Screen Dump 684

Your basement tapes voice allegations

of foreplay and aftplay

in the cemetery miniseries

that didn't make the cut . . .

Yes, the hills are alive . . .

But, hey, let's not forget there's more to it . . .

A conductor with baton raised

ready to start time

opens the throttle

to begin the first movement . . .

the clocks change

and the bottleneck at the back door

is shortlisted in the Times

with someone soloing

as a prelude to the sarabande

that everyone has been waiting to hear . . .

You tell me about the pleasures

of your special house

the color-coded, numbered steps

the nested rooms

the welcoming gestures

the shoutout Beethovenish . . .

A semblance of your former self

searches scores for an earwormed progression

that holds the clock's breath

with you keyboarding in real time . . .

You open with a chase scene

awaiting the first snowfall . . .

A dream of a dream of a dream, yes? . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 683

You engage a semicolon and chalk up another lap

trying to snag a moment of immortality

with ospreys on the breakers

at the tip of the Cape . . .

a perfect day . . . a perfect costume . . .

your younger self trying to elbow in

but you surprise the nosebleed section

with a crossover dribble

and set the stage

for another take on

Long Days Journey Into Night

conceived in one of the dune shacks

you visited followed by high tide

and an arpeggiated welcome

by the piano player at The Moors

who upon seeing you announced

shipwreck! . . .

You envision a write-up or a white-out

but words are slow

which is OK because odysseyites on holiday

are standing down

waiting for the call to exercise

their right to farm

with its green light ignoring nuisance lawsuits . . .

You're at loggerheads

deconstructing time and loving it . . .

so why shouldn't the exasperated

in the green room pay homage to last month's winners

in the Pick Up Stix Contest

touting fast casual Asian cuisine? . . .

The Moors, Provincetown, MA

Screen Dump 682

You sleep with jealousy and run red lights

bronzing conjugations of fornicate

trying to pump the impression

of laughing through intersections . . .

Scribbles aside you paddle to the middle

and sketch the shoreline . . .

The sun sits between timeouts . . .

It's all about staying the moment

finding a script with starting blocks tailor-made

then moving online for subtleties . . .

You got rid of most of it at the transfer station . . .

But some things are difficult to part with, yes? . . .

Sticking to your fingertips

when a storm approaches for example . . .

Seeing them in your rearview mirror . . .

And now, they're dancing on the roof

the angle making it impossible for you to let go . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 681

Undaunted, the U-Haul speaks volumes . . .

Have you been here before? . . .

Your appearance bodes well for the extended forecast . . .

Were there enough corrugations

to keep the pachyderms occupied for the duration? . . .

The shore can be therapeutic, yes? . . .

Especially the white sand . . .

It's not just that though . . .

There's something else, something I can't put my finger on . . .

This has been happening a lot lately,

and I fear it may become par for the course . . .

Bette Davis was one; there have been others

but she nailed it, and it's stood . . .

Did you think you could forestall the inevitable? . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 680

Your eyeliner tells a different story . . .

Cartons upon cartons upon cartons

delivered in a misrepresentation of facts . . .

And where in this stream of consciousness

do you place yourself? . . .

There's no telling

when you too will be dropped . . .

Waiting for . . . Waiting for . . .

Insinuations jumping out of the woodwork

without regard for the other players

in this mini-drama

which streams Saturday evening somewhere . . .

Come out with it, already . . .

You know you're bursting with others . . .

The excavations bronzed . . .

Your thoughts bronzed . . .

The heat-stroked field always a good excuse . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 679

You fall asleep watching Scenes from a Marriage

(for the umpteenth time)

and awaken to a brighter palette:

the confluence of material, brushstroke, support, scale

how music can jack the spirit

the change in your pocket jingling with memories

the exchange of emails shepherding new worlds . . .

Running on the fumes of texts excites . . .

This time you have read the manual

studied the expressions on their faces

reviewed your notes, practiced survival skills

as suggested by counter staff

at Dunkin' and Starbucks . . .

