Screen Dump 141

You worry the ineptitude of surrogate understudies . . .
and have become a quick-study . . .
in the Art of Articulation . . .
friending one-trick ponies . . . and those . . .
decked out in micro-minis . . . with advanced degrees . . .
in wainscoting . . . and winter tire wear . . .
You . . . at the bus stop . . .
in down toolbelt . . . and silver stilettos . . .
haggling . . . with members of the audience . . .
awaiting the free lecture . . .
on the etymology of symbiosis . . .
The weather turning nasty . . .
You decide to specialize . . . in box lunches . . .
for all makes and models . . . of up-and-comers . . .
filling the air with tidbits . . .
pocketing some . . . for a late night snack . . .
with him/her . . .
You've managed to elongate time . . . and wait . . .
for an opening . . .
where you can study first flakes . . . first hand . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 140

Let me put it to you this way . . .
There have been several . . . irksome bastards indeed . . .
who . . . having filed the necessary paperwork . . .
toyed with the idea of playing the role of sandbox . . .
before skeedaddling out of town . . .
A Marshall Dillon lookalike . . .
sidelined by a sidewinder . . .
wanting to know the whereabouts . . .
of the dime-store triplets . . .
who had headlined at the cobbled-together theater-in-the-round . . .
where you . . . always on call . . .
for whatever you are on call for . . .
parroted lines . . . pocketing necktied alter egos . . .
Reminds me of Ebenezer's partner . . .

Adamo de Pax

Screen Dump 139

You have the moves . . . so why the cryptic notes? . . .
Whenever he/she was blocked . . .
Instead of magnification . . . over-analysis and such . . .
But don't we all trod the boards . . . day in and day out? . . .
Formulating hypotheses . . . for the inner fortune teller . . .
masked . . . with satin opera-length gloves . . .
ready to rock and roll . . . after catching some shut-eye? . . .
I wanted to use a stacked deck . . .
The way we played make-believe . . .
your aunt filling us with pie . . . and pontifications . . .
At the swimming hole . . . surrounded by unknown weeping willows . . .
not yet understanding the signs and symbols . . .
Offshore . . . the alligators' red eyes . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

Screen Dump 138

I am awakened by a reenactor . . . tinkering with my thoughts . . .
You as reenactor . . .
The world as reenactment . . .
No longer self-conscious . . .
in the diner . . . the bookstore . . . beyond the stand of pine . . .
Where insects are clicking like crazy . . .
I can't name them . . .
You as tenth classical muse . . .
sucking me in with your unruly ritualism . . . and bedhead antics . . .
I need to grocery-shop . . . but I've forgotten . . .
Farm fresh at the server farm . . . is the only way . . .
Send in the memes . . .
The mechanisms of historical reenactment nudge the funny bone . . .
The artificial theatricality is mad . . .
The enjambments bottleneck . . .
The petitioners in the coffee shop morph into pensioners . . .
auditioning for yet another Night of the Living Dead . . .
You as telletubby teletubbied into the Twilight Zone . . .
A Rod Serling telletubby is asking you questions inside your duffel bag . . .
You engorge yourself on duffel blogs . . . submitted for your approval! . . .
Your potassium level drops . . . to an unhealthy low . . .
You contemplate settling for even less . . . most do, yes? . . .
But then . . . in the nick of time . . .
New morphological evidence appears . . . on your desktop . . .
shepherding your icons into the cloud atlas . . .
Third and fourth cousins thrice removed replace steampunks in the scrum . . .
You as steampunk . . .
And once again before the bell you realize . . . life is hunky-dory . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 137

Wowed by the manhole-man's trifocals . . . one two three . . .
you bail out before getting in . . .
The bread truck . . . at four in the morning . . .
Another in a long line of fellow something-or-others . . .
Minor players in a major role . . . in a minor drama . . .
Life as shtick, yes? . . . Nothing wrong with that . . .
Eye-rolling has been shown to help six out of ten cases
of self-consciousness . . . and objectification . . .
regroup . . . re-costume . . . re-enter . . . reenact . . .
The fray is not what they say . . .
Ubiquitous holiday geegaws . . .
If only for a couple of bucks to inhale
and breathe the night away . . .
I've been having trouble following the instant replays . . .
Please resend the list of character actors . . .
The newspaper headlines jammed down your deep throat . . .
You hold your breath . . . you hold on . . . you are about to dive
at least according to the news anchor
following past online acquaintances . . . and liaisons . . .
(The physician's assistant will see you now!) . . .
Trying to find shelter in the storm
that slammed coastal towns . . . with unheard of references . . .
Just what do you give at the office? . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

Screen Dump 136

Something about the texture of our past lives . . .
The imminent imminent . . . falling like pollen . . .
You review the rewrite . . .
The spoken word . . . going deep . . .
Reconnecting with players from archival footage . . .
A comfort zone . . . at first . . .
At one time following-through made sense . . .
But now . . . entrapped in provocation . . .
you're lost . . . and not sure why . . .
Your re-entry into the dream makes sense . . .
if only for the therapeutic touch of others . . .
close . . . and not so close . . .
Calling for reservations . . .
you recognize the voice . . . from everywhere . . .

