Saturday, June 30, 2012

Into Thin Air

Oblique stories unfold before your eyes:
the stranger as mirror image
insinuating himself/herself between the lines.
You will repeat this over and over,
and log 1000 miles before the call to begin.
You google unintentional silence
stopping briefly to explore the tributaries of exhaustion,
leaving you floundering. Shake it off.
There's no time now for dead air.
Perhaps your internal derailleur
lacks a granny gear for higher elevations,
the air thin with exhilaration, echoing those moments
when runners spirit to the finish line.

1908 Olympic Marathon (National Geographic)

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Sidebar

I can't bite into an ear of corn without picturing Johnny Depp in that 2004 desert island favorite Secret Window based on Stephen King's novella Secret Window, Secret Garden though, Scout's Honor, the rotting remains of my ex-wife and my understudy are not pushing up corn stalks in my garden which, incidentally, is being slowly decimated by deer whose nightly takeaways are notated in the soil by their bifurcated hoof prints which has led me to google ultrasonic pest repeller as touted by my 90-year-old neighbor who, embracing technology, closeted his muzzle loader and bought one of those sonic gizmos at Brookstone in the mall. Deer aside, my immediate concern is preventing the appearance in late fall and early spring of a mud pool in the middle of my path to the wood shed by diverting runoff into a four-inch slotted drain pipe which I have ceremoniously buried in a 40-foot long three-foot deep trench which I carved out manually with a composite-handled pick ax from the local Agway while imagining Steve Jobs on tractor happily mowing my fields of dreams.


Monday, June 25, 2012

Woman XXIV

She friends the God of Doors,
looks forward and back
texts stage directions in triplicate.
The curtain rises.
I fantasize her
costume changes,
and lose myself
in her unnumbered addenda.

Saskia de Brauw

Sunday, June 24, 2012

In the Hall (House?) of Mirrors (Glass?)

How did her life live itself without her?
          - Jonathan Safran Foer

Sketch the images in the mirrors to preserve them.
To show them to others.
To share them.
Sketch them quickly.
The way your art teacher had you do it.
Forget about getting it right. (Whatever that is.)
Forget perfection.
You have 20 minutes.
For what?
Never mind, just sketch.
Do any of the images remind you of people you know?
Or people you knew?
People who play - or played - a role in your drama?
Think about the people and their delicate lives.
How their delicate lives impacted your delicate life.
How your delicate life impacted their delicate lives.
How whatever they did impacted whatever you did.
Whatever you chose to do.
Don't point a finger.
You are the architect of you.
You are how you are.
Not how you should be or could be.
But are.
The Captain of Your Soul.
Captain America.
O Captain! My Captain!
Captain Midnight.
Captain Morgan.
Captain Hook.
The Captain and Tennille.
Keep sketching, please.
Are you beginning to recognize the people in the images?
They're in there.
And if you can, think about the questions.
What questions?
The questions you've written on index cards.
Think about the order of questions.
The questions you've been dying to ask the people.
The people in the images.
The people you know.
The people you knew.
The people you don't know but would like to know.
Irrespective of how shallow the questions may seem.
How seemingly shallowly secular.
But isn't there another way?
No. This is the only way.
You wanted feedback, yes?
Doesn't everyone want feedback?
How am I doing?
How do I look?
Do you like what I've done?
Where am I going?
When will I get there?
How will I know when I've gotten there?
You've come here to ask the questions.
To ask the people in the images the questions.
The questions on the index cards.
Surreptitiously?
Perhaps, but necessary.
Wait. I think I see a dog in one of the images.
Perfectly acceptable.
What?
Animals are perfectly acceptable images.
Yes, it's a pit bull. It's his/her pit bill.
A white pit bull with a black eye.
He/she called him Joe or Joseph or something like that.
Friendly.
Please. Keep sketching.

Francesca Woodman

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Woman XXIII

She strikes a pose
in life drawing class.
I forget the model.

Luisa Bianchin

Friday, June 15, 2012

Outtakes

I am not now that which I have been.
          - Lord Byron

You befriend a Chinese Puzzle Box,
walk through scenes of over-rehearsal and exasperation.
The (mis)direction is good for both of you.

This time without the backdrop.
You begin to lose interest, yes?
Nonetheless, proceed as if smearing paint on canvas.

Forget the image. There is none.
Wing it.
Let yourself be enveloped by the drama

of the moment, the spontaneity
of the lens, the elements of time captured.
Bemoan the loss.

Again, this time with tension.
The method is beside the point
resurfacing as binaries

which down the road will have their say
striking a chord with many.
(Pretend an audience.)

See how far you can take it.
The surprise will be costumed in the next chapter
however oppositional.

Rosalind Solomon

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Pareidolia

You've taken it to the far corners
and then some
without the least bit of worry
that someone's derailleur could jam.
And now what?
You're without a signal
and your merit badge in Morse Code
is just that.
Perhaps a recapitulation would help,
a wandering in the dunes
beyond Commercial
past the Inn and tiered gardens
the tiny liquor store
the ice cream parlor
opposite the post office
with steps ideal for people-watching
and time-sensitive commentary
to the lighthouse
that years ago we walked to
in low tide and later
found ourselves neck-deep in the Atlantic,
but I doubt it.
The Pinot Noir you're nursing
awaits the green light
in the green room
as the cost of casualness
leaves you backpedaling
to remembrance.
Your life has taken on a different hue, yes?
Even for bookmakers
whose long shots revisit you in the wee hours
multiplying location by desire.


Thursday, June 7, 2012

Friends With Benefits

You shrug off the probability
and continue down the condiment aisle
eyes the color of mirin.
Penciling in the moment
takes the effort of the Nile
but over the years you have come
to accept it, even enjoy it.
Your costume has the shortness of breath.
Presentation is everything, yes?
The stalemate is clear
even to your friends with benefits
deplaning in Hoboken,
the culinary extravaganza a prelude
to the main course which the players
though dedicated seem to relish
dismissing with yellow #2 Ticonderogas.


Monday, June 4, 2012

And so the day begins . . .

And already you're retracing your steps
replaying the scene
trying on this, that,
and the other,
searching through your backpack
for the notes you jotted
while waiting for the roar of the waterfall
to sooth you, transport you,
and you decide
Yes, it would be good to continue to the summit
(or to somewhere) à la Caballo Blanco.

Micah True (1954-2012)