PRETEXT (Abstract)
PRESCIENCE
PERSISTENCE
PARANOIA
PERIL
PRAISEMENT (Critical Review)
PERSISTENCE
Sentimental
Sentimental–in the aircon, More bus use as the subway Roasts, toasts, smacking with heat Manhole sweat and steam, It makes me sentimental, Sweat, the wall of impenetrable warmth Out from the freezing lobby.
Summer trip home makes my brain melt Out my ears too hot to speak to think to write There is only my sweat, and old friends, And shopkeepers who recognize A New York kid when they see one.
Frogs
The chore of the day is
Scooping dead frogs out of the pool
At least 20, scattered on the steps
Strewn across the shallow end
Normally there’s one or two in the flter
After a storm but this Is a veritable frog massacre.
Using the weight of the skimmer, I
Catapult them, no bigger than quarters, than pounds Across the fence into the neighboring Nature preserve.
They wait for me, stirred up, in the pool, Rising to the surface Ascending
Slimy angels
Daedalus
Icarus’s uncle gave him shitty wings that didn’t work much respect to Daedalus but if I gave wings to a child I loved I would make damn sure they worked in childish conditions if I were to give wings to a child I hated however I probably wouldn’t
Dementia
Demented is not a word I ever used
But now I fnd myself
Constantly reaching for it
Sick and ironic given now
I’ve had experience with my grandmother’s dementia
Watched her sufer though she never really actually seemed to sufer, when Cared for purposefully and as carefully as we knew how
And even when she was herself she was a
Classic woman who was raised and lived to be accommodating
Though she had a streak of silliness, wittiness, sharpness, cleverness
I never met a more voracious reader
By the end she could never remember what she had read
Which was only a problem when she was reminded she had forgotten and even
Then she went along
And said yes of course I remember she did not
In all of life we should strive to do as little harm as possible
And it harms no one
Who could say she was wrong
Isn’t it a better world, the one she lived in where
Her father-husband who loved her dearly was perennially
Coming home, coming home soon, coming home
To Catch a Thief
Only one thing Screams
“Jewel tones!”
The dresses and suits
At the ball in
To Catch a Thief–
Yes - Grace Kelly’s
Worst look of the flm–
Yes - there is something Behind her
Yet
The bright reds, greens, blues, purples
Shot from above
A perfect tableau
Of false post-war innocence
Which mirrors my own
Watching the movie
As a child, enamored
With the way my Father was enamored
With how Cary Grant moved
His acrobat body
Poughkeepsie
Crawling ivy and algae
Covered swamp
Dripped trees like willows, yet Not as old, as long Gazebos, gothic molding on the Narrow remote houses
Bring to mind the South, Georgia, Louisiana, not Croton-Harmon with its kayaking Lake houses, river houses
Stagnant water and reeds
Beyond the parking lot. What is there to do but look and Get mosquito bites and eat
Sandwiches and chips and sweat?
Bedtime
I struggle to fnd a comfortable position to fall asleep in End up on my stomach legs up like a frog, head twisted
In what a chiropractor on Instagram declared was the Absolute Worst Position For Your Back
I used to think my body was like an old car, designed to last forever and therefore It would, completing necessary functions for years and years on end
Even as small things grew tired, like the air conditioner or the horn
Now I know it’s like a Tesla all fash all features no substance, Poorly made and poor quality, and always Locking me out
Other times I end up on my back so far of the pillows
My neck fops back my limbs
Heavy and dead like a premature corpse
This angle seems to click something in my brain, makes me powerless to fght sleep, which I’ve been trying to do less Works wonders as well when my arms lie above my headsurrendered
I prefer my bed tucked in the corner of the room
So I can push against it with my arms and back - like I did when I was younger, curled up fast asleep in the crack between my bed and the wall
Best Friends
Always I say you are half my heart, half my mind
Not just my companions but my thoughts
Made fesh, my instincts made real, a mirror for me
I was made to understand you, molded together
That’s what it means to get older with company
Every once in a while, a feeting thought of your deaths crosses my mind
Unbearable - how would I ever have
Another thought without you here?
And I live to think, to plan, to dream
All better done with you in mind
Yes I walk I breathe but with you I am alive and flled with purpose
To keep you happy to keep you smiling to hear your laugh
We are intertwined and touched
Intertwined and irreparably changed, shaped from clay forever
In painting the fence They also paint the ivy Leaves lacquered black now
Haiku