Adrian Blachut

Screen Dump 135

You as goth at 7-Eleven . . . no lines to memorize . . . all gesture . . .
and angularity . . . tangled in your wiles . . .
The User Manual's 18-minute gap . . .
wreaking havoc among the locals . . .
who lapse into a false pretense . . . at every convenience store . . .
Bored with board games with bar flies . . .
You announce check . . . with the enthusiasm of an afterthought . . .
The room is wired . . . you have no idea . . .
You were warned not to make a scene . . .
A megabyte of bluffing tumbles out of the back room . . .
Everyone pretends to be interested . . .
Why? . . . I haven't the foggiest . . .
You do remember him, yes? . . . and your run as resident stalker? . . .
His laugh and smell fueling your incidence . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

Screen Dump 134

I've lost my notes . . . the count . . . the sound . . .
I'm not so sure anymore that retrieval is a lucrative venture . . .
Surely you can make do with fewer crayons . . .
At least in my neck of the woods . . .
You know what they say . . .
Incidentally, the sidewalks have been rolled out . . .
for the brouhaha . . .
Everyone - well most everyone - will be partying on . . .
I hope there's a headcount . . .
It's always easier to pick up where you left off . . .
I've heard you've been sparring with Send in the Clowns . . .
when you should be concentrating on walking an imaginary line . . .
Don't get carried away by the lyrics . . .
You have all the necessary accoutrements . . .
the lucky trees, the rapidograph, etc. . . .
And now we . . . in the Cold Lands . . . are preparing ourselves . . .
Stockpiling rubber bands . . . yeah, there you go! . . .

Anka Zhuravleva

Screen Dump 133

If you didn't have so many overdue library books on your plate . . .
you'd be better able to face the day . . .
I have a solution! . . .
Introspection is offering buybacks . . .
You've heard, right? . . .
If you wait it out . . . you'll be able to walk in . . . head held high . . .
It's not just architectural mockups, either . . .
You feel uncomfortable . . . perfectly understandable . . .
If I had to wear that Halloween costume, I'd deep-six my journal entries . . .
Who's to know, anyway? . . .
Besides, who cares? . . .
We all have skeletons . . . in our bathtubs . . .
Remember that scene in Psycho, with Anthony Perkins eating a sandwich? . . .
And Hitch outside . . . in profile . . . having a smoke? . . .

Psycho (1960)

Screen Dump 132

Position the player . . . and begin jealousy . . .
Move to the other side of the room . . .
Position yourself . . .
You will be wordless . . .
Watching him/her . . . from the other side of the room . . .
Angle yourself to see yourself in the mirror . . .
Begin doing whatever you have to do . . .
Which of the seven levels? . . .
Do not break your concentration . . .
Watching him/her with him/her . . .
The momentary loss . . .
Leaving . . . with an article of his/her clothing . . .

Lena Olin in The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1988)

Screen Dump 131

Losing track of fiendish departures . . .
You dole out emoticons . . . to the freshly laundered . . .
sampling the sake and sushi . . .
the dining room reeking restoration hardware . . .
You are yellow carded . . .
Fast forward the backups . . .
I want to review the anonymous donors . . .
In black and white . . . it's less distracting . . .
I was foolish to argue the point . . .
Threatening true happiness with a new coat of paint . . .
Some periwinkle mixed in to soften the tone . . .
Easing the players into position . . .
Feeding them arugula . . . and lines . . .
Then moving into the final scene . . .
The one that shatters the glass ceiling . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 130

You learn dance steps . . . and are told you are good . . .
Watching the stillness with the intensity of being out of step . . .
Zeno's arrow never arriving at its target . . .
Your life as instances of stillness . . .
You cannot delete an instant . . .
Ashbery says time is not linear but concentric . . .
The players . . . in sepia . . . viewed as concentric circles . . .
Some take you to ice cream parlors . . . treat you to sundaes . . .
Others squeeze you into costumes . . .
Still others stare blankly . . . shifting in your words . . .
Always on the brink . . . of involvement . . .
Testing the questions . . .
Applying preservative . . . pre-Facebook albums . . .
You worry the fine print . . . the writing on the wall . . .
but go along for the ride . . . for years . . .
Then the hiatus . . .
The traffic signal malfunctioning . . .
You . . . speeding through the intersection . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 129

Last night, while I lay thinking here
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear. . . .
          - Shel Silverstein, Whatif

You do too! . . . the words - with hair toss - starboard . . .
The player gearing up for the comeback . . .
Start the countdown . . .
Handing in a stack of keypunched Hollerith cards . . .
Waiting for the printout . . .
Plotting the Cartesian coordinates of sexual odysseys? . . .
A scatterplot of encounters? . . .
Developing a mathematical model to fit the data? . . .
y axis = attraction . . . x axis = enjoyment . . .
Parsing enjoyment we find . . . crouching in the corner . . .
excitement and intensity . . .
The higher the attraction the greater the enjoyment . . .
One would think, yes? . . .
Wait! . . . What if they're shooting blanks? . . .
Intervening variable? . . .
Later, you know, the on the shoulders of giants kind of thing . . .
The regression line of best fit . . .
For the best fit . . .
So size matters, yes? . . .
You're kidding, right? . . .
OK, let's test it . . .
But correlation isn't causation! . . .
Please find a tree for me to hide behind . . .
I need a reason for my transgressions! . . .
Well, maybe I don't! . . .
The lost wax process . . . can we use that? . . .
You know . . . fitting the mold . . . so to speak . . .
Sucking them in . . . keeping them guessing . .
What's going to happen? . . . Will I score? . . .
Who's in charge here, anyway? . . .
I am . . . You know . . . like René:
I think (I am in charge) . . . therefore I am (in charge)! . . .