They too are familiar with the sketches you shared

and seem to understand your reasons

for trying to get it all down . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 678

Words bottleneck the coastal route:

you know, the windup, the pitch, the corner

the cab to the outer reaches

the Nile rerouted

gondoliers on holiday . . .

Oblong days saturate polyrhythms . . .

Back seat drivers GPSing . . .

The muses step up to the plate . . .

Did you fail to deliver? . . .

Did you fail to hand in the report on time? . . .

You will not pass Go . . .

You will not collect $200 . . .

You will be banished to a Draft Folder

in the Outer Banks

to sit there, in a quandary, bemoaning a foothold . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 677

You passed the rigor of bicycle days,

coaster brakes waiting behind package stores,

ifs, ands, buts triangulating the derivatives

barely visible through the brushstrokes,

armatures buckling under symbols shape-shifting

with wait staff, your chalk drawn and ready . . .

The mathematicians of your half-life

are talking their way

through the axioms on Knife's Edge

the conjectures at Herring Cove

the theorems along the Mohawk

hustling you past

the rentals, the SROs, condos, two-families,

the faces in the windows of doublewides

reflecting the ambiguity of your words . . .

Your rewrite fills an amphitheater with iterations

of the same person . . . a stranger . . .

You were told this would happen, yes? . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 676

Your answering machine is asking questions.

          - Anon

You're not sure it's a question

and you're trying to convince yourself

that you couldn't care less

but you know that you do . . .

You know that lately it's been a rabbit hole

and that in the dream you had drilled down

to your old neighborhood

now in disrepair

and confided to your friend who died

of a heart attack on the tennis court

30 years ago at 39 . . .

Your afterimage brought you to your knees

and has been texting you incessantly . . .

You've said you want out . . .

So you put aside the question

in question, and think again

about Alice, in disguise, in your dream,

wearing one of those huge hats

in the manner of the Red Queen

and carrying on about why words

can be made to mean

so many different things

which again opens the door

to the conundrum

waiting for you in the fun house mirror . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 675

You begin telling a funny story then stop

insisting your delivery is off a few cents

as if you were comparing musical pitches . . .

You assume tomorrow will arrive as scheduled

with makeovers and callbacks and returns . . .

Not unlike most of us, yes? . . .

Bring the car around, it's time . . .

Shall we continue into the second stanza

which was left flopping around on the wet sand? . . .

I can't believe it's you

but in fact it is . . .

looking small yet provocative

for the part you've chosen from scraps of paper

blowing around the gazebo . . .

There was a time . . .

Forget it . . . That was back when timetables

ran the show and the button

signifying the next move

was visible to all, even those in the nosebleed section . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 674

You remember a room (of one's own?) with a view

and something about a Gold Coin or Golden Coin

or a man with a golden arm . . .

The scene with the last supper was not the first . . .

Foodies . . . always foodies - thinking a world

of impastos and gouaches, a world

where mistakes can be sent back to the kitchen . . .

These are a few of your favorite things:

John Coltrane at the Village Gate,

BE: Before eBay and confusion

and scads of DVDs coloring the silence

of conversations with (significant) others,

Teshigahara's Woman in the Dunes, 

the air salty at the outermost house,

the Pilgrim Monument's 100th,

replaying the obvious for the off-center crowd . . .

And, of course, the scripts, always the scripts -

to consider to edit to create

grounded in small (under 100 notes) electronic compositions,

a few improvised or composed on the fly . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 673

You connect the dots, ignoring the numbers,

and find a topography of damage,

the breakdown lane scattered with shattered dreams,

recognizable fragments littering the culvert . . .

You begin counting backwards from 100

as your mother suggested years ago

intimidated by the absence of footholds

yet eager to move on . . .

Are you happy with whom you've become? . . .

With the self forged by past events? . . .

You're not one to look back . . .

You grab your backpack, leave your room,

and begin the trek, mindful of the signposts

for love, for betrayal, for the bagpipes' eerie call . . .

