Screen Dump 25

The intentionality of the dropped hint . . .
The open-ended proposition . . .
Note-taking with the idea of pasting paragraphs . . .
As windows . . . to the unconscious? . . .
The inked benefactors lining up . . .
You will be among them, yes? . . .
Their voices . . . as loud as the automatic writers . . .
Whose manipulated images . . . captured your fancy . . .
and changed . . . the rules . . .

Paulina Otylie Surys

Woman XLIII

Her strappy heels
leave messages
on my answering machine.

Screen Dump 24

Living on the edge in a snow castle . . . fiercely . . .
As if intuiting the sun . . .
Why didn't I think of that before? . . .
Multiple geographies can distract, yes? . . .
By the time you have to be here . . . costumed . . . and inclined . . .
A glimpse . . . just beyond the threshold . . .
You have followed the southernmost tip of masquerades . . .
In thigh-high boots . . .

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Screen Dump 23

Letting your hair down as an antidote for befuddlement . . .
Or trying to write a memoir . . .
Or booking a junket to Legoland . . .
Like using stagehands . . . as stand-ins . . .
Giving head to a cavalcade of pranksters in a box of Wheaties . . .
Then feeling overwhelmed by neologisms . . .
At the slightest provocation . . .
Divulging past transgressions to Facebook friends . . .
Then wiping the slate clean . . . and raising your hand . . .

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Screen Dump 22

In a gravy boat on the high seas . . .
Cutting corners . . .
And you thought the interim sideman would fill the bill? . . .
He can't even hit a high C . . .
What . . . now you're reconsidering your offer? . . .
A no-holds-barred relationship? . . .
Why not? . . .
Playing the field subliminally . . .
Too much riding on it? . . .
Not unlike the trust of a junkyard dog . . .
Drop back, regroup, and buy the season ticket, already . . .
Full-throttle engagement . . .
What better way . . . to say what you want to say? . . .
Of course you have! . . .
You wrote the book . . . and the study guide . . .
The scene closes with Biff reading the email . . .

Alice Carolina Duda and Agnieszka Kwiatkowska

Screen Dump 21

The disingenuousness of last minute players . . .
And late starters . . .
And those on the cusp . . .
Return receipt requested . . .
Parlaying the obvious . . . because . . . just because . . .
Looking back to go forward . . .
Like Casals at 96, I'm making progress . . .
Awakened by recalls . . . and by the nudge of those
with the chorus . . . announcing the place
(as Oliver) . . . of your one wild and precious life . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 20

The preponderance of memory . . . saddlebagged . . .
Aspirations aside . . .
The scene with Jane at the crossroads . . .
Smile though your heart . . .
Weighing heavily . . .
Why Charlie Chaplin? . . .
He wrote the music, didn't he? . . .
The scorekeepers have left the building . . .
Fast forward, please . . . to the ending . . .
Telling yourself these are words . . . only words . . .

Mia Wasikowska in Jane Eyre (2011)

Screen Dump 19

Stabilized by the red wand . . . the red magic wand . . .
Silencio! . . .
And the floating trumpet in Mulholland Drive . . .
Beats per second . . . (she counted) . . . beats per second . . .
Your footnote going on and on . . .
Everybody's gotta learn sometime . . .
What can you say when you're put on hold? . . .
Rethinking the configuration . . . the operating system . . .
the avenue of days . . .
The apparent movement of texts below the surface . . .
After the fact, yes? . . .
Grabbed by the realization that we all hide behind something . . .
Buying what we sell . . .
Who lives in the makeshift dwellings of your dreams? . . .
The makeshift dwellings of your past tense? . . .
A rudimentary offer . . . and you're out the door . . .
Out! . . . Out! . . . Out! . . .
She prefers being confused to patronized . . .
The red lipstick of herself . . .
Awakened in the middle of the night . . . again . . .
Of course, you could always ditch the gamer . . . cash out . . . whenever . . .