Screen Dump 128

You're having trouble deciphering your scribbles . . .
(this has been happening a lot lately) . . .
and you're being creeped-out by this Billy Joel lookalike . . .
stalking the perimeter of your dreamscape . . .
You're thinking about taking a ballet class . . .
eye on the clock . . .
but worry HIRD (Hip Internal Rotation Deficit) . . .
It's one of those things . . .
like losing your grip . . .
the world becoming dense prose . .
the edges of conversations blurring . . .
the belated departures . . .
the nonexistent always butting in . . .
friendships losing their luster through overhandling . . .
So what about the ceaseless passage of time? . . .
Any consolation there? . . .
Just asking . . .
Were you in the ark with the rest of the lottery winners? . . .
The nuts-and-bolts of walking around the block . . .
Taking in the flowers and condiments . . .
the rhythms of generations . . .
and the secondary nature of wrenching yourself from unwanted others? . . .

NYC Ballet's Wendy Whelan

Screen Dump 127

The good-enoughs were good enough . . . buffed biceps and thighs . . .
Lisped words . . . a turn-on . . .
Playing catch-up to your long-stemmed black lycras . . .
scissoring the elliptical . . .
May I quote your treadmill? . . .
Eyes lock on a different shore . . .
A shore littered with brittle backyards . . .
and Facebook friends . . .
unlined . . . untouched . . . unknowing . . .
Escape routes pumped and GPS'd . . .
A leaf-peeper (by happenstance) . . .
always in the director's chair . . . the driver's seat . . .
the O Captain! My Captain! . . . of the Remote . . .
guided by lyrical insertion . . . narrative jostling . . .
and Mr. Jack Daniel's . . .
high-brow . . . low-brow . . . uni-brow . . .
The emptiness . . . filled with Red Bull . . . and alien others . . .

Charlotte Gainsbourg

Screen Dump 126

You floss judiciously . . . worry unwritten reams . . .
his/her intentions . . .
bulky sarchophagi of approach-avoidance . . .
unresolved past (im)perfect hookups . . . disconnects . . .
the neon stupidity of texts . . .
and the whole Tire Warehouse thing . . .
Where the fuck is UNSEND? . . .
Your pontoon takes on water . . .
There will never be a better time . . .
OCD muscling in:
First you say you do and then you don't . . .
Voices fade . . .
And now this residual avatar . . .
standing next to you in the checkout line . . .
hitting on you . . .
It's a supermarket moment . . . a hit-and-run supermarket moment . . .

Aneta Ivanova

Screen Dump 125

You have mastered the pronunciation of oui . . .
and use it with your shell game . . .
to entice those who have declined residential treatment . . .
The eroticism of suppressed meaning is alive and well . . .
and has mapped your promiscuous bandwidth . . .
on vacation (again) at the shore . . .
You need more . . .
An enigma that will soon fall out of fashion . . .
releasing last-minute tweaks . . . complete with stilettos . . .
An easy mark . . . is headed your way . . .
Of course, the shell game . . .

Herb Ritts

Screen Dump 124

And what excuse might that be? . . .
Lollygagging about . . . tardiness as a come-on . . .
then truth or dare by the pumps . . . on camera . . .
I can only say so much . . .
You have pushed the envelope . . . ooh la la . . .
And now more is a sepia print . . .
with players arranged in quilted silence . . .
I know you love this kind of thing . . .
Especially when this kind of thing involves costumes . . .
and missing pieces . . .
and the chance to play another's role . . .

Gabriele Rigon

Screen Dump 123

The wind no longer billowed in her garments.
          - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

The attraction replaced by ennui . . .
This of course Proust's narrator . . .
Begin your analysis of Albertine with possession equals erasure . . .
Follow it through flashbacks to a short story . . .
then to yesterday . . .
Pout eclipsed by exoticism . . .
The scene opens with the fourth of seven levels . . .
At a table . . . in a restaurant . . .
I'm all ears! . . .
I retreat to the script . . . but the evidence is foreplay . . .
Stage left with shadows of your former self . . .
in the passing lane on the Bayonne Bridge . . .
along one-way streets . . . with no looking back . . .
Is the interest more than casual? . . .
This is puppetry . . . of the highest order, yes? . . .
Again, the ceiling tiles . . .
But I always made sure I'd enjoy it! . . .
You have come this far? . . .
We can crack this case . . . with further therapy . . .
Crack this case? . . .
Did I say that? . . .
I will consult with the flowers in the vase . . .
Oh, yeah! . . .
Your insistence . . . captivating . . .
Again you will be paid for crossing the line . . .
But first the risotto . . .
on the plate . . . in the restaurant . . .
in the Styrofoam takeaway box . . .
Searching for lost what? . . .
How would you even know? . . .
Your marmishness cover held . . . despite the spandex . . .
at the throwback party of the first part . . .
Entering a makeshift room . . . garments billowing . . .
Bangles (with mantra) leading the way . . . for your erotic other . . .