The voices in your head continue . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 672

You present with symptoms of naiveté . . .

A late-night phone call . . . texts . . .

an early-morning phone call

and, voila, you're seduced

by the immediacy of the overheard conversation

the immersive apparatus engaged

knocking the corners off the foundation . . .

But . . . But . . . But . . .

But what? . . .

But the symmetry is off . . .

Irrelevant . . . at this late date . . .

But why should the party of the first part party? . . .

A minimum of two, or three, or five? . . .

You're kidding, yes? . . .

Perhaps not . . . Perhaps the disingenuous

are hardwired for tolerance

or at least stick-to-itiveness . . .

Regardless, take a hike . . .

The evergreens, frosted, await your passing . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 671

You tried to placate some with your whimsicality

but words bottlenecked
and you were left holding empty seats . . .
The sun did come out tomorrow but went back in
the Do Not Disturb saying more

than you needed to know . . .
And now you're weeding? . . .

Yes, therapeutic . . .

How you can't believe how you feel . . .

How you are bound to get hurt

in the penultimate scene

surrounded by butterfly bushes . . .

You run down the hill and let go of the note . . .

They will never see it . . .
Docents clutter the walkway

with empty pizza boxes . . .
Killing the dreamscape seems

the only level-headed thing to do
and you pride yourself

on your level-headedness and pragmatism . . .
At night, cynical about your feelings

you check your messages
and the secrets strangers have failed

to pry open . . .
Room to room to room . . .
Why go there? . . .

Think of the momentum of this 18-wheeler

when you hit the brakes . . .

Translate the next chapter . . .

Don't be put off by Sanskrit . . .
It's only language,

one, in fact, that encompasses immense musicality . . .
Your earbuds will be prancing along
as happy as the summer fly

before Blake's thoughtless hand . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 670

You drag your old apartment through the mud

imagining the surplus of regrets segmenting the days

reaching back to capture the elements of then

fragmented into painful shards . . .

Odysseyites at the foot of your bed await direction

again overwhelmed by the onlookers

brought in to witness your de-accessioning . . .

The wood stove crackles its befuddlement . . .

It has been cued, as have others, from childhood memories . . .

This is happening as predicted

choreographed by backers as a concession

to the chamber group whose notes have taken to the air . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 669

Sneaker-shopping in a pop-up

with its inevitable contact and inevitable uncoupling

allows you to pass through a portal

without knowing where or why

without clicking Agree

without committing to the restraining order

of the unannounced . . .

Words squeeze into thought bubbles . . .

The spooky genius in you hazarding extinction

graffitis delusions in water closets

with images of Banksy's Dismaland

that take on a life of their own . . .

You worry the envelope being pushed . . .

the takeaway being taken away . . .

Does the alternative,

strewn with spirals of trashed autofictions

in corrosive landfills

appeal to you? . . .

Why bother you ask? . . . No idea? . . .

The rehearsal to get it right, alone, without collaboration,

is about to begin and may be enough, you think,

to confess to, again and again and again . . .

Banksy's Balloon Girl

Screen Dump 668

You run into your mirror image in a parking lot . . .

Words tumble out, collide . . .

Screens refresh, avalanche . . .

The pain of updates . . .

Later you escape to Netflix,

before descending into a maelstrom . . .

Again, you review what's happened . . .

What's happening . . .

Too much at stake? . . .

You had trouble last time, yes? . . .

Let's not kid ourselves . . .

Why put yourself through this? . . .

Why go there? . . .

The honesty? . . . The openness? . . .

The honesty of openness? . . .

Surely, you can conjure a better reason . . .

Something more palatable with . . .

With what? . . . The heart as lonely hunter? . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 667

Intellectualizing Chekhov's Uncle Vanya doesn't help

though Cate Blanchett gives you a second wind

and a cheatsheet on the symbolism . . .

You have stopped taking notes as suggested . . .

We're all visitors here, anyway, yes? . . .