Laura Harring, David Lynch, Naomi Watts

Screen Dump 18

The eternal sunshine of book samples from Amazon . . .
And the pleasures of con-ca-te-na-tion . . .
Enter therapist - a Jungian archetype with snow-capped Montblanc . . .
Emailing corrections . . . Cate not Kate . . .
Foundering or floundering? . . .
Laying or lying? . . .
There are only semantic differences . . .
Collecting dust . . . and examples of misanthropes . . .
And photos by FRAN-CES-CA (Woodman) . . .
Who tweaked the world, and helped us see . . .
c u @ 10 . . . in racing snowshoes . . .
If nothing . . . invigorating . . .
Busily recruiting attention . . .
As if the key were outside the glass . . .
Outside the (Silent Snow, Secret Snow) globe . . .
A Glass cover by Nico Muhly . . .
And you will have time left on the meter . . . if that matters . . .

Dree Hemingway

Screen Dump 17

And now . . . a break in the action . . .
Choreographed as mirror-image . . .
Against Cat Stevens's Peace Train . . .
And you return to your former self . . . backing in through the door . . .
Having been pent-up in the Green Room . . .
Rehearsing the lines of a 12th century master of calligraphy . . .
Some weird magical osmosis . . .

Screen Dump 16

Dusting oneself off (so to speak, of course) . . .
Dylanspeak! . . . I'm sailing away my own true love . . .
Once upon a dream sequence . . .
Why is that? . . .
Failure recapitulates failure, yes? . . .
The inaccuracy of memory vis-à-vis the inadequacy of documentation . . .
Really?
They keep trying to reach you with old questions . . .
Old questions . . .
The comfort of old questions . . .
Boarding the balloon with old questions . . .
The upheavals in every last one of them . . .
Some sidelined . . .
Some stopped short in the breakdown lane . . .
It was one of those moments . . .

Paulina Otylie Surys

Screen Dump 15

I will try to rewrite that . . . but no guarantees . . .
You seem to have seen past the obvious . . .
So this is where you want to bivouac? . . .
Higher powers . . . by all means . . .
The shape changers from Into Great Silence . . .
Walking out after almost two decades . . .
Sans synchronization . . .
With drop-dead costumes . . .
Following you . . . trance-like . . .
Carrying on with makebelievers . . .
What happens after a few drinks? . . .
The Styrofoam takeaway boxes at your beck-and-call . . .
Every new day is A-O-K . . .
Whatever it takes to make it work . . .
Becoming unhinged . . . swinging back and forth . . . back and forth . . .
Free to be . . . A to Z . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 14

At breakfast, the usual ordinariness . . .
Several chiming in . . .
The transmigration of voices . . . saturating all . . .
Her willingness? . . . A ploy? . . .
Pawn to queen's knight 4 . . .
Interrupted in the middle . . . of the sleepwalk . . .
He's livid! . . .
We can remedy that with a backrub . . .
And you're worrying the lost luggage? . . .
And the bags . . . under your eyes? . . .
I love it! I love it! . . .
Very professional looking in the gray business suit . . .and yet? . . .
I'm still on antibiotics! . . .
Our lives as refunds . . . as car rentals . . .
Of course, you can spin it a number of ways . . .
And convince yourself? . . .
Perhaps placate your inner orphan? . . .

Irina Dmitrovskaya

Screen Dump 13

You rehearse the lines of the jilted acupuncturist . . .
Stunning, quotidian, rare lines . . .
As they should be, yes? . . .
Adjusting the papier-mâché halo . . .
I too can be three . . .
Without which we will soon be lost . . . in seasonal motifs . . .
Press Restart . . . NOW! . . . for the Gipper . . .
The daily application of palindromes seems to be working . . .
Cue the chorus . . . send in the clowns . . .
Wait, she doth protest a tad much . . .
You alone will see the different colors as they come and go . . .
Come and go . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 12

