One more thing…
If you want some tunes, or the specific tunes I was listening to while writing and editing Fragment, here’s the playlist:
or
Category: Poetry
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If I’m honest I would like to see her
suffer. I won’t try to justify why
but if you had met her but never mind.The imp inside these rust-colored caverns
whispers to the red river and dark clouds
creep behind the lens that pictures red morered more and more laughs laughs that echo
smaller and smaller in a bare room
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in dark before dawn just above
a little dog green yellow light
off on again in corkscrew paths
over hosta and brown lawn blinkbefore
these small legs running from light to
flying light in summer’s sleepy
sticky arms didn’t know why I
needed this brightness in my hand
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always starting new epics but never
finishing and the work somehow better
for it. The bastardbut how do you talk to that hateful child?
He turns every knife into praise and gold
for his flaking skinnot enough is made of his resolve to
deny the diagnosis at every
opportunity.They say that those under the southern stars
rarely fish but rely on the viscous
writhing things wrestled from clouds.
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Happy solstice!
Today I’m giving away free kindle editions of my haiku collection, Overpacked for the Afterlife. This promotion is for today only, so get it while it’s hot.
Happy Holidays!
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Here’s a very happy Friday excerpt from Fragment…
would lead you to believe I do appreciate it all and other times I can manage a laugh that wiggles out from under tons of earth in which I tried to dance but perhaps soon I can emerge though the soil is cool and cruel though maybe I’ll stay here with the low rumble of worms and voles in my ears and make a home no matter what they dump on top of me or how the plates collide one day this dump could be a mountain range higher than the Himalayas with me pressed between an ancient deli meat
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Here’s another section from Fragment…
and our time is up so please throw the book mark away and reabsorb the book the queue for rebriefing will be on your right and the airlock two doors down on the left and you may enter there if you have the proper stamp but no we haven’t always been so formal you know back when the place was run by the gazelles there were trees growing in all the courtyards and curious snakes and lemurs feasting on the various fruits that dropped all year round while we learned the vocabulary if not the grammar of the mighty river
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A special Samhain section of Fragment…
it’s certainly not the worst assignment you’ll ever get just wait until they ask you to pluck the legs of another cicada from between their teeth you’ll want to go back to using a toothpick to dislodge the dirt from the fingernails of our fresh corpses and find a way to harness that moisture before the reluctant clouds encircle the city once more as they slowly waft from the mouth of a lost puppet by way of the mouths of several mice who had feasted on the rusted flesh of a half-eaten apple in the dust of a reluctant decision
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Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book-length prose poem travel essay surrealistic self-consuming self-creating experimental nonsense-adjacent work Fragment:
for you they reluctantly offer a handful of change and assume your bones are their bones but that time is running out or so we have foretold in our heated meetings behind the Dairy Queen scooping frozen sweetness from a disposable cup while we smirk and cheer ourselves on in plans that don’t have a Y’s chance in an X’s Z to come to anything but sometimes the planning is enough sometimes that’s where you find out who your true co-conspirators are and who the moles might be of course we’ve never actually skinned one as our newsletter heavily implies
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Sonnet
in what may have been a park weeds
without flowers climb white clouds cling
to the mountain an open wound
that won’t stop oozing broken mouths
growl in rusted junk chain-link yardsthe town gets smaller with every
breath though they never think to bite
the hands that keep them in cages
while kids throw stones at a hornet’s
nest dream of pills and lotterywins and the dog no longer feels
the chain that choked his younger daysand those who ran away still see
themselves mirrored in cracked black stone
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Sonnet
but what we got was some sequel
made for the merchandising rights
so let’s instead unpack this strange
light after a summer storm near
