Signifying nothing

 When I was a kid the only clothes I  Recall my mother wearing were made of  Polyester (Polyester fabric is concocted From the tears of dinosaurs, oil rich And strong with fibrous fear learned hard in the swamps) "These pants would survive a nuclear war," She declared as she pulled them fast and Taught over her hips, pulling the elastic wide And letting go of the band with a pleasing Snap And nuclear war was a possible thing back then, You see.  While we may not have dived under  Desks at the first sound of a siren, we all knew That the possibility was there that we could wake Up dead, or worse, and that there would be no more Saturdays We watched it on the jittery rolling lines of TV Saw the flash saw the bones saw the flesh melt Away because of a disagreement about how the Economy was supposed to run and how poor people Were supposed to be poor in each, which rules  They were to obey and which leaders they should Adhere (Karl Marx, by the way, dreamed of ...

 When my grandfather visited     (a rare occasion since he lived      so far away across mountains      of crumbling red sandstone and      vast valleys of sea green sage) He would be up at dawn Every morning to rake the yard Of sticks and leaves and paper Blown in by the wind He grasped the rake firmly with His one good hand, using his Frozen arm to counterbalance Later, not long after he passed While looking at books on Japanese dry gardens,  I made The connection.  Who am I to  Know whether or not he had Made it too while the rake Scratched pattern and form, Order and purpose on the clay Back and forth. Back and forth Taking away that which doesn't Belong

I have no idea how many                                              Songs Are on this old iMac      (a fine machine that runs Fine) But in reverse               Alpha                              beti                                        cal Order They start with numbers Starting with 9999 (Ways to Hate Us)     by          the Clutters Your are soon rolling through the decades          2002  (a lost love letter to a lost)                            ...

When you are seven It is to be expected But at fifty-six it is Concerning But these days most Have wisdom removed While young I always had a big Mouth and even the Dentist was amazed That they had come in Early So strong, at the back Waiting to have a full Life  When your are young You expect it but now Now? Tooth loosening And then it is in your Hand Fingertips edging the Points, wondering how The curved legs fit In the sudden, hole Unbleeding And you remember When you were seven And your brothers Had the brilliant idea To yank your bicuspid Out with a string As a sudden surprise You are surprised

 So many centers So many lights                                                   Where do you think you are? Where do you think you should be? We used to unfold maps                                                        Crease by crease And there we were At the heart                              Of the Continent Folding them back                                         Was impossible Never right                   ...

 There are a lot of different options being considered No, that doesn't have  I will stand my ground no matter what I am more hopeful than worried There are solutions that we don't even know they exist Maxine Kumin died She of the plane with her mother holding a package Died Dies Died Simple letter She dies and it is still this year It is still this shit It is still this same A package, you hold as the plane dives And suddenly                 Suddenly Survies

For over forty years We have been simply Updating our Files Why aren't you dead Yet?  Why can't we Simply burn you Yet We don't use wood Oh no no oH That's not ergonomically Environmental Simply simply simply As we go on some light Fantastic Toe But burn, we do.  Burn And you'll just be scritchy Puff bone and a lot of Blow We're just updating our Files

I was born in the eleventh hour Fifty minutes and some odd seconds My mother took the gas Why wouldn't you, she would say Later I was born in the eleventh hour Umbilical cord wrapped around my Neck, jaundiced, kept in the hospital Birthmarked I was supposed to be dead Choked by that which was Supposed to sustain me Well I'm alive. I was born in the eleventh hour Of some Aquarian dream I used to like to keep fish Until my twin Angel fish Barbara Died That's what I got Born in the eleventh hour One January My birthmark is hardly Visible (These Days) I got other marks more visible More diseases that puss up On a regular basis I was born in the eleventh hour

I write seeds into germination I write blowhards into consternation I write the crush of modern flight I write the drink that does bite I write the music that swells I write the glove that compels I write the city I love I write memory dreamed of I write words into trees I write snow up to your knees I write the life of a man I write wandering with a plan I write my sister's strife I write a slow cumbria of life I write dawn's mandate I write violence and hate I write watching confusion I write gooselike delusion I write drowning in fright I write darkness into light I write how sense transcends I write how much depends I write familial reality I write she who made me I write five and twenty I write love lost aplenty I write the universe outright I write a small boy's blight I write phrases and fluff I write stuff

Costly turnover there Don't tell me you want to win, show me Willing to get his jersey dirty Straight and true at the free throw line I see what you did there That rattles home Fought tooth and nail all series long If they are fortunate enough to succeed If you want to move on, you're going to have to be better Rejected! This is how you say 'put me in coach' Its a difference-maker There was a lot of contact all over the place They're coming alive here in the second half Strong side cover, weak side cover: it doesn't matter There goes that man We have to have discussion I just don't think they are that good Matching up against an iconic player Forget about it coach, I was healthy and read and you didn't play me But he steped up And its on to the second round The kind of respect you expect from this hard fought Series