Screen Dump 122

Who are we, if not . . . an inventory of objects.
          - Italo Calvino

The high rent aisles in the supermarket . . . abuzz with coupons . . .
and other short-term investment loopholes . . .
The he saids and the she saids streaming along Netflix . . .
going at it tooth and nail . . .
with nary a shopping cart between them . . .
comparing metrics . . .
for love and hate . . . love and sex . . . sex and hate . . .
May I say you look absolutely redemptive in that getup . . .
I’ll bet it cost an arm and a leg . . .
You have lubricated the valve trombone's splutterings . . .
and examined - up close and personal - the cash-flow(charts) . . .
You are well on your way to Utopia . . .
despite your fascination with cheat sheets . . . and washed-up unicorns . . .
Of course, there's just so much you can absorb . . .
as the drama continues to unfold . . .
in the small upstate New York hamlet of your choice . . .
So too you . . .

David Leslie Anthony

Screen Dump 121

You played dress-up with expensive lipstick at the Acropolis . . .
Pocketing stones from here and there . . .
Climbing the steep stairs to the upper room . . .
where they had reputedly gathered . . .
Thirteen portraits of doormats . . .
Is it a doormat or a painting of a doormat? . . .
You grew tired of playing a doormat . . .
And smeared lipstick - à la Heath Ledger - to make yourself unfathomable . . .
From moment to moment . . . to evidentiary moment . . .
The steep stairs to the next of seven levels . . .
Preparing for the audition . . . assuming a wilted position . . .
Your livingness eclipsing the precariousness of happiness . . .
I needed to go to CVS to pick up a prescription . . .
The parking lot at the Acropolis was full . . . I was turned away . . .
The nightmare gaining momentum . . .
Stopped and strip searched for stones . . . at McDonald's . . .
Smearing lipstick on Ronald's autographed portrait . . .
I'm not the only one here not making any sense . . .
You too have seen it in the cards she laid out . . .
with the precision of a diamond cutter . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 120

The street of mannequins . . . awaits your induction . . .
a Chaos Theory of ho-hums . . .
false starts . . . blind alleys . . .
Players . . . within players . . . within players . . .
have paid their dues . . .
for a peek . . . at you . . . Cinderella of the New . . .
years of abstinence . . . facials . . .
the eroticism of obscure symmetry . . .
Your glass slipper . . . on camera . . . bagged as evidence . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 119

The laundry has moved out-of-state . . .
leaving you with unanswered emails . . . and impossible dreams . . .
Insinuations aside, there will be crossings . . .
and crossovers . . . and crosstrainers . . .
and crossdressers . . .
Yesterday wants to return . . .
and you agree . . . in principle . . .
Your hand was played out in the chorus line at the bar . . .
Your lips - full and optimistic - were synced . . .
with the inoffensive tap selections . . .
and low-cal menu . . .
Your voice has suggested a boxed set of anachronisms . . .
to go with your neon pink lycra shorts and tank top . . .
Do you still love what you loved? . . .
Do you still stalk the fast forward? . . .
If you were to again read these lines . . .
would you be able to disregard the blank pages . . .
the blank stares? . . .
Why do you insist on parsing recycled sentences . . .
when the moments are few . . .
and the stargazers have zipped up their hoodies . . .
for an overnight . . .
an overnight filled with the sadness of gramophones . . .
and the folding/unfolding of the ocean? . . .

Paolo Roversi

Woman XLV

A tit for a tat . . . imagine that
purred the cat . . . listening to Bird
parse Ornithology.

Peter Yang

Screen Dump 118

Why do you . . . jingle your bracelets in mere idle sport?
          - Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener

Peterpanitis . . . in a path-oh-logical game . . . of give and take . . .
a game . . . of thrones . . .
Demanding . . . with pout . . . that he/she play a role . . .
in the latest installment . . .
the latest catch-as-catch-can . . .
with you again as always on top . . . in control . . .
Why should "they" have all the fun? . . .
Balking . . . becoming discombobulated . . .
becoming obsessed with the riddle of opposites . . .
with the out-of-sorts attractions . . .
with the mirror image of requests . . .
tagged in Facebook's trailer park . . .
Is this why the past is still here? . . .
Why they couldn't put Humpty together again? . . .
Something about being frozen . . . in time? . . .
in chain mail? . . .
The emptiness of the final analysis . . .
You expose more than your hand . . .
then tally onlookers . . .
counting birthstones sparkling in the afterglow of your wake . . .
as unconvincing as . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 117

Words are few.
          - Samuel Beckett, A Piece of Monologue

I underline your words . . . capture in charcoal your undulations . . .
Following the path you mapped . . . for others . . .
Blindfolded . . . on horseback . . .
You draw lost causes . . . and lamentations . . . as if nothing . . .
Your bankrupt cereal bowl . . . (pause) . . .
Think of the times . . . (faces turn down) . . .
Seductrix of organ donors . . . unending specimens . . .
For next to nothing . . . even though a county fair . . .
The Aesthetics of Japanese Design . . .
Folding back the corner of the page . . .
Now look at what you've done! . . .
Passing you on the way to the subway . . .
Bags of groceries chatting up jaw lines and other such irreconcilables . . .
Meeting for a bite . . . the spiraling down . . .
Tailspinning with cadavers, yes? . . . Ours so meager . . . yet . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 116

Who in her long melancholy search for her missing children
found . . . another orphan.
          - Herman Melville, Moby Dick

