6248. PEDESTAL AND FOOTING

PEDESTAL AND FOOTING

(Mussorgsky)

I'm in Nutley, I'm in Essex Fells.

What's the difference anyway?

-

I stand by the Paterson Falls.

Who's to say I was ever there?

-

I'm having a cold-day picnic atop

Bear Mountain. I listen to music.

-

'Night On Bald Mountain'.

I'm there but not quite.

6247. I LOVE POETRY TO DEATH, SO KILL ME

I LOVE POETRY TO 

DEATH, SO KILL ME

I'm walking my dog through a nothing of snow,

the river alongside us is frozen. It's nothing at

all, though everyone's yelling 'Apocalypse' again.

Things that freeze are unchanging.

-

In every private moment of this life I am talking

with myself  -  to reflect and to write. A very

uninhibited infinitive. Things that freeze,

I have learned, are unchanging.

6246. ALL THESE LAMENTATIONS

ALL THESE LAMENTATIONS

The wind itself has regrets  - it's hiding out

in the willows and singing a Kaddish all of

its own. I won't know anything about that

until another day. Right now  -  for me  -  

the walls are freshly white-washed and

the big room has new lighting. Every

gallery goes through this. Each show

had to be cleaned out anew before

they can hang the next.

-

If that was like Life, I'd be always

on the move. I love too many things

while loving really nothing and none.

It's all a passing glimmer to me. Be not

set-up yourself  -  please  -  for anything

long-lasting at all. Pippa passes, as 

Robert Browning would say.

-

And now, and now, and now...

6245. TRUMPET

TRUMPET

Shoulder all these burdens, under the

  spreading tree. Park these tanks where

we all can see  -  if the crowd isn't aware

of your presence, what's the use to you?

Let the trumpet blast and then run them 

down. There's too many people anyway.

-

I've tried with my patience to write a new

song; something the masses can sing. Let

them stand at attention and stand up

straight too  -  this is a tune for the ages.

-

When they come to write history, it's always

a farce. The winners get the names and narration.

Owning the territory then gives you the right.

Meet Lieutenant Lies and Colonel Fabrication.

6244. THROW FIRE AT THE WALL

THROW FIRE AT THE WALL

There's no living left : the calendar is out

of pages, already in a shiny new year. The place

where I've parked the dog and cat is out of

time, yet I enter the dream.

-

It's an illusion too rich for the taking. Walk me

home, I'll talk. I have five hundred stories yet

to cover before tomorrow's end, and this newspaper

itself isn't paying. I need a patron, quick.

-

Polish the apple, give the teacher a bone, send the

lawyer his gift card, call the priest on the phone.

-

It was a long time ago that I landed here fresh  -  

I had new skin, and no understanding of the manner

nor the ways. How do things here work? What is the

meaning of what you're doing. Does this pile-up

amount eventually to anything at all?

-

Polish the apple, give the teacher a bone, send the

lawyer his gift card, call the priest on the phone.

6243 HAMMENSTEIN THE MARKER

HAMMENSTEIN 

THE MARKER

A late-afternoon light tries coming through

the window : some solarium brightness which

never belonged. Outside the glass, an old Fulton

Street sign glowed. Where have all those guys I

remembered from long ago disappeared to?

Bartender, bring me two more. 

-

A skid-boat platform was sliding along the glassy

water  :  East River attention to this or that. I hear

the sound of something, singing, but cannot place

the tune. Barkeep, bring me two more.

-

I'm so lazy I could sleep right here. But damn, I

love Lethargy, and her sister Laze. I could hold

them both, and kiss them too. A guy walks by

the doorway, looking in, he spies my eye and

waves. I wave right back  -  not wishing to miss

a thing, not one single item. Bartender,

bring me another.

6242. WORKING MAN HANDS

WORKING MAN HANDS

The application of force to stationary things

can cause a disruption to stasis. A'kilter we

go, all things amiss.  Like a thought out

of line, what we say is declared invalid.

-

Along the local turnpike road I am watching

a thug with a turnstile hat get out of his Lexus. 

I already do not like the guy  -  I'll admit  -  

just by what I see. His swagger is cheap.

-

Why do I have to speak, or even co-exist

with applications quite like this? Ghetto

swank is a glitz I don't read. Nothing

there for me. The only things instead

I hold are things I hold myself.