We always reveal the truth about ourselves despite ourselves.
          - Elizabeth Bishop

Earwormed . . . Every 1's A Winner . . .
Frances Ha, yes? . . .
Boredom's deliberate silence taxidermied . . .
And so we have Emily's It remained / with me . . .
Crossing state lines in waybackmachine.org . . .
Long hairs running cliches . . .
Stone(d) cold dead . . .
Once upon a time in classical music . . .
But the hunger remains . . . and is HUGE! . . .
The contrast cranked up . . .
Sans clues . . .
Quickly, the remote . . .
Buzzword Soup? . . .
Another radical bibliophile set adrift . . .
On Black Saturday . . .
OK, I'll pinch that, she said . . . and proceeded to disrobe . . .
In full view . . . of no one . . .

Paulina Otylie Surys

Screen Dump 11

But then the question of promiscuity . . .
Costumed for easy access . . .
That drum majorette is out of line . . .
Unwind on cue, yes? . . .
Reviewing dailies, again? . . .
Assuming the position . . . I'm cognizant of the repercussions . . .
Trying to think positively here . . .
I can't help it . . .
This time . . . or the last . . .
Which is it, maestro? . . .
There was just too much riding on it . . .
That should do it . . . for today . . .
Tomorrow, we'll take a look at alternatives . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 10

You step out of Dr. Caligari's cabinet
and into the transcendentalism of Silicon Valley . . .
Why the copy of Stuart Brand's Access To Tools? . . .
Beef cattle punctuate the landscape . . .
Items bought online perfunctorily . . .
The stars and stripes . . .
Inbred across workbenches . . .
All recorded on acetate . . . now The Cloud . . .
You remember the midnight ride of Paul Revere . . .
The mental gymnastics of Steve Wozniak . . . the two Steves . . .
Did you think it would all crumble? . . .
Along with Shelley's Ozymandias? . . .
Two roads still diverge in a yellow wood
despite Joyce Carol Oates . . .
Yes, go on . . .
Christmas morning . . . and You Are There . . .
With Walter Cronkite? . . .
He too was known to occasionally come undone . . . off camera . . .
Not unlike dear Mister Rogers . . .
It's a beautiful day . . . in the neighborhood . . .
Indeed . . .
Backstage Jim Henson spirited away by Christian Scientists . . .
Is That All There Is? . . .
Eartha Kitt? . . .
No, Peggy Lee . . . Eartha Kitt is "All I Want Is All There Is and Then Some" . . .
Oh . . . Wait, I've got only one bar here . . .
Advance the tape, please . . .
Ah ha, enter stage left, Beckett's wearish old man, Krapp . . .
Ha ha ha! . . . Excremental tweets! . . .
I lay down across her . . . We lay there without moving . . .
But under us all moved, and moved us . . .
Claire's Knee, Knife in the Water, L'Avventura . . .
Get back on track . . . you still owe me a paper on Giacomo Leopardi . . .
I'll take the Incomplete . . .

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

Screen Dump 9

What is there to say about a life of images? . . .
Carting around images . . .
Cropped images . . .
Fair images . . .
You know . . . accurate representations . . .
The graininess . . . the stolen glances . . . the exists . . . the en-trances . . .
Coming off looking lily white . . .
Especially with the sound of the wind . . .
But what of the great love stories of the past . . . present . . . future? . . .
Much of their greatness derived from strictures? . . .
Works of fiction, yes? . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 8

I have to see a thing a thousand times before I see it once.
          - Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again

Before you know it you'll be re-rutted . . .
And using comprise in a sentence . . .
Why bother hitching a ride back home? . . .
You can't go home again . . . not again . . .
This time take it one day at a time . . .
I was flabbergasted by the number of choices in the condiment aisle . . .
I had to re-set my counter . . .
There are days when it all seems backwards . . .
Or at least . . . nevermind . . .
Regardless, ride it out . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 7