You tag lines from Tracy Chapman's Fast Car . . . for redirects . . .
Your memory not jogged by words . . .
Your midnight rides . . . insufficient . . .
A time and a place . . . for everything, yes? . . .
For us? . . .
You've been known to bend . . .
to accommodate . . . loose canons . . .
and rainy days and Mondays . . .
A role reprised for playback . . .
The forecast old . . . little to prattle on about . . .
excepting the exodus of sunbirds . . .
Road crew bosses hunched over indecipherables . . .
Unwelcomes arrive . . .
You decide to engage a psychic . . .
and will remain, as always, with a houseful . . . of overturned books . . .
and optimistic orphans . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 115

You pace yourself with mediocre red wine . . .
preparing for a trip to Pier 1 . . .
rattan and bamboo having kept you up all night . . .
A Wittgenstein lookalike passes . . . at a loss for words . . .
He waits tables . . . weather permitting . . .
and is the neighborhood Trivial Pursuit Champ . . .
Like Bill Cosby, his real life is more complicated . . .
One day you will forget who you are . . .
Your shoes will switch feet . . .
Your earlobes will droop . . .
You will have become your costume . . .
your reputation discolored by one too many two-night stands . . .
Little matter, I will continue to kick your butt in chess . . .
and serve you bowls of my too-hot soup . . .
and read aloud to you my ho-hum poems . . .
and carry you . . . in the fall . . . to the river . . .
so you can see the Canada geese flying home . . .

Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

Screen Dump 114

You count out ten paces . . .
You will continue to revisit this . . . in costume . . .
demanding a refund . . . and the capture of irrelevancies . . .
McDonald's wrappers soaking the passenger seat . . .
Your mental acumen . . . naked in the bedroom . . .
answers 20 questions . . .
The eyes in the window . . .
Crowing at dawn . . . Imagine the buzz! . . .
You have rubbed the relationship raw . . . the reality balderdash . . .
A fool channel surfing as an excuse . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 113

Speaking in tongues to besotted dust bunnies . . .
Cutie and the Boxer . . .
Chaucerian . . . with sprinkles . . .
taking you back . . . to the corner eye-candy store . . .
where nightly you'd buy into the theory . . .
of come what may . . .
and risk becoming your costume . . .
nostrils engorged with Cuneiform Days . . .
your version of Blake's unexpurgated
Songs of Innocence . . .
Wild nights should have been your luxury . . .
your legacy . . .
but you were misrepresented . . .
in letters of introduction . . .
wind chimes closeting your empty promises . . .
delivery vans warming up . . .
You expected more . . . we all did . . .
but were left at the crossroads . . . in that movie . . .
most have forgotten . . .

Screen Dump 112

But then the loose ends . . . you know? . . .
with what's his/her name threatening to push the envelope . . .
Your autobiography . . . unplugged . . . off limits . . .
to the general public . . .
and the inscrutability . . . a turn on . . .
maybe even more so . . . for you . . .
It's one thing to say you'll follow through . . .
The audience on the edge of their seats . . .
Of course there will be googling . . .
And you . . . for affect was it? . . . mumbling hints . . .
as only you . . . the quintessential tease . . .
with a twist of lime . . . could . . .
finessing the move as you mirrored yourself . . .
Fragments of ancient statuary . . . cluttering your mind’s walk-up . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 111

A smattering of inconsistencies . . . your hands are not yours . . .
At twelve, you were fingered . . . for something . . .
I'll be right back . . . I need to check the playbook . . .
The solitary cyclist from the sideshow . . .
followed by herds of doubters . . . dressed to kill . . .
You've been identified as a player-at-large . . .
Here's the part where he/she asks a question . . .
The takeaway is anything you desire . . .
It's a type of sleight-of-hand . . . the type we all fall for . . .
The playlist jams . . . the silence dumbfounding . . .
Filling the gaps . . . haphazardly . . . is a cheap shot . . .
You inhale the room . . .
Unbeknownst to the rest of the cast . . .
Who have left the scene (of the crime) . . . in a New York minute . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 110

Lip-sync acts of contrition . . . Sus palabras son mis palabras, yes? . . .
with attitude . . . and opulently attractive subscriber . . .
Practice the left hand first . . . over and over . . .
Over and under . . . the giveaway . . .
The relief . . . neither contented nor plangent . . .
I can see forever! . . .
Continue, please . . . into the next scene . . .
Stem the fat tide of amateurish, insensitive nightmares . . .
As opined by the jilted late night visitor . . . circumnavigating your bed . . .
notebook in hand . . .
Tell me how to lose myself! . . .
Demijohns and pottery bottles . . . notwithstanding . . .
filled with silvery dried honesty . . . and limited repeats . . .

David Leslie Anthony

Screen Dump 109

All the strangers came today . . .
          - David Bowie, Oh, You Pretty Things! (1972)

Hickory Dickory disappeared . . . into a maelstrom of iPhones . . .
And opened with an (under)cover band in Erie, Oklahoma . . .
This is not America! . . .
so you start the day . . . as a whirling dervish . . .
with a promise to be all you can be . . .
Spotted deer join you . . . for a rehearsal at an archaeological dig . . .
It's all very innocent, yes? . . .
Especially the painted pines . . . and the puzzled man . . .
in the corner of the room . . . questioning your motives . . .
You have five minutes . . . six, maybe . . .
You step on the gas . . . and speed away . . .
Between the first and second stanza, you glance at the side camera . . .
This scene will be re-shot . . . n number of times . . .