-

I'm sick of all this veteran's crap,

I'm tired of talk of war. I didn't

tell anyone to get themselves

involved. They did it, they 

got what they get.

-

Try some working man's hands.

6241. TO LEGALIZE THE PROPOSITION

TO LEGALIZE 

THE PROPOSITION

Half-measures, like a cannon, cannot shoot

quietly; there are always repercussions as the

squirrels and birds dash off. The man in the

French hat drinks a black coffee.

-

Two girls enter, in thick heavy coats. In a Winter

of any depth, you get used to seeing people like

this  -  big, hulking figures of wrap, with very

little underneath. Only in Spring do you notice

the difference. Well then, Life goes on.

-

I can clearly state  -  'I get tired of hearing things'.

6240. AND THEN THE MIDWIFE

AND THEN THE MIDWIFE

Smacked me awake! And what was

I to make of that  -  no one had said;

it had never been mentioned. Adrift

on a field of hot coals and paid cheaters.

Someone I never knew had just turned

on the lights. The room seemed so large.

-

Human central, here I was! Brought out 

again for the lions to tame. A roaring crowd,

I knew already, that quickly, was waiting...

for me, for something, to act. A brand-new

rainbow awaited my eyes, before the next

dawn even broke. Rain and sunlight, the

pillage and the wealth, together again.

6239. OLD MAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

OLD MAN, WHAT 

OF THE NIGHT?

Every different thing : Raritan Bay and

Suzanne Signorelli  -  every name I ever 

knew. Together, there are birds flying 

from the harbor. A few boats, and that

fireboat squadron from across the bay,

just seem to all sit in place.

-

Nothing at all like real life : no virgin suicides

to be found; there aren't any here, and they're

all too happy. Just being. just to live. I want

whatever they wish having. Together, again.

-

And then the Douglas girls, walking down

the New Brunswick hill, manage to look as

young as ten. How's that again? At 199 New

Street, a long, long time ago, I spent many

a night just watching the trains, when the 

dairy was across the street. Little trucks,

loading all night. Out at 5am.

-

Then, at the dead-end of the lane, the

railroad's very solid stone wall. Old man,

old man, tell me, please, what of all this?

6238. STUYVESANT'S PEAR TREE

STUYVESANT'S PEAR TREE

I'm standing as if lame at 13th and 3rd.

My lungs are here frozen and I can't breath

a lick. Right here was once Manhattan's oldest

living tree. 1664. Petrus Stuyvesant's pear tree.

-

If I ever live that long, please let me know.

Knock on my head, or gather my drool and

throw it back in my face  -  something to know

by that I've weathered this storm in the 

8 degree cold. Holy Hell, am I freezing.

-

Why did I ever come here and live as a kid?

As a kid might, anyway  -  scraping the

sidewalk for nickels and dimes. Finding

whatever I could and stealing the rest.

Oh man, tell that old tree I've done my best.

6237. THEN HERMAPHRODITE THIS

THEN 

HERMAPHRODITE 

THIS

The wedge is in the circumferance like

the cut is in the cost  -  both fleeting, and

unfeeling together. Simple ideas for the

terminology of recognition. Something

amiss in the way the sepulchre flies apart.

The gash. The wedge-shaped flat opening.

-

Some lumberjack Charley with his tree-trunk

hands could show you a thing or two, I'd bet.

Sit him down for some tea and apple-cider,

and see how far you get. There's a cold wind 

that's whipping through the marshlands today. 

Since you cannot yet legislate hate, let's treat

him, instead, with kindness indeed.

-

Picture-books and young-boys' dreams.

Girls who dream of the Lancelot to be.

Knights in chining armor and Guiniveres

all over. Oh man, I've had it up to

here with this romance.

6236. SECOND RATE MATISSE

SECOND RATE MATISSE

When the pendulum swings, Goddamn it swings.

This second-rate Matisse is again worth a ton. But

who wants it; I'll set it aflame? Let the fire singe the

fabric and turn that blue to black. Who cares? I've

got a notion to go selling anyway. Buyer beware,

and caveat emptor too. Some dismal-swamp of a

university museum will be the first to bite.