evening with its light bouquet of
back pain—in those glowing clouds you
could believe the benevolent
aliens might pop down for tea
and cake and perhaps slip you a
few space-time secrets but they fail
to arrive again so climb to
bed and nudge the little dog from
her pillow throne and sink and sigh
chest collapsed but eyes on the sky
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Sonnet
having made peace with the rocks that
I call shoes, grown accustomed to
the furry creatures living in
my sinuses and the shows they
watch into the deep oven nightI watch one fork of lightning free
the tree that dropped only small sour
fruit, and return to arranging
oyster shells to resemble a
wave and ask is this the dream it’sso quiet here it’s hard to hear
the song of my empty stomach
or the rattle of the bones of
the dead like pills stuck in my throat
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Sonnet
what prize did you hope to hold in those smooth
hands for the plan sketched in cloud and unbuilt—
what melody might have flown forth if you
freed yourself from petty politics of
the boardroom and tested those scrawny wings—
but you sat with a job safe as socks and
a single number near the cold solsticenow in the damp the aches where you bend while
those black glacier teeth topple in tepid
tea you mumble to the cat it wasn’t
all bad these bloody feet could still march this
hand salute the lurking shadow who smiles
at the coughing cubicle dwellers soon
to be churned into cheap fertilizer
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Sonnet
sweet voices in a mist-filled wood like a memory of the moon just a few drops of blood from your yearly broken back and you can play until fat with all the things this difficult crossword puzzle doesn’t attract me now that some grey has snuck in so why not stay I lost my train of thought again but with the mental gps installed it was no problem to rejoin and then pick from one of the available choices and at last enter new star city
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Sonnet In Which the Last Two Lines Have Shipped But Are Running Late
do you clap when it arrives in crumpled
corrugated cardboard dropped on the steps
of your demand and expectation—me?
I long to hear the soft song of
the box cutter the little sigh
as light uncovers the gifts of darknessbut enough of my many weaknesses
let’s upgrade our kitchens hats and bookshelves
lounge in the recycled air gulp supplements
unthinking of the debt and folks living
in fire and try to laugh since we never
got the hang of writing protest songs
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Sonnet
since the selfie came out blurry
giving that mosquito my cheek
to suck its snack while the old crows
guffawed my self-promotion by
the abandoned railroad tracks may
not have been my finest momentso in this phlegmy rain I wait
for the final ferry and this
may be the encephalitis
talking but I feel I grow fat
or waste on the food of strangers’thumbs as I grope
in the dark for
a light so you
can learn my name
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please ask me to
kill for you ask
me to imprint
each foot with the
ridges of my
best teeth ask me
to comb the clouds
into candy
for the joy of
toothless trash cans
throughout the land
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Sonnet
skimmed emails we deleted too quickly
may have mentioned the forest of bright spears
and ships ready to launch, but once we saw the
reports on the quarterly report from
Ichthyosaur & Associates we
had no doubt what they were up to with those
color-shifting lobbyists and gift baskets
reeking of brine and though they wrote of missed
opportunities no one missed the flotsam
flecked with blood, tossed by ceaseless waves that could
break on our belovèd beans just learning
to climb towards those heavy clouds pierced by sun—he stopped, mumbled something roses fingers
dawn and walked away from the empty chairs
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The Carrier of Ladders
Poems by W. S. MerwinDISCARD
Ferguson Library
Date DueJun – 3 1975
Jun 9 1976Nov 16 ’76
Jan 24 1977
Aug 15 1977
Feb 21 ’78Jan 11 1979
May 19 1979
Jun 13 1979
Nov 22 1980May 6 1981
Jun 22 1982
Dec 4 1982May 25 1983
May 28 1987
RENEWAL
Jun 17 1987RENEWAL
Jul 7 – 1987
Jul 28 1987
RENEWAL
Aug 17 1987
Nov 2 1989
Jun 11 1990
RENEWAL
Jul 2 1990RENEWAL
Jul 16 1990RENEWAL
Jul 30 1990
Sep 7 1990
Oct 11 1990Oct 31 1990
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though my eyes blur in this light there is a
certain after-cataclysm path that
feels as though you were walking upstairs
but maybe I’m not explaining it right
it’s like now that sex is out of fashion
how do you explain movies from the 80s
but let me stop you right there before I
need to write a ticket though you are my friend
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sometimes there’s nothing human you can do
