march 28 between raging and drizzling

spring is here
swollen rivers run
the rains come
hair tangles unbrushed for days
we are singing, dancing,
packaging maple buds in a little pouch
for the travelling times to come

still undrawn, the scars of surviving
carried through the winter
tattooed starry stomps
burning through sheets of mist

audrey
works at the general store
she is 23 or 24, or maybe 25 like me
big with her imminent baby
her husband was stabbed
in a bar in grants pass
in a fight
they got married this summer
he worked at the general store too

mud in the tracks of boots
our people are coming and coming

throw the rotten eggs in the fire
dance close until they break on your skin
releasing the death and decay that sat under your collarbones
the composting corpses between your toes
the slime unwiped behind your heart
(all these things aren't real until they are, and maybe you fake it till you make it and then it is really gone, really)

out with the story that
the things i see, the work to be done, that i will always be the one
doing and then receiving the accolades,
going to all the things, weaving all the knowing,

out with the story that
i can do it all right, that mistakes are failures,
that the paralysis of indecision would
ever be preferable
to the sulphurous splatter
the tear-stained peeling of the onion
breathing-into-the-stomach expansion of what i thought was possible

ready for new stories,
new-old stories,
old-new ways,
where they will come from i do not know
(we are enough)

they are coming and coming and
they are dancing, they are always dancing

my favorite professor at the UofC just passed away.
ted cohen. he liked jokes.
he thought humor was the most important subject in the philosophy of art.

he taught at the school for 40 years. he's probably in the mortar.
him and his jokes.

weird time
off-duty martha graham
37 hours a week
subway clogs and shoulder socks

press me for i am untethered
no cord no word
a fantasy work
a cold hand worker
finger print singed off

whose hair in your underwear
beneath the arches
no care for parks in the greenbelt
i become commerce and bare
i bear

bring me the emollients and oils
oil me up
so i can slide through the cracks

southbysouthwhy?

new york, take your beautiful people back!
i already had to bathe my fingers in my tongue to keep them warm!
you know this
you knew as much already

texas is trying to talk about the bees
and men are telling us we're blessings
even without eyeliner

we're renaming the doubletree
the drowned tree
in honor of day three of the festival
being canceled this year

i glowed logo
shirt afire
push push push goddamnit!
say au revoir to california

new york, i am begging you
i'm pleadin here
take the kneeknockers away
a pedicab is not a throne on a popular television program
a telephone is not a toy
i glowed logo and tooth-white
to people who don't care where the milk comes from

words/no words

Tonight No Poetry Will Serve

  by Adrienne Rich

Saw you walking barefoot
taking a long look
at the new moon's eyelid

later spread
sleep-fallen, naked in your dark hair
asleep but not oblivious
of the unslept unsleeping
elsewhere

Tonight I think
no poetry
will serve

Syntax of rendition:

verb pilots the plane
adverb modifies action

verb force-feeds noun
submerges the subject
noun is choking
verb    disgraced    goes on doing

now diagram the sentence


2007

From "Him and Others":
Thoughts. Silly. I’d rather
sink my teeth in your neck,
seriously, knock you down
on the floor — all for love.
You’ll forget my lousy
poems but if I could just
mar you or something. Nothing
nice ever sticks but boy
a scar — If I could ever
really bruise you with
my feelings, them, so infinitely
forgettable & gone.
- Eileen Myles