-

Used to be I visited graves at will  -  whoever was buried

most anywhere, I'd stop by and see. Famous or not was

enough for me. Some people live on, in infamy.

-

Let's tape up this painting with a score of masking tape

and duct tape as well. That's calling it right  -  we can

say : "this fool was just entering a pop-art stage right 

before he died." For all the rest, I just don't care.

6235. OFF THE DUNBAR

OFF THE DUNBAR

Swipe down the heavily-varnished wood,

make it shine -  I guess like it should. I'm too

far-off to know. Like living in Belmar or

something. Over the river and through 

the woods, to what? I want to see this 

horizon thing as it dawns over the

big, swelling ocean.

6234. DASH THE REMAINDER

DASH THE REMAINDER

In high times, way over the town, I managed

just once to look down  -   nothing new to see,

I saw. Two trucks were idling at the light, and

a scrum of people stood idle. It seemed all

covered by smoke. Every storefront showed

something different. I came back and

realized it was all reflection.

-

My fingernails have grown long enough

to scratch the real surface of things, and so

much new information comes through. I

am like the discoverer, Marty Magellan,

not doing much except floating. My mind 

is a sea, and every intention is a sail.

6233. VENOMOUS HAND

VENOMOUS HAND

Some mufti Allah in his papier mache

some twisted Muhammed in his thrall :

both fallen down with swollen knees,

both twisted and stupid in lies and a shawl.

-

We can't make concrete from scum. We

can't follow echoes through canyons of

blood : psycho-mania brings still another

sick God to its floating chamber. J'Accuse.

6232. GENTILITY COMPLEX

GENTILITY COMPLEX

The house I live in is made of wood cubes, broken glass,

and a definite aversion to pride. There are no fires in here,

anywhere  -  just the heat from a seething emotion. 

I heat my fishtank with intentions. My endgame is

and abstract mind, a broken Fauvist canvas,

and a doorway that only opens in.

6231. THIS LITTLE SHOP

THIS LITTLE SHOP

This little shop I sit in : the coffee

steams and people linger, but the

noise is too much and the music's 

too loud. I see now why. No one

enforces anything; no message

of taste or code. The flat stupid

passes who man this place are

allowed to do just as they please.

There's no protection against

anything at all.

6230. NO PROTECTION AGAINST THIS HEARTBREAK

NO PROTECTION AGAINST 

THIS HEARTBREAK

There is a kind of horse that bears 

burdens, and a kind that runs swift.

I am now  -  somehow  -  both. 

My own Russian riddle is enigma, and

an enigma without ending or solace.

My strange filigree is an offshoot  -  

the wayward branch, grown crooked. 

No protection, non, exists as I limp

back into this broken-heart easel.

once more to paint in my place.

6229. MARKSMANSHIP

MARKSMANSHIP

'We've entitled this chapter  as

'Marksmanship', because it's about

the selective placement of which target

to shoot at  -  we are set to debunk ideas.

By the power of the marksman's eye

and the steady skill of his hand.

-

It would at least be hoped that such is 

the reason you selected this miserable

course. For the time being then, just

sit down and listen. Don't take

notes, just listen. It's not

'that' kind of course.

6228. MICHAELMAS

MICHAELMAS

(take it back)

If once. Not again.

Blue man put the

gun on the table. 

I saw. Leave no

evidence behind.

-

Mighty toys like

these present no

problem but the

gun-hole of death.

Must be cleaned up.

-

If you seek to

represent the 

oldest folly in

the world, yes,

self-destruction's

portrayal would

do it.

6227. HEARD IT ALL BEFORE

HEARD IT ALL BEFORE

Hard as it is to grow flowers, I shan't quit trying

this quickly. I've potted the soil and watered the

trough  -  now all I do is to wait? Some handbook

or other tells me to beware  -  the wintry bugs and

spiders of cold weather. The moist rot of too much

moisture, and the dry rot of neglect. Sure, sure, 

I've heard it all before.

-

There's a slow passage along the tracks down this 

way  -  the people who know of it cut through the 

weeds. Nobody ever says a word (though I

just said I'd heard it all before).