the white sky mo(u)rning a single bird across
the courtyard bricks for a new pyramidso where can you go how can you
think after they refuse to be
born itwon’t help
steer this weary ox fromthe prized flowers won’t re
construct the squirrel’s bones
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Sonnet
with false starts buzzing around my head what do I do do I recall one fly I cut in half with a glass while trying to trap and free it—then sculpt some little line to be stomped bloodless by the sound of boots on the ceiling—so do I then try to persist with this misty I and words like persist—but to speak plainly there is no window in which to speak plainly about a small flower past my boots that I wish could fly into colors that open a window into a land where I could lie…
but now I’m cut in half and half of me
may persist and maybe that I will fly
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what hope in this pen and an ink
nearly invisible
earlier the morning sun on
the trees made me think of
large mammals and their humid scent
in the sun in the grass
the countable galaxies of
bright dew and now the chair
makes sarcastic music of my
musing but the night is
still and so wide without a moon
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those little hopes for the
weekend with green softness
over the lawn insectsfloat or dart the breeze
was so important thatit might keep me up tonight
I know it’s not your problemthe pickles came out so well
you know the darkness
catches up before
summer really gets
going I should stop
saying you know you
know anywhoo thelast time we spoke
you were spitting
in the eye of
a hurricaneit’s always the way when the days get less
generous with their light and walking the
dog you see furry legs in the trees and
a noise near or far you choose to ignore
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Who I’ve Been Reading
Ada Rae Merwin, T. S. Coleman,
Allen Louise Eliot, Edna
Limón, Geoffrey D. Graham, Anne Glück,
John Kalytiak Davis, Emily
Gay, Joshua Sexton Cummings,
Jorie Whitman, Gertrude Stein, John
Armantrout, William Aimee Wordsworth,
Tracy K. Marvel, E. E. Ashbery,
Wanda Joy Ginsburg, Kimiko Bennett,
W. S. Dickinson, John Rich Smith,
Ross Berryman, Andrew Keats, Walt
Nezhukumatathil, H. Harjo
Hahn, Adrienne Chaucer,
Olena St. Vincent Millay,
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Sonnet
with what time is left listen to
air conditioners drop drop drop
on the used tea bag of summer
while the waves of heat hit you on
uneven shards of sidewalk—though
later perhaps you’ll find some sweet
solitude and dream some drip could
bring a forgotten bloom or rare
herb back but the brink keeps creeping
and that green shade so far away—
so retreat to concrete above
the noise but not the heat and make
a quiet in which your fingers
if nothing else may sprout some leaves
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imagine the day fine and the gremlin
in the intestine who shatters the desk
before the final exam to stay warm
through an unremarkable winter may
smile before the surprise final exam
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three kinds of salty licorice a sweatshirt
with an immense kitten some Maple Almond
Cashew butter compressed white tea cardamom
seeds in their own grinder a pack of Sugru
a Kaweco Lilliput fountain penclick lick click but is it too late to pluck
the prized moon-blooming oh you’re back already—what did you say about the lack of laurels
in the breezy storage space—perhaps we
should look instead through an Olympic screen
to obscure the high and low so the worm may
spare my stomach on a warm winter day
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no more synthetic motor oil
milkshakes from now on just
the nectar of golden
suffocation under a sudden
shower of compliments
for a one-star reviewand my hands remain clean. Though
this knife of yearsand never chose to explain. To this day
nothing grows there
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in those dependent days they worked
nights and days and when home slept so
we had to stay quiet despite
the urge to loudly play so we
kept the TV low, laughed with the
laugh track and didn’t understand
spring and winter and spring again
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before the day when the day if
but today
let a song slip through your fingers
find that last breath
barreling toward some release but
the sand in your
shorts the ice cream begins to melt
for a second
you forget that this is the way
the world moves and
that’s not
quite it either there was a kind
kind of light maybe
it falls and smalls and
smaller the world
spins people go
to parks interviews
you hear a voice
but the words garbled
maybe with a
little work but
that’s how it all
starts again freed
from one hole
you fall in another
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I.