Passing through, so to speak? . . .

Isn't that part of the agreement? . . .

part of the understanding of the elements of style? . . .

the elements of the mundane? . . .

Retractions? . . . Forget it,

crows have eaten the bread crumbs . . .

When was the last time you saw them? . . .

Before or after the pratfall? . . .

And now so much to discover . . . so much to rethink . . .

The train leaving the station, passengers waving

to their delicate lives on the platform,

their delicate lives . . . brief and undeniable . . .

Cate Blanchett in Uncle Vanya (2012)

Screen Dump 666

The time is past for going back.

          - A. E. Stallings

You've test-driven the tops and bottoms

weighed the pros and cons

put in for a hiatus from drifting aimlessly,

a far cry from the old days

when you were a pronoun-in-training, and

domesticity was a bargain-basement forget-me-not . . .

The boatman awaits . . .

Let's talk about your future

and the hellish commute to motherhood,

fatherhood, sisterhood, brotherhood . . .

Mourning inconclusively is a no-no . . .

Learn the lines of your face . . . Learn them well . . .

As resident cartographer of your double life,

you are within X years of enlightenment . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 665

. . . when a person is capable of being in uncertainties,

mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact

and reason.

          - John Keats

You're lying in the grass

studying the azure map of the sky

comparing it to the veins

on the back of your hand

which lately have been speaking to you - in tongues -

to-and-fro, to-and-fro . . .

Perhaps you've arrived with someone else? . . .

Or, better, as someone else? . . .

The tingling ebb and flow . . .

The trials and trails? . . .

The excitement of then, yes? . . .

Aha! . . . You mean I'm excused? . . .

No one's excused . . .

A few bucks, just a few bucks

and you'll be off and running, again . . .

Sort of . . .

What brings you here? . . .

An erection year? . . .

Filled with unspoken conversations? . . . And negative space? . . .

Let us not forget the place of negative space . . .

And negative capability, for that matter,

which, for your erotification, offers an alternative . . .

To what? . . .

Your dreams of the Old Country, and its accoutered models . . .

Be nimble . . . Be quick . . . Jump over the dowsing stick . . .

yes I said yes I will Yes . . .

Antonio Palmerini

Screen Dump 664

But what if you're not sprung from sleep by the light? . . .

To gurgle along? . . .

Snatching a banana or an orange

from one of the many overhangs? . . .

Gabbing up locals? . . .

Have you finished the book you've been reading? . . .

The one you couldn't put down? . . .

I saw you at the supermarket in the canned soup aisle

comparing sodium levels with a metronome . . .

You were so algorithmic I didn't stop . . .

The word on the street is that you're up most nights,

pacing, in your new white kicks . . .

Disgruntlement is a no-no, you know . . .

At least here in the center ring . . .

Your white Tesla Model XYZ sits in the parking lot

of the latest development

assuming a different persona

for every Tom, Dick, and Jane . . .

And if he (or she) can do it, so can you . . .

It's time to bee-line for the rest room

where an open mic of horn rims is about to begin:

a Rimbaudesque excitement filling the water closet,

the sand waiting to smooth wrinkled souls . . .

You've seen those enjambments before, you know . . .

But so what? . . .

At least there's comfort in the familiar . . .

In the tried and true . . .

And with the clock ticking down it's bishop to queen four . . .

White on right, right? . . .

Yes, start whistling now . . .

It will carry you through the atelier

resurrecting that night when inappropriateness held sway . . .

It was indeed fun, wasn't it? . . .

So what if the constable paid us a visit? . . .

Let the swags move to the center, I say . . .

They'll soon be off the radar

traveling east along a bumpy two-lane

trying to absorb the changes that have occurred

in the four months they've been unlooped . . .

And don't forget to keep your eyes peeled

as you weather the ramifications of your latest tailspin . . .

Keep a pad and pencil handy, too,

next to your bed, even,

for those late-night archetypes

that are sure to emanate from your collective unconscious . . .

Antonio Palmerini