Too many (themes?) withheld . . . or forgotten . . .
Like you wanted the password . . .
In good company . . .
Isn't that how it goes? . . .
Withheld before taxes . . .
Walking out because you know the unknown . . .
And the attendant trials and trails . . .
Happy trails to you . . . until we meet again . . .
It makes me want to laugh . . . or cry . . .
Toggling your image . . . in a snowstorm . . .
Toggling your image . . . in a snowglobe . . .
Are you ready for the season opener? . . .
Switchbacks are fun . . . sometimes . . .
Toggling through switchbacks . . .
Especially now with your credentials . . .
The opening scene was obscene . . .
My popcorn popped . . .
It's good to be asked to leave . . .
Dear Diary . . .
The first time I scrolled through the profiles . . . I skipped yours . . .
Despite its seductiveness . . . its general good nature . . .
Seems as if we could revisit it . . .
Re-shoot it . . .
Would that sit well with you? . . .
Would it make a difference? . . .

Sarolta Ban

Screen Dump 6

Something about the accumulation of exchanges . . .
The stifling  accumulation of exchanges . . .
Trying to rekindle exchanges . . . but why? . . .
Trigger points for happy sad good bad love hate . . .
I follow the dotted lines . . . get quizzical looks . . .
I've gotten them before . . .
Boxfuls . . .
No rhyme or reason? . . .
No expectations? . . .
Yeah, right! . . .
Look where we are now, Ms. No Expectations! . . .
Anything you say . . . can and will be used against you . . .
Retractions make for exciting bedfellows . . .
Ya think? . . .
Read through the entire script . . . then decide . . .
We both know snow is on the way . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 5

Parrots parrot my thoughts . . . ruffle their feathers . . .
Ask if I've paid my dues . . .
I knew I should have passed . . .
I need to cut back . . .
Is there a better word for indifference? . . .
It just seems to go on and on . . .
Well, at least there's time left on the meter . . .
Freud's Pleasure Principle is anything but . . .
Over the top? . . .
I try to immerse myself in chores . . .
To your gloved hand . . . fondly . . .
Is counter-transference an option? . . .
OK, so I wanted to read about your cutting-edge indiscretions . . .
Do you have a problem with that? . . .
Why should he/she have all the fun? . . .

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Man-Hole-Girl-Man-Hole

I brought my ghost to your man-hole. You were costumed, and being ogled by an ejaculator, who lost it when you measured him with your tongue. You took him home with Japanese on your motorcycle. He loved the miso, and licked your crayons into dawn. You asked him to jumpstart your new job. He opened wide, rang your bell, turned on the Super 8. The stream buffered. Your legs grew. The ogler and I stared as your therapist's transference lucked into your green mannequins.

Screen Dump 4

The closed-circuit TVs of the 50's spoke nonsense . . .
There were handprints on the windows . . .
And names missing from the guest list . . .
Moments were filled with traffic lights . . . and three-ring binders . . .
And The Late Show . . .
You left with a ne'er-do-well . . .
Whose hands reminded you of your father's . . .
And drew upon your inner beauty to wade through loneliness . . .
Of course you remember the maitre d' . . .
The entourage of hangers-on . . .
Everything was written down . . . everything . . .
You tried to re-shoot the scene . . .
But they mumbled their lines . . .
And couldn't be heard above the clues to today's Minute Mystery . . .

Screen Dump 3

Winked into dissolution . . .
As if it would all come together . . .
As if it held the key . . .
As if it could dance with a throat-singer . . .
But it didn't . . .
So I reread the end of The Hours  from Yes, Clarissa thinks, it's time . . .
And re-played Liberal Arts . . .
And used artisanal  in a sentence . . .
Conning myself into thinking I have more important things to do . . .
Does hunkering-down really work? . . .
Especially now with its hint of snow? . . .
Someone asked Why so serious? . . .
I wikipedia'd . . . and thought twice . . .
And tap-danced . . .
Then resumed . . .
Why play dumb? . . .
Is this a risky read . . . a PG-13? . . .
Brouhahas are like that . . .
Insinuating themselves into the lives of others . . .
Insinuating themselves into your life . . .
When you least expect it . . . or need it . . .
Despite the admonitions penciled in the margin . . .
Despite the warnings on the label . . .
Do not try this at home . . .
We've all  tried it at home . . .
How else are we able to put our foot in our mouth? . . .
One foot in front of the other . . .
Shuffling the minuscule deck as if with gloved hands . . .