6226. THOUGH IT MAY SEEM

THOUGH IT MAY SEEM

'As lethargic as this stream water is, I'd expect

nothing back,' the guy saying that was holding

a dowsing stick, 'and looking for well water is

probably just as dicey. Let's drop some red dye

in and see if it follows the spring, or at least

where the springhead exits.' I wasn't expecting

anything, and Vermont was never my biggest

header. I knew a guy once who spent tons of

money going 1700 feet down just to hit a

'dry-head-junction'  -  as the well-digger

called it, though he was smiling

all the way home.

6225. CHARTERHOUSE OF PARMA

CHARTERHOUSE OF PARMA

I am staying, tonight, at the Charterhouse, or

at least they tell me I am. Not alone, mind you, 

for two guards have my watch and I am in their

keep. On the way to somewhere else. Me and 

Fabrizio, with hussars crapped out in the field.

-

I'm not sure why, or how I even got here : the

shrubs hereabouts are lining the roadway quite

thickly  -  anyone in ambush can be well hid. I

imagine I'll just have to wait on the way.

-

This night will be a campfire again along the

side of some open pit? I'd guess. No matter 

what they insist on telling me : a ragamuffin

clotting of kids, some old mothers dragging rags

and a cemetery's worth a fanciful old bones.

Well, at least I'm on my to way somewhere.

6224. GREEN HOUSE

GREEN HOUSE

Marleybone Plaza. She lives there.

Has a Picasso and a Matisse on the wall.

Up and down the rather straight street,

I am looking for names I may know.

6223. BRAVARAMA

BRAVARAMA

It never ends because it won't ever end :

like pants with an extra leg, there's always 

more room to fill. The skyline is beginning

to sink. The vending machines fill up.

-

For me, I have room to play and I see, out

of proportion, that everything else is basically

just screwed up. I'll put it simply, like a bad

reference break : walking by dragging a leg,

like Poe, through these streets of doom.

6222. BRINE STONE

BRINE STONE

You're going to have to stand with it,

here. Edging the surface, yes. So you

might just as well listen to me : The

brine stone is your father's. It was found

in the surf, along with his body. Pirate

Cove or Booty Heaven  -  this place

has been called both.

-

All we've ever known is that some

two hundred plus years ago a Captain

Kidd or a Blackbeard type sought his

refuge in these coves and left a valued

treasure here before he died. Many men 

have sought it since. The story lives.

-

You heard that right. The 

brine stone is your father's own.

6221. EXALTED

EXALTED

On the high ledge, atop the

higher ridge, yes, up high where

the land ends, I stand. No longer

looking down, I stare straight out

to seek : fair semblance of sleep

in the daylight, or something on

the order of a trance. Like a Jesus

Lord, for forty days in a wilderness

tempted, I think that I can take it  -  

even with  a Satan's arrival, should

it happen. Will I see and recognize

the cloak, the face? Or have I already

seen Him but did not know? And how

strange would that be, if it were so?

6220. WORDS

WORDS

'I am sending you nothing back with

him, for you already have my words  -

boxes and crates and sheaves of them.

May my aim be true  -  to stop the bewitching

and keep you holy. Thou. Man should be magic.

-

And these are not just ordinary words :  for they 

possess all the folds and valleys of the Moon, and

the heats of the distant Sun. I am an astronomer too.

-

If language is made of love, it cannot come from labor.

In its self-identified Truth it comes from magic and play.

But you must first break the spell of the bewitchment

by which the words hold you fast, and live.

- 

Slave. Ogre. Doer. Deadman. Do not, instead.

Remove yourself from the action. Men sing out

their feelings long before they speak their thoughts.'

6219. ICICLE TWISTER AND CREME BRULEE

ICICLE TWISTER 

AND CREME BRULEE

Things I can't find are everywhere  -  that notebook

I misplaced, those little things that go into the side

of the laptop, that bookmark, signed by Professor

West. He wrote a book entitled 'Race Matters', and

when I saw him I said 'I didn't know you liked

NASCAR.' Yeah, at least he laughed.

-

Another time, I had to find Ralph Nader fifty

particular sharpies  -  pointy felt-tips of a certain

sort with which to sign his books. He was very

particular about all that, and even where he sat

at the table we'd positioned precisely where he 

said. 'Claustrophobic' his creepy aide noted  -  

'has to be in view of an exit.' I thought of

Sartre  - and wanted to tell Nader to read

'No Exit' and see how it felt.