David Leslie Anthony

Screen Dump 108

And what are you?
          - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Is the answer in the laminated hardcovers in the library? . . .
Or with the dust bunnies under the couch?
Are you the eggman? . . .
Haven't you forgotten something? . . .
Why bother? . . .
Have you turned the page? . . .
Or a new leaf? . . .
Do you ever drive around aimlessly? . . .
Or find yourself elsewhere? . . .
Are you in the moment? . . .
Where were you on the evening of the 27th? . . .
Are all your ducks in a row? . . .
Were you able to get a word in edgewise? . . .
What about the tandem? . . .
And the line drawn in the sand? . . .
Do you have a moment to spare? . . .
Or the time? . . .
Would you like to begin again? . . .
Or start over? . . .
Is this a photo op? . . .
Have you ever tried to make do? . . .
Or repainted a room? . . .
Or done the wrong thing? . . .
Or regretted the color of your hair? . . .
Or done enough? . . .
If not then what? . . .
Do you fear being called up? . . .
Or called back? . . .
Where's the finish line? . . .
Is this a good idea? . . .
When was the last time you sang out of tune? . . .
When was the last time you stood up and walked out? . . .
Do you believe in love? . . .
Do you believe in love at first sight? . . .
Do you believe in magic? . . .
Have you ever been left behind? . . .
Or left out? . . .
Or left of center? . . .
Do you like to pick and choose? . . .
Does the end of summer come with a renewal? . . .
Have you ever been caught in a meteor shower? . . .
Or accused of insignificance? . . .
Or shortsightedness? . . .
Is wallowing in pity in your future? . . .
Can you see through bullshit? . . .
Do you listen to mourning doves? . . .
Do you tingle when trees bend? . . .
Is your lexicon up to snuff? . . .
Can you repopulate the stars? . . .
Do you enjoy the sun? . . .
Were you ever a feature? . . .
Have you ever found tears on your pillow? . . .
What about coins in the fountain?
Have you ever put it in reverse? . . .
And claimed otherwise? . . .
Or pleaded ignorance? . . .
Is life passing you by? . . .
Has it passed you by? . . .
Have you been passed over? . . .
Has the past passed? . . .
Do you pine for the passing lane? . . .
Is there no turning back? . . .
Or you-turning? . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 107

You go back . . . and search for lines you know are there . . .
The streets costumed . . . beyond the pale . . .
Taillights of big rigs hum songs your mother sang . . .
Why now . . . when you can see three moves ahead? . . .
The color of checkmate . . . filed under . . . Wait, and see . . .
Trying too hard to think through summer, yes? . . .
The reasons for your enjambment . . . your entrancement . . .
your entrapment . . .
Your eyes as sandwich boards . . .
dancing in the street . . . with whomever . . .
studying the trailer for Coming Attractions . . .
restarting . . . after years of shutdown . . .
Heads up to your father flipping burgers . . . in a backyard of friends . . .
No serious entanglements . . .
From here we can follow bread crumbs . . . back to the way we were . . .

David Leslie Anthony

Screen Dump 106

You fiddle with contextual cues . . . and chunks of raw idiom . . .
Coming up with a surface that's supposed to evoke real life . . .
Methinks you're walking on eggshells . . .
And the conversations - the arguments - we have . . . with ourselves . . .
Testing the waters . . . as traffic speeds past . . . faster then faster still . . .
Orchestrating the fit . . . even on the bleakest days . . .
There's so much more . . . OK, in a weird way . . . but so what? . . .
Asking yourself Who wrote that? . . .
Rereading past exchanges . . . trying to figure out where your head was at . . .
These flip decisions laid the groundwork . . . for you . . . now . . .
Recanting posts? . . . But of course! . . .
Busying yourself with channel surfing? . . .
To say nothing of confusion's seductive fun? . . .
Past players insinuate themselves . . . the heretical nature thereof . . .
You likely thought you could pass muster as one of many . . .
Whatever you say, boss, yes? . . .
Shifting into high gear . . . trolling night stalkers . . .
But what of the provenance of your latest acquisition? . . .
The one you saved your hard-earned pennies for . . . and won on eBay? . . .
Please don't trot out the Bucket List . . . this early in the quarter . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 105

. . . but it's much more.
          - Patti Smith, Dream of Rimbaud

You have become inevitable . . . inviolable . . . transformed . . .
Offhand remarks about spiritual accidents . . .
Open your books to the gazpacho recipe on page 396 . . .
Headstone rubbings . . . at the feet of Percy Shelley . . .
With Gregory Corso, yes! . . .
Illuminations! . . . of course! . . . pellucid . . . strange . . .
On to the lost voyage in Java . . .
It was a very good year! . . .
Comparing notes . . . if only . . .
I wanted to insert an etching . . . she said . . .
and continued taking pictures . . .
of Coney Island rekindled . . . with blinders . . . can you imagine? . . .
You meet for coffee . . . chat old times . . .
populated by players from shipless waves . . .
expect more . . .
Remove the scaffolding . . . jump in . . .
There are only so many hours . . .
Standing on the corner . . . watching all the girls go by . . .
The Mesozoic Era saw the spread of true conifers . . .