Irma Haselberger

140 (or fewer) characters on . . . Flurries

the day blisters with a hint of snow
emails about dental insurance
a short story by Joyce Carol Oates

Irma Haselberger

Screen Dump 2

Your institution green eyes reflect the Bela Lugosi of your dreams . . .
With the flagrancy of youth . . .
Though you continue to take pot shots at clay academicians . . .
And lesser-known wannabes . . .
There's something sad about that . . .
And something to be said about that . . . but I'm not sure what . . .
Walmart is as good a place as any to start . . .
Never trust alabaster cockatoos . . .
Or blue-light specials . . .
Or, for that matter, people named Iridescent, or Iri, for short . . .
I did . . . several times . . .
Trying to make the most of it . . .
But I thought I was invited for that reason . . .
So I dove in . . . over my head . . .
A roomful of talent minus one . . .
The made-for-TV villain was the voice of pastiche . . .
Dancing his/her amendments . . .
I've been mining prose for revelations . . . since day one . . .
Engulfed in pretension . . .
Picking and choosing from both sides of the menu . . .
What matters . . . really . . . is . . . what matters . . .
Be well, do good work, and give it a rest . . .

Bela Lugosi

140 (or fewer) characters on . . . After Apple Picking

deer arrive

with the orange of sunset

to feed

on the drops

Unhitched Suburbanites Are Sleeping with Repo'd Subarus

Unhitched suburbanites are sleeping with repo'd Subarus
in phone booths silent and abandoned
as if they'd tried but failed to find a vacancy
in the landfills of telemarketers decked out in triple Spandex
their closings leap-frogged
their coarse-furred marmots having been reblogged,
recalled, redirected, and retrofitted with snows.

They are ready for the New You.

Your friends have been texting you blue
having mastered the requisite tongue-twisters
as evidenced by the number of gnats
circling above your brown-bagged bottle of Bacardi.

You know one when you see one.
Not a problem.

You have retooled your profile, chatting yourself up
as the other darling of three-star forensic menus.

You have weathered the plague of muscle spasms
and been nominated
for the Erectile Dysfunction Hall of Fame.
You are as ready as ready.

Do you recall tweeting the party of the first part
while Moon River fondled the wind chimes
in the SROs of your childhood composition books

or are you about to fold your card table and remove yourself
from the list of attendees?

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Fairly Good Footage

A voice in heels welcomes you with the answer.
The je ne sais quoi of close encounters, yes?
Driving through a drive-thru, you tick off ways to improve
now that you've pruned tricks from your bag
under the watchful eye of the neighborhood watch.
You can't wait to unpack the layers,
especially the earworms of vacant storefronts
featured in mock-u-mentaries.
You cameo as a walk-on in a portraiture class
thinking This is where I will find myself.
The odds appear in an email after months on the Most Wanted.
Why are the plates at the Culinary Institute so large?

Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then

Another Ordinary Morning

Tonight as it gets cold tell yourself what you know which is nothing.
          - Mark Strand

The leaves coax the light into a snow sky. A simplicity of one, costumed, belabored, fraught with delusion lingers in a dream of the shore. The voice at the door continues the story. The organs of day engage a Netflix world, spiriting you away. The cat remains noncommittal. Late at night when you lie awake, tell yourself that you love who you are, that your half-concealed life is not without promise.