His clothes so out of fashion you wonder
if the gentle breeze from the willow will
shatter him into an ant hill of teeth
and trinkets you can sell at the marketII.
Your fabled jewel that could
end the conflict but when
you tell the story drops
of blood fall from your handIII.
Tended with a heat gentle as
breath until the crow bubbles up
soon you will understand her voice
as though you too were from the moon
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New ebook!
Well, e-chapbook, really. I’ve been working very hard on this little collection of a dozen sonnets and I’m glad to say that they’re finally ready.
Here’s a sample. Enjoy!
we ran out of gas before we got there
metaphorically of course the car was
just an ancient generation’s notion
of freedom or some such so later whenwe seemed to be writing a story for
the new employer on the optimal
monetization of the eternal
memes (to avoid the friends convenience made—
their brotips and conversations like photos
of completely uncluttered interiors)we made a slow-motion escape attempt
but were swallowed by the slothy summerand rose at noon to find the cicadas
gleefully gone on their fatal picnicCheck out my books page if you want to see more.
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If/Then
if fire cracks the mirror
then clouds may part to reveal her faceif night passes like a kidney stone
then the box is returned unopenedif the damp gets irrevocably in
then an unequivocal answer will be foundif the suburbs are raided
then your recipe will be forever changedif we ignore first principles
then insects will tire of carrying us
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when we meet at which cafe or museum shop
I will be all smiles and jokes but looking
left and right too often as though some shadow
but what are you watching these days what post
made you rage? this black mud around my feet
never mind I see your shoes are dark as well
but why don’t we talk about dessert instead
of the world war of the week or even
this flattening heat you say you saw something
that reminded you of something and something
something
so leaves a ghost
still hungry that refuses to tip
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All the Parts
I
as in a dream in which we must play all the parts but self-consciously the work doubles and suffers as he turns to drink and loose video gamesbut unlike this dark wood newly sprung up around the house the chance of coffee or anything decent for lunch recedes
when we were stranded beneath the white waves it was only those voracious years of romance novels that saved the ship and sailors
so once properly cooled and decorated the cake of my previous actions could still prove delicious
it was never meant to last as long as it has though some seeds only sprout after a fire we never knew needed so much tending
and we started off so strong but whether we like it or not we’re in a purely habitual forest now
perhaps this is what the song is really meant to be about or could be under slightly different meteorological conditions
II
a dream self-consciously suffers loosewood around the house of coffee or anything for lunch
beneath the waves of romance novels that
decorated the cake of my previous could
as long seeds sprout a fire so
strong whether we like it or not
perhaps this is what is meant to be
III
as in a dream we play all the doubles and drink this dark coffee beneath waves only years of romance novels saved my previous actions never meant to last as long as though some started off strong we’re in a purely habitual song about slightly different conditionsIV
in a dreamthis dark house
beneath waves
my previous actions
after a fire we knew
started off in
perhaps this song
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Having darkened my hand with dark ink in
an age when close and
distant are cloudy unaided having
made so much that nobody wants to eat I wait for the latest
historic storm and the
scrape and salt that wakes us too early
or too latemodel mountains pen in
sugared cars I try tolift the snow with a wave
of homemade rhythm into
sky like berries almost blackbut do I fracture some rule with
this spell how many feet do I haveto long for long-lasting mud
and the birds whovisit though we won’t learn
their names this yeareither but the tracks lead
to a curve turningback on itself with a smile
the breath leavesgreen leaves shake
so let’s finish off the crackers
and call them
cookies we can watch
a movie through the neighbor’s
window just
balance on this skull
other animals 