Katerina Dmitrieva

Screen Dump 104

Alterations aside, the ambiance begs furniture music . . .
The idea here is to replay the hand . . .
return to the scene, the line, the moment . . .
rearrange the room . . .
ride out claustrophobia . . . slouching towards foreclosure . . .
wannabes in hot pursuit . . .
Incidentally, the place settings are chomping at the bit . . .
Ring up the neighborhood grammarian . . .
For reassurance, yes? . . .
Did you expect less? . . .
OK, it's not a bona fide trip to Bountiful . . .
but pretty close . . .
Besides, you have relegated yourself . . .
to the path of least resistance . . .
and now lost souls . . . are lining up . . . for direction . . .
and free grub . . .

Steven Meisel

Screen Dump 103

Recalcitrant memories flood the boardwalk . . .
You opt for a facelift . . .
channeling Charles The Hammer Martel at the Battle of Tours . . .
Don't forget the Cuisinart . . . he said reportedly . . .
And that has made all the difference . . .
The whole food stamp thing . . .
You could have at least prepped me for the EBT . . .
I spilled my guts to the court jester . . .
A mannequin born out of wedlock living on food stamps in an old shoe . . .
Just when it was all about to come together . . . it didn't . . .
These things happen . . . I was told . . . in fourth grade . . .
Reach out and touch someone . . . and make nice . . .
Does good grammar really matter? . . . I mean really matter? . . .
Mind over matter matters little, she said . . .
Then pulled the ripcord for the bigger picture . . .
I was inside-out and upside-down through most of it . . .

Jennifer B. Thoreson

Screen Dump 102

You are a coming attraction . . . hoping for a roundabout . . .
planning your (weekend) getaway . . .
We were into cops and robbers . . . filling gaps in our education . . .
with cans of Reddi-wip . . .
Your trio sang ditties from the Great American Songbook . . .
I made my way through the throng . . .
and around 25 or 6 to 4 . . .
I was lucky enough to score an Eskimo Bar open 24/7 . . .
I believed in you up to the last umlaut . . .
then pride floored it . . . and sped away with nary a nanosecond to spare . . .
You majored in internal affairs . . .
kissing thunderstorms in lingerie ads . . .
tracking forgotten boxcars in sidings . . .
while threatening upheavals in coping mechanisms . . .
International trysts left you speechless at deli counters . . .
You had trouble with branding . . .
No big deal, maestro! . . .
There's a time and place for such levity . . . I'm told . . .

Jennifer B. Thoreson

Screen Dump 101

Your pics of random lives . . . were scanned . . . and planted . . .
in the garden of earthy delights . . .
The fornicators at the gates . . . were ticketed . . .
for presumption . . . for irreverence . . . for smoking in a smoke-free zone . . .
You became a stop sign . . . then a traffic signal . . .
You were written up and out of the series . . .
It was a time of rewrites . . . and inadvertent cups of black coffee . . .
Illegibility was offered . . . in good faith . . .
Rutherford, New Jersey took its toll . . .
Your next portfolio will feature a full-speed-ahead full-bodied conceit . . .
filled with ooh la la's . . . and unlimited seconds . . .

Jennifer B. Thoreson

Screen Dump 100

You pluck days from oblivion . . . some maddeningly repetitive . . .
memorializing them . . . as space . . . full of time . . .
The canvas's thick stretchers . . . tombstone-like . . .
In the painting's silence . . . the noisy tumult of history . . .
Reflecting the language and grammar . . . of cardboard communities . . .
You insist on arm-wrestling with dumb reality . . .
ticking off insignificant others . . . who played a role . . .
in your counter-intelligence phase . . .
The clock sweating the hours . . . jarring yet welcoming . . .
A portal . . . into the moment . . . escaping as a fraying automaton . . .

Daria Werbowy

Screen Dump 99

You begin to tire of the School of General Studies . . .
Read . . . Fill your head . . . Write . . . Rewrite . . .
An amalgam of personas . . .
Frightfully accommodating . . .
As if on a stifling mid-August afternoon . . .
A window onto a palazzo . . . clogged with mannequins . . .
waiting for Q&As . . .
Later, a cache of memories dumps . . .
The next will be 10 furlongs . . . in brightly-colored silks . . .
Have you placed your bet? . . .
You know what the bookmakers are saying . . .
Take in the latest exhibit . . .
The facades . . . in abundance . . . people-watching . . .
Carl (Jung) would be tickled . . .
You can always tap (or lap) dance . . . to engage passersby . . .
Some have grown old . . . unrecognizable . . .
The Lexicon of the Ancients . . . and then some . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 98

Your memoir . . . stalks me . . . disrupts REM sleep . . .
Going on and on . . . and on . . .
Scaffolding giving way . . .
Exposing the true north of your words . . .
Why smooth out the edges? . . .
They were part of it, yes? . . .
The tranquil dance of images . . . paid your way . . .
The trombonist in the wings . . . keys them in . . . resurrects them . . .
refuses the chart . . .
You as hooker . . . in purple pumps . . . replaying the scene. . .
Why the reference to Holden? . . .

Ondria Hardin

Screen Dump 97

The street noise . . . like starched centipedes . . .
Legs! . . . Legs! . . . Legs! . . .
Wait . . . then wait again . . . haunted by the strange . . .
You bleach yourself on the ground floor . . .
Enter the infinite loop of a roundabout . . .
Editing as you go . . . a former doll factory looms . . .
Auditioning torsos . . .
If the shoe fits, yes? . . .
There will be moments . . . with the opening bars of Night Train . . .
No one is running out to sign the next betrayal . . .
As much as you would like to think . . .
about weekend getaways . . .
Perhaps your prayers (?) are making a dent . . .

