31 Oct 2005, 8:17pm
Writing
by David

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A simpler life awaits

in Machu Picchu just because I can

go there. I can get on a a plane

and take it–to Lima, Peru; to Cusco,

Peru–and then get on a train and take that

to Aguas Calientes (the hot waters)

and then get on a bus up to the ruins.

A short trip if I take drugs (my

fellow-passengers asleep, ignorant of

the blessed magazines in first class).

And to do it on a fall day, my friend

alert for news from his mistress, from his

woman, from his queen–now from his

sitter, from his dog-sitter, from his baby-

sitter, from his doctor, from his baby-

doctor. Quiet as the stones.

here? Standing up with my shoes

next to the metal detector… Hartsfield-

Jackson International Airport…

wondering where this conveyor-belt

goes–in, or up? I’ve lost my boarding-

pass–I think it said Akron but I don’t

even like Ohio. And Oh, on a Sunday,

the great trade convention that I was

to be speaking at. The distinguished

company. So qualified. So exceedingly.

Important. Loud. Nictitating. Horti-

culturalists. Lend me nothing–I’d

rather be a hooligan, off towards the

coasts of Florida, towards the bright

ships. Burn it all down.

29 Oct 2005, 1:33am
Writing
by David

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The serial killer misplaces his horse

And Cecille walked back into

the one room she knew, halfway,

and then she was taken,

and she became more fearful.

With words kind of benighted

that he’d never held up to any real light

he’s now saying something about disaster.

And you’re blind; you bump into things.

Making it a dangerous trap–

the pills dissolve in water, but which

glass do you give him? He says

I’m going someplace; I’ll be there by myself soon.

29 Oct 2005, 12:40am
Writing
by David

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Monolith

In the tower-room you
could not see your hands.
I could see them for you.

They were white.
They were not
located by your wrists.
They were not old.

Things were starting to
come open for me.
You asked if I could see
the white walls.
I could.

In the book,
the king who banned
boats from his coasts
regretted it.
No one could get in.
The people mutinied,
on both sides.

28 Oct 2005, 3:31am
Writing
by David

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Evacuation: Math

No tensile strength. No. Let’s face it:

the poem at the beginning of the book

was less endearing than the door

at the end. Knock-knock. So something

got out. It was painful, that fall,

precipitated by a turn into the barn.

While leaves floored down. An adventure,

mind. The elk moon sleek and shiny.

The wonderful moon sleek and shiny.

What else can we say? It was suggested

that they lacked instinct, but they didn’t.

They only lacked a helicopter.

O towering inferno, O difficult heart

Chief Fire Chief Michael O’Hallorhan.

The Aspect: Ratio is what it’s about.

A battle–strong but wizened lab rats

overcome an army of weak beetles,

and a boogie-hostage who Freaks Out

sobbing sobbing sobbing just because

it’s her day off. Steve isn’t in this

film; yesterday he was. So she’s

doing the laundry. It’s on the same

channel that that old treason-play was–

The Great Escape, Papillon, I forget.

But touching. So she puts it in her

lesson-plan. She tells her mother, This

had something to do with triangulation.

Something about the nerves.

25 Oct 2005, 3:25am
Writing
by David

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Iago’s Shoes

Can you put yourself in them? Can you?

I mean, brown and all. A bit faded,

a bit rag-tag, a bit fallen out.

And can you touch them–broken, sore,

left out in the rain to become stiff–

tights boots, wrong boots. You

would not wear to a party. But would you

believe in context? Would you mind them,

would you soften them, would you

believe them? Would you stand in the

pearls? And would you straighten the

note: stop with your chaplets, stop

with your TV, stop with your favoritism.

Would you bury them, in the snow and rain?

Concurrent lifts. Platform. Right.

Exact match. Yes, Publicize. Yes,

Morale Important. A long winter shine–

tool, gloss–anything on the street.

It’s important that we not forget our

phantoms. And they are tough slippers,

to go where he goes. Not seen in the

surveyor’s map, nor in the cocktail

bar. In the shop windows. In plate glass.

Unutterable, too. The utility-bulb

bronze baby-curls curio-shelf piano

shadow-box Leper’s. Damn feet soft.

And yet incendiary; and yet dull.

In for unction–or extreme unction.