-

I finally dropped my shoes to make a

big bang and everyone jumped a mile.

Icicle twister and creme brulee.

6218. OH MEGAPHONE, I'M BUSHED

OH MEGAPHONE, I'M BUSHED

Everyone should know these opposites

attracting  -  Heaven and Hell, to this or

that. Logorrhea to logophobia too. Man

to woman, and woman to man. Hold my

spandrel out there, would you.

-

I want to whitewash the darkened pass to

Satan's realm  -  I can't go on and I can't

go out. Look at me, hollow and invisible

too. I live in Paradox Acres.

-

Hey, Mama, hold me tight. Will you do

that, for me? I'm otherwise quite insecure.

Oh megaphone, I'm bushed.

6217. YOU'D BETTER DOT EVERY I

YOU'D BETTER DOT EVERY I

Just like a policeman running to a donut store, 

I do everything in order to survive. Fifteen-hour

shifts, just sitting on my mental ass, now thinking,

now moving about, now thinking again. Sitting at

the rail-store's shiny table, I grab a coffee and

flip open my book. Notebook and pencil at

the ready. Here comes the local goofball,

trying to talk to me. Keep my head down,

he won't see. In the sideways door a traveler

comes : she's got a luggage thing on wheels

and a knitted scarf around her face. It's not

that cold out, but I understand the muffle.

-

The slide of a cabinet doorway makes its noise,

and another woman is taking down boxes. There

goes the ambiance I wanted. Someone, someone

refill this cup for me. Or do they think I'm Son

of Sam, out here to get them? Let's be easy,

and frankly indulge. My time can be your

wallet. I'm a big tipper too.

-

It's time I admitted to this  -  

I no longer know even

what say of the

week this is.

6216. MATAMORAS

MATAMORAS

Uptown Saturday night, been there, done

that : same old names and notations. Algebra

Eddie with his techno-firm point and that

checklist that goes to nowhere. I walked

the empty skyway, until they threw me 

off. Flight. Flight. Flight, like a deadly 

bird aloft. I traveled in every direction, 

and crossed the one river after the next 

river 'til I got to Chenango Bridge. 

Narrowsburg, from Milford, all one

sweep  -  Binghamton, Scranton,

and Matamoras too.

6215. MAYBE I'LL JUST DISAPPEAR

MAYBE I'LL JUST DISAPPEAR

Gotta' take my leave of everything, hit the

dead ground running, scuttle up the coal-flat

landscape, eat my words like dirt. There's part

of me that just won't stay. See those gruesome

windows, someone peering in to each one.

-

I hear-tell of other times  -  when mice will

scurry the grassy-warm fields and the birds

will perch on each clothesline. Just like for

a minute, i want to stop and breath. is there

a sun, and a place for me, really?

-

Everything inside me hurts :  the heart is a

void, the liver's got no gumption, and the

bitter spleen just overflows. Look, look,

look, just look at the wreck of me.

6214. SPACIOUS PLACEMENT

SPACIOUS PLACEMENT

Oh dutiful : with bounty of the

evening star, and too on high,

you are. Mankind has lessened.

Outside the opening, the flush

ocean roars  -  waves white with

energy and feeling. From afar, the

outside storm rages, casting waves

upon the sandy shore.

6213. BIG HEAD TODD

BIG HEAD TODD

And then who remembers Big Head Todd,

some 80's group of English boys singing? Or

maybe not. Maybe they were just from Arizona

or Utah or somewhere like that  -  singing in malls

and gay men's clubs, wearing scarves and a tophat

or two. Maybe they were the same guys who later

did Puppetry of the Penis, or whatever that was.

Those guys on stage who twisted their dicks into

pretzel shapes for sick Broadway crowds to 

applaud. It ran for more than a ywer a little

while back. 'Swell' show is all I can say.

-

You picked flowers to strew on my grave? 

Why's that? Jesus, please first give me a

chance to die. It was only yesterday I had

my first tricycle crash, and there wasn't a

dry eye in that house either. Oh dear

what can the matter be? Big Head

Todd, or me? Like it's a choice

between a Life or a Death to be.