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Screen Dump 1

If poetry is dead . . . then good.
          - Chelsey Minnis

Your follow-up was detrimental to strung-out marionettes
and you were ticketed for low-tech gaudiness . . .
Please remain online for the entire coupling . . .
You will know the ending before . . .
Of course without interpretation but then this is not something new . . .
I know what you're pinging . . .
You wanted to use collapsible grammar . . . but you sleepwalk . . .
I too would have walked
especially with those whatever they're called . . .
I've heard you were nailed by your therapist for pithy disclosures
and for not being experimental enough . . .
Not to worry . . .
The binary code as cracked by binary poets
isn't all it's cracked up to be . . .
So now you're trafficking in what? . . .
Several have said that you were lavishly costumed
and that your characterization was stop-motion
and that your ars poetica  was off the charts . . .
Third-way scribblers have a way of  rewriting the world as we don't know it . . .
Tick-tock tick-tock . . .

We'll always have Paris, Texas

You've relegated the dogeared script to a siding
and taken to the boards
ready to descend the staircase with your Method-y accent
Rhett's reasonable facsimile pacing the wings.

The wardrobe people are here too
having replaced their needles and threads
with Happy Hours.

It's time to forget your veiny feet

and the mole on your chinny-chin-chin.
It's time for the mad dash through your therapist's ulterior motives.
The Witness Protection Program has been hopscotched to death.

Deborah Turbeville

The Phonetics of Ukuleles: Revamp Three

I would rather have a Gucci bag than a poem.
          - Chelsey Minnis

Too funny is too funny . . .

Stephen Colbert's too funny is too funny . . .
Sometimes . . .
Too funny can turn on you like an angry pit bull . . .
An angry pit bull guarding a grow room . . .

Stephen Colbert can turn on you like an angry pit bull . . .

The ukulele beneath your window . . .
The ukulele player beneath your window . . .
He/she can be too funny . . .
He/she can turn on you like an angry pit bull . . .
Whispering sweet nothings in your bad ear . . .

An angry pit bull playing a ukulele . . . beneath your window . . .
whispering sweet nothings in your bad ear . . .

Or . . . into a cornfield . . .

Greengrocers in a cornfield with a television crew . . .
A mini-series . . . or docudrama . . . or ukulele . . .

A docudrama about a cornfield of ukuleles . . .

Too funny is too funny . . .
Living life at a remove . . .
Too funny . . .
A smartphone . . .
A smartphone with spinning wheels . . .
A smartphone with spinning wheels can turn on you . . .

Living life at a remove from smartphones that can turn on you . . .

Equal equals too funny . . .

You can do this . . . or . . . you can do that . . . is too funny . . .

Trying to hold it together . . .
Trying to let it go . . .
A ukulele player playing Lotto . . .

Trying to live life at a remove while playing Lotto . . .

Trying to do the right thing . . .
Or . . . the wrong thing . . .

Or . . . trying to write a wrong ukulele . . .

Too funny . . .

Tweeting at 11 PM . . .
Ordering takeout on the subway . . .
Ordering takeout on a spinning wheel . . .

Ordering takeout on Wheel of Fortune . . .

Pat Sajak as Stephen Colbert . . .
Too funny . . .
Nothing from nothing is The Twilight Zone . . .

Ordering takeout on a subway . . . in The Twilight Zone . . .

Too funny . . .

Rod Serling as Pat Sajak as Stephen Colbert . . .
as an angry pit bull . . . playing the wrong ukulele . . . at 11 PM . . .
in a cornfield . . . beneath your window . . .
in The Twilight Zone . . .

Too funny can be too funny . . .

Bemoaning a Foothold

You try texting but lose the signal.
This usually happens when words bottleneck
which they so often do
when you're driving too fast.
And then there's the whole warm-up thing:
you know, the windup, the pitch
the corner
the cab to the outer reaches
the Nile rerouted
gondoliers on holiday.
Oblong days saturated with polyrhythms.
Back seat drivers who keep GPSing.
The muses step up to the plate
and paint you into a corner.
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
to sit there, in a corner, bemoaning a foothold.