When my mother made me go to church They called sitting still "being reverent." "Be reverent!" snapped the lady with big Hair big glasses and big pattern on her shiny Dress "Be reverent, children!" she said again, Adding children to the command as if We didn't know we were children and She was the adult who was allowed to Glare "Be reverent!" and the children around Me folded their arms across their chest Wiggling their hips in their all too tiny Seats. But I didn't, since I didn't know Reverence "What do we do when we show reverence, Children?" big lady asked glaring at me "We fold our arms and sit still!" children Yelled their response, all turning to look at Me Now that the eyes of God or Jesus or Just the entire Primary class were glaring at me, I folded my arms and bowed my Head, not realizing that is what you do to Pray

On this day in four thousand, nine hundred and seventy seven The universe was, according to astronomer Johannes Kepler, Created. Kepler, considered one of the founders of modern Science, is well-known for his theories of planetary motion Which he built intricate models for: nesting planet after planet In wood-framed paper orbital shells, only to have the whole Thing collapse in front of him when the observational data Did not correlate with the math. It was then that he willingly Abandoned the model of perfect spherical orbits, nested one Within another, and realized the imperfect orbital ellipse Where celestial bodies no longer moved in perfection, but Wobbled their imperfect courses through the black ether It is, perhaps, to the consternation of modern scientists That he never gave up his theory of when the universe was Created, but does whether it is five thousand or thirteen Billion really make that much of a difference on sunny April Morning?

She'd driven that road more than a hundred times But each time she drove it, there were always subtle Differences in how the light played over the bastion Cliffs, banded white then black then rust red then Mottled tan.  The cliffs stood in a line--one--two-- Three, like soldiers on parade, the canyons between Their buttes, the slight divide between the soliders' Hands She'd driven that road more than a hundred times But each time she noticed something different In the blur of sage and yucca and peyote that Her car rushed by in a hissing roar. In early  Spring the cactus would bloom, followed by  The yellow sage, and then finally late in summer The rubber rabbit bush would boldly thrust their Yellow fronds into the hot afternoon air, swaying Gently She'd driven that road more than a hundred times But each time she felt the same, empty longing Of always coming and then going, of visiting And then leaving, of loving, and fearing, ...

What an odd number, twenty-five Is it one word like fifteen Or is it conjoined with a Hyphen?  Does it have nothing but Blank space? Is twenty-five some sort of Double baker's dozen, or do you Have to double every single donut-- Every cookie--and that would hand you Twenty-six? Twenty-five is one more hour Than a day. It is the time when Witches creep out of the dark Corners to conjure fiends from Hellfire A shave and a haircut used To cost twenty-five cents or Two bits.  You could not buy A shave for Just a single bit, However And of course, twenty-five is held Sacred by greedy children who Lay awake all night, waiting for The time when parents let them Arise Twenty-five is when you First really feel old. It is the age When you are should be done: Baked and frosted and put on Display Cast your spells in twenty-five words And you will summon the spirit of a Sweet confection glazed and worthy Of both childhood and adulthood Fantasy

Now that I think about it, I've never written about you Directly. I've written about you indirectly; you in the Background of the words, out of focus and blurred Like an extra in a crowd scene. The cameraman never Pulls focus on your face, although your presence is Undeniable My film goes nowhere without you, even though you Were cut from the production almost twenty years ago But you are like some unfocused Shakepearean ghost Always showing up when you least need a ghost, But seemingly always at the right time to move the plot Along

Gazing across the ocean, my third great grandfather Accounted for his time on board the great ship Reckoning the life and land passing away from him in Days and nights, nights and days, storm and calm Never to see the cold land that so mistreated him Ever again. Leaving it all behind in a foggy haze of Remorse

So much depends upon Those damn white chickens Stupidly running around in the Rain

tge blind okd mn sits imder the buddimg willoe contemolatomg birds (typed with left hand, eyes closed)

I was always embarrassed that I Can not swim. I have always Been embarrassed that I cannot Swim. I will always be embarrassed That I cannot swim.  Even Now when I admit this on Paper here, with watery blue Ink, I am embarrassed that I cannot Swim It is not, of course, that I have not tried to swim. It is not, of course, that I was not forced to swim. It is not, of course, that I Will still keep trying to swim. I will continue to try Like I did while at pool's edge, Waiting to take my lap in Gym, diving in, feeling water Split under me, feeling Myself sinking, dropping, Falling out of the Air Drowning I did not hear Coach Jump in after me, but I know it is him when I feel his arm cricle Around my chest pulling Me up and then across the Pool to the edge where The water laps.  I grab Tight onto the trough Between the edge and The deep "Why didn't you say you Couldn't swim?" he asks Panting.  I, feeling chlorine Sting my eyes, l...