into the fold in a way that the subject will never understand. Why should he? He’s lucky the series is still on the air. The coming film promises the end of his career.