Sarolta Ban

The Infatuation of Connections

I paint to figure out how it works.
          - Robert Ryman

You fall asleep watching Scenes from a Marriage (for the third time)
and awaken to a brighter palette:

the confluence of material, brushstroke, support, scale
how music can jack up the spirit

the change in your pocket jingling with memories
the exchange of emails shepherding new worlds.

Running on the fumes of texts makes for an exciting journey.
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' Donuts and Starbucks.

They too were familiar with the sketches you shared
and seemed to understand your reasons for trying to get it all down.

Irma Haselberger

Grammarians at the Gate

And I shrugged my shoulders, as people do in novels, but never in real life.
          - Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

There are too many shrugs here with blank stares.
Too many blanks.
Too many open-ends.
Too many starts and near-starts.
Too many speed traps
for time travelers in search of the elements of style.
The word on the street is a memory.
Several are at a loss.
You remember the kiosk as if it were tomorrow
the paths through the dark wood
the pleasantries exchanged
the counterintuitives costumed as consenting adults.
Cases and tenses.
Introductions.
How to begin.
Where to begin.
When to begin.
How to begin again.
How to sit with Mother Tongue.
The event horizon cluttered with discards.
Wasn't it superfluous to connect with so many so soon?
There are rules and regs for that sort of thing.
The Blah Blah Blahs can stymie you
when you least expect it.
Stick around long enough, and your train of thought will derail.
But the instructions said . . . .
The instructions said nothing, yes?

The Eroticism of Trees

You're transcribing the sounds of late summer: the secrets of trees, their openings, their closings. A breeze catches your skirt, and the eye of an event photographer qua accordionist. He morphs into a sapling, his notes fluttering to the ground.

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

New Salinger Bio Ships!

Voices, then the driving around in circles,
and you on the floor - teletubbying - holding onto your braids
for stability, the ferry wobbling across the River Styx.
You thought you could outfox UPS
but the package arrived
(or at least the torn wrappings would seem to indicate).
You spent the next few hours (which seemed like days)
on the couch, ready to beeline.
At the launch, texts bottlenecked.
Doesn't it seem as if these scenes play out again and again?
An HBO miniseries, perhaps?
No need to convalesce.
Click Accept, and with your credentials and EZPass
you'll be able to sail though tollbooths
disregarding the implied rule of dinner party conversations
that stipulates tone over content.

Reshooting the Penultimate Scene

These things are there.
          - Randolph Henry Ash, Possession

And now you're talking about uncharted territory,
how you can't believe how you feel, how you are bound to get hurt.

In the penultimate scene, Maia, surrounded by butterfly bushes,
runs down the hill and lets go of the note. She 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. Room to room.

Why go there?
Think of the momentum of this 18-wheeler when you hit the brakes.

Or how . . .

Or how the music cycled . . .
And the movie . . .
Or how the street disappeared . . . and the people . . . and the sounds . . .
and time . . .
Or how your lips . . .
And your skirt . . .
Or how you said I have to . . .
Or how the waiter knew . . . and the others . . .
Or how you sat back . . .
And your eyes . . . closed . . .
Or how your fingers . . .
Or how your bracelets guided my hands . . .
Or how you sang . . .
And danced . . .
Or how your legs . . . and arms . . . and shoulders . . .
Or how . . .

Instructions for Dancing

I love it, when you sing to me.
          - Peter Gabriel, The Book of Love

The whole thing enigmatic.
You can hardly keep up
with inquiries, so you shift down, and begin recalibrating.
Her shoulders seduce,
their angularities the kind that sell.
Vendors arrive, and fishmongers.
Wine glasses mingle.
Her bracelets speak of other worlds.
And now you're crossing the street,
and she's asking . . . something?
Sit down on this bench, please, take a break, rewind the tape.
Meanwhile, The Life of Pi  in the park.