6212. WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAMED

WHERE THE 

BUFALLO ROAMED

Make no mistake, we were the land's before

the lands were ours. We slaughtered whatever

stood in the way, paved driveways with buffalo 

skins and draped walls with Indian flesh and the

real word 'Squaw' just means 'cunt'  -  you do

understand it was OK when we used it about

them. Go ahead and look it up, see if I care.

We filled in the caves with macadam and

sealed the entrances to every holy spot from

where once the earth Gods breathed. It

little mattered to us to piss in their river or

shit in their lake no one cared least of all

us  -  and we were proud and newly 

arrived and had guns. To teach those

bastard Natives a thing or two

about real life.

6211. PEARLESENCE

PEARLESENCE

The sand was free.

The sand was free.

It was only the pearl

that really cost me.

6210. WHO MADE THE BIG MONEY?

WHO MADE THE BIG MONEY?

Mosholu Parkway? I walk the

Grand Concourse? I took the

wrong turn to Pelham Bay?

Now I only read the past  -  

here, where Washington slept, 

and slapped, and was sheltered.

Jumel Mansion? Aaron Burr, and

Hamilton too? Cherry Street and

Federal Hall? Nathan Hale and

Thom Paine too. I'm resting again:

Northern Dispensary and  the

Hamilton Grange. Three-story

walk-up; it all feels so strange.

6209. RASPY MINGLE VOICE

RASPY MINGLE VOICE

What I should have by now is my own

ocean liner, with which to sail on the sea.

Far out and away from this grapefruit'd world,

all bounded and bunched by the straps of

desire. Holding the mouthpiece to some

ship-to-shore radio that no longer exists.

I would lunge in my lounge and play

poker while I scrounge. Perhaps a

monkey or two as pets in the cabin.

I would develop my own raspy

mingle voice with which to

entertain no others. Filled

with opinion  -  ahoy 

matey, and all that.

Leaving now.

Get on

board?

6208. JUST PLUG ME IN TO MARDI GRAS

JUST PLUG ME IN 

TO MARDI GRAS

Jumpstart the basketball seedlings, pull down

the girls' grass skirts, start the bonfire with these

old encyclopedias. Throw me some crazy beads.

-

Melons and crackheads and darling little girls.

Packrats and boy scouts and scribblers, and those

daring young men on their flying trapezes. That's

all I ever see, and this crowd makes me a dullard.

-

Nothing's left in the treasure chest where the golden

chips once were  -  some big nigger shouting down

his 'ho, a Philippine guy trying to call his distant home.

There's lava at the window sash and flames are licking

the garage. Bring the bear here. Leave the fragrance,

and please just go. I want to be alone again.

-

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.

Has not anyone has ever asked why?

6207. A VERY YOUNG MOZART

A VERY YOUNG MOZART

And now again it's all happening anew. The lights

have names and the drawstring hangs open. There's

a ball team fading into the woods, just dwindling

and fading away. No one talks, as this young kid

plays his music. The settled mandolin-sound of

all those past years. Let the narrator walk on 

and tell of this story.

-

Small men walk along the screen.

They are nodding as they talk to each

other  -  how was it, like this, hold the

candle, blow the torch, listen.

-

Someone in a tall bronze hat, we all noticed,

had just parked a car in the driveway. No one

knew what this meant at all. The very young

Mozart played on.

6206. GIANT SWIRLING COUNTRY

GIANT SWIRLING COUNTRY

I love things. I love God. I love you.

How's that for repetition?

6205. THE ASH-CAN OF MY LIFE

THE ASH-CAN OF MY LIFE

So let's make it 1932 again, yeah, all over again:

there's a kettle on the open stove, and some water

is steaming while, over on the board, the flat-iron

runs hot and ready. There's a cat being lazy on the

settee, and no noise from the room the room in the

back. Fireplace ashes, I see, blown round again.

-

The kid out front was hawking newspapers from his

wagon  -  yelling out loud about something. A streetcar

rolled by just as I was trying to listen  -  couldn't

make out a word. Who's afraid? Who could care?

Sudetenland? What's it near? Barrel-heads too.

-

A crane or a steam-shovel, or something, is

perched on the mound of dirt across the street;

another too-big building going up. Shielding some

more Depression light from my tired old eyes?

Why's that, I wonder? Small change is

rattling my pocket. Small change in

my pocket again.