Paolo Roversi

Screen Dump 96

Skywriting with hammertoes . . . into the wee-wee hours . . .
Committing hara-kiri . . . to memory . . .
The stew . . . burning a hole . . . in your Face(book) . . .
Blackened rubble adding panache . . .
to the neighborhood . . .
choked with overnight bags, lycras, energy drinks . . .
What better way to spend a day . . . sexting inked gym rats? . . .
A pick-up game of Pick-Up Sticks mystifies some . . .
excepting those negotiating to deprive you . . . of your past . . .
with its incessant meandering . . . and Last Tango . . .

Tim Walker

Screen Dump 95

You're writing a fictional memoir . . . about yourself . . .
Rigorously honest traffic in the street below . . . wants in . . .
There are enough characters for everyone . . .
And they know who they are . . .
floating along on your stream of consciousness . . .
playing tag team hide-and-seek . . .
You begin misquoting yourself . . . a game of mirrors . . .
and discover elements of style . . .
earmarked for bronzing . . .
The excitement of the scrum carries you back to the old neighborhood . . .
Philip Seymour Hoffman's Synecdoche . . .
the soundstage a drug deal gone south . . .
A humorless pharmacist - a woman - will be implicated . . .
Her pink sundress texts passersby . . .
who couldn't care less about the outcome of this poem . . .

Tim Walker

69 Lines Randomly Selected from the 1,822 Lines in the 128 Poems
Composed in my 69th Year Using the Random Integer Generator at
random.org on my 69th Birthday over 3000 Miles from Tintern Abbey

. . . thy wild eyes these gleams of past existence.
          - William Wordsworth, Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey

The brush loaded with the hidden rooms . . .
An angry pit bull playing a ukulele . . . beneath your window . . .
I'm about to implode . . . from your latest fashion foray! . . .
Whispering sweet nothings in your bad ear . . .
The word on the street is a memory . . .
in Heti's How Should a Person Be? . . .
Your house slowly slipping away . . .
Or the thought of you . . . in red? . . .
As if it could dance with a throat-singer . . .
Costumed for easy access . . .
Next time . . . follow the script . . . to the letter, as it were . . .
Teeming with comebacks . . . however tardy? . . .
costumed . . . with baguette . . . and vino . . .
What better cinema than the conjugation of opposites? . . .
Pumping iron . . . with fast foodies . . .
The graininess . . . the stolen glances . . .
eager to test their insanity . . .
for those without a voice . . .
Your refrigerator hit the road . . . weeks ago . . .
A Glass cover by Nico Muhly . . .
Buying into the quintessential mismatch . . .
And you return to your former self . . . backing in through the door . . .
Making a fool of yourself . . . again? . . .
Too funny . . .
Toy Story 5? . . .
Becoming unhinged . . . swinging back and forth . . . back and forth . . .
Diagramming sentences . . . guilty of youth . . .
Drawing a business card . . . from the middle of the deck . . .
to avoid the bottleneck at the bridge . . .
He's livid! . . .
at an inopportune time . . .
At least in your electra glide in blue eyes . . .
The building codes are like Mary Magdalene . . .
in the SROs of your childhood composition books . . .
and into the next phase of your intrepid indelible life . . .
Why bother hitching a ride back home? . . .
A seapia dreamscape . . .
Segue to the interview . . . of you . . . by you . . .
on your propensity for clipping coupons . . .
The muses step up to the plate . . .
Items bought online perfunctorily . . .
The Second Unit Director's comic book appeal . . . heating up . . .
The instructions said nothing, yes? . . .
Letting your hair down as an antidote for befuddlement . . .
Just play along, yes? . . .
for custom turntables . . . and such . . .
Or how your lips . . .
Insinuating themselves into your life . . .
name-tagged and color-coded . . .
and other merit badge arraignments . . .
paying the Joker . . . for box-lunch time-outs . . .
can and will be used against you . . .
their angularities the kind that sell . . .
You were always good . . .
You know the feeling . . .
You seem to have seen past the obvious . . .
Or the passage of time? . . .
(Wouldn't want to leave them out, now would we?) . . .
of touching base . . .
influencing the grid . . .
Next to impossible? . . . Not! . . .
The closed-circuit TVs of the 50s spoke nonsense . . .
Why pump brown-baggers with your sing-song voiceovers? . . .
Emails edge into the rangefinder . . .
into a story of recovery . . .
appropriated when no one was looking . . . from the local library à gogo . . .
The rewrite, darker than riddles, upends you . . .
of earmarked loners . . .
I feel compelled to keep reading . . . from here . . .

Tintern Abbey

Screen Dump 94

We all have moments of eighth-grade-slow-dance-stiffness . . .
The tram . . . in a lucrative dreamscape . . .
Here but not here, yes? . . .
Tap dancing in and around words . . .
The players . . . and their steps . . . receding . . .
A Motel 6 accepts applications . . . for the post position . . .
Trying to recapture something lost . . . on the page, the screen, the canvas . . .
Something lost . . . somewhere . . .
And you . . . hammering, drilling, patching . . .
One gets exhausted with repairs . . . begins to dismantle the illusion . . .

Sarah Moon