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

No Filter

          for DD

The sound of her anklet
in the darkness
carries
hundreds of miles.

Run Through

. . . probing what we feel we know for some kind of truth.
          - John Hollander (1929-2013)

The rewrite, darker than riddles, upends you.
Is this how it is?
You return to your room
and the tented books
and your search for a common theme
in last chapters.
The voices continue.
The feeling of motionlessness . . . again.
Did you think the misunderstanding had settled
after that morning in the coffee shop
when she asked about the book?
Turn the page.
Read. Please!
Go through the motions.
The chat was inevitable. Insignificant.
The font size a diversion
resurrected from long ago summer evenings.

Deborah Turbeville

Saturation Row

The slippery slope as uninvited guest:
redeeming coupons at the door, insisting on backordered colors.
You've 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 we needed to know.
And you're wasting time weeding?
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 a summer fly before that thoughtless hand
that continues to put a damper on things.

Deborah Turbeville

Coasting Along in a Clown Car

And so you begin telling a story . . .
a short story . . .
a short story with an unhappy ending . . .
just to show off . . .
just to show that you can . . .
tell a story with an unhappy ending . . .
about the Founding Mothers . . .
and Founding Fathers . . .
who tried to lord it over . . .
riding around town in a clown car . . .
not unlike you . . .
coasting along in a clown car . . .
until the gig backfires . . .
leaving associates picking nits . . .
standing on their heads . .  .
in the rain . . .
picking nits . . .
the water level rising . . . .
On the other hand . . . nothing . . . .
This could be a wake-up call . . .
a wake-up call . . .
at an inopportune time . . .
but then you knew what was coming . . .
you'd read the menu . . .
outside . . . on the door . . .
before you entered the fray . . .
before you entered the restaurant . . .
and now you're being seated . . .
and it's too late to return . . .
the damaged goods . . .
too late . . . to return to . . .
the damaged players . . . .
You've overshot the grace period . . . .
You've overshot the grace . . . period . . . .
You could have at least tried . . .
to repair the plumbing . . .
to repair the roof . . .
to flip the bungalow . . .
to make reservations at a Three-Star . . .
but instead you decided to tell a story . . .
a short story . . .
a short story with an unhappy ending . . .
just to show off . . .
just to show that you could . . .
just to show . . . whatever . . .

but I know you better . . . .

Woman XLII

She says she'll be wearing a tunic.
I think Lawrence of Arabia.

Sustained Effort

Demonstrating the proper form for free weights
on the flimsy scaffold in the winkling of a storm
then the absence
the break in the purpling days and nights
the nights rife with howling
time witnessing the palpability
sauntering through the early morning railroad flat.
Perhaps you are still overwhelmed
despite the smothering insistence of imposters
who keep arguing
You think it; you did it.
One thing leading to another . . . then another . . . then another
the Rothkovian blur between love and hate rubbed raw
the principal inducted into the minority of givers.
How sweet it is?
Your first thoughts? The accoutrements of passion?
All part of the con hung out to dry
within view of the nosebleed section in this miniseries.

Martina Hoogland Ivanow

Coming Full Circle . . . Again

Stuck (in traffic) these however-many years?
Evidently there have been other pilgrims in the breakdown lane
counting grains of sand, the relentlessness of we
driving them through the drive-thru at Dunkin'.

But I need more time to decide.

You're reading from the monitor, yes?
No! No! No! Everything looks good.

Everything is good.

The colors change over time, you know.
You begin taking missteps, thinking adventures,
thinking Now it's time for me!

And maybe it is, but more often not.

The full catastrophe at the door, refusing to buckle down
and repair the roof, micro-managing as if nonchalance.

Tennessee Mountains circa 1800s

Woman XLI

Twining psychological insight
with anthropological acumen
she nails my motives
leaving me curbside catching my breath.

Abbey Lee Kershaw