SIX

she did not pause
nor stand still.

she remained in constant motion
to make sure precise memories would not fall onto her.

Five

wonderment 

about what it would be like
to hear and feel your own

...///\\\...---___---...///\\\...
shapelessness

Four

what would you call

a hiker 

who did not go all the way thru.

cul de sac / dead end hiker?

Three

i am forward folding on my desk chair
bending at the hips to look
down at my toes
one is clothed
in a two-toned brown sock
and one is naked, nude
down to the bone.

Two

the way the sky looks at certain moments
during earlyish afternoons in late winter
makes me wish I could push through the glass
of my bedroom's window
and fly, floating. I would hover peacefully above the
already dingy accumulations of precipitation.

One

the water rose,
so did the caskets.
one by one
corpses inside coffins
floated up, through the flooded Earth

to slowly surface above ground.

On Sharing a New York Times Cross Word Application Account With Someone (You Remind Yourself) You Love

oh, look! he's already been working on this morning's puzzle.

Already.

By the time you have sludged up the hill and swiped in 

At the train station and gone underground, to

Pull your cellular device out of your 

coat pocket to hunker down and get to work,

shoulders arched and back bent over the tiny

black and white squares on the smooth screen in your hand.

Well, grand. That's great, how wonderful he's taken a 

Shine to one of your favorite pastimes.

It's so fulfilling to share hobbies.

But wait, these words are wrong. 

He's put in three eRrOnEoUs answers for the North Western (upper left hand) corner 

And as you watch,  

(wow!) 

Here come two more! 

Like a ghost has reached over your arm

To magically type 

Their best guess at 14-Across and 28-Down

While you look on, helpless.

So flee. 

You go back to the application's landing page

And scroll up, a couple weeks, heck go back to December

to find a fresh puzzle,

untouched, unopened, blank slate.

You breathe a sigh of relief 

Until, during your lunch break,

You open up back to your monochrome grid from Dec18th,

Smile a little smile to yourself.

THEN nearly DROP the PHONE

When you see.

He has found you.

He has written a cute "Heyyou"

"Iluvu" in 1 and 8 Across, respectively. 

So you scroll scroll and slide, 
Hide again, and go back to October.

PENGUINS WALKING

in a single file line 

toward the deli’s blinking 

bright neon display

OPEN 24 hrs it claims 

but will there be enuf Gluten free sea snax

2 go around?

Penguin #4532A wonders inside her head.

It’s not too cold out today, 

she slurps some air through her beak.

No, not too bad at all.

she smiles and shuffles up close to #8865i in front of her.

she’s always admired his fastpaced waddle. 

Maybe today she wouldn't mind trying some Gluten

Just to see how it tastes. 

How Quickly Planes Move People

me:  mainly just that i received a call on my cell phone from uncle joe

him:  Don't feel stupid. Planes move folks quickly. Could have been back by then

me:  asking me to do some research for him.

      Sent at 2:25 PM on Monday

me:  to see what kind of news was circulating on the internet that particular afternoon

him:  That was the best part

me:  and then, once that part of the business was accomplished, we formulated our own news piece together

him: I wish I'd been there to see it

Believing, seeing

The lights in that building never go off.                                          

They've been on since anyone's been alive.                                    

They burn miraculously but without faith.                                    

There is no electricity, no flame, no gas, no stove,                         

No oven, no heat, no warmth.                                                          

But the light is there, undoubtedly.                                                 

The stars extinguish                                                                          

So the darkness broadens                                                                 

Until the building light shines brighter, brightest of anything.          

Beckoning, waiting                                                                            

For a cynic like you.                                                                          

[Don't Look if you Don't Like Feet]

ODE to MY Left Foot’s Big Toe Hangnail

Pinching outward painfully,

Encroaching on surrounding skin.

Biting harder, sharper into flesh each day,

With every step I take. 

I gape and am astounded

By the rate of growth, and, 

No less, audacity of that feisty keratin 

To extend and conquer.

Moving further eastward every 

Moment I don’t happen to be watching.

Burrowing itself further away from its origin,

And closer to the core of its host. 

How far will it go?

Remember that thing u wrote?

It was in the red notebook
Or was it the green notebook
The red notebook
It was one of the little fragmented
Things you wrote down
At your job, between the phone rings
In that slanted sideways scrawl
Underlining some words and
Forgetting completely
About punctuation.

Very melodramatic
You always were slash are.
Started off--if I recall correctly--that passage with the message:
"No one has ever been more lost,"
writing so seriously, taking yourself very seriously,
and ended it with a bunch of scribbled doodlets (very, very small doodles).

I almost hope you don't have it anymore.

The things we do for love

Throw out all our Half-Worn socks

To clear a drawer for them to use,

Let them hang their hat 

Wherever they see fit,

Take our hair out of the shower

With us when we leave,

Try not to cry when cutting onions,

And actually be willing to walk

The literal extra mile

In the dark

And the cold 

Just to ward off 

Each others' anxiety 

I See I Swear I Do

"I see," she said

Then looked away quickly to the horizon,

Landing on something far off that was maybe not even there.

Her father squinted at that outward

Turned face.

(He recognized some of himself)

And wondered if she truly did

another poem, again.

The days stack up on top of each other, like
Commuters pushed further, further
Inward on the train.

Doors open, the days come in and do not leave.
You've readjusted your position,
So you have a squidge of space to breathe.

But just then, another day, another set of
sliding doors
Letting people on to squish against your
Chest.

Well.
You inhale through someone else's scarf.
And think--The only thing to do is sit down on the
Shoes of strangers
And write another poem,
Even if it's late.

No Piece of Mind

he built us up.

daily, flattering and buttering and sucking.

saying: your hair, your eyes, your lips, your teeth!

they sparkle, shine, gleam, and sit pretty.

we took it all in and somehow always made room for more. 

overlogged sponges, but

feeling taller, standing straighter

sometimes as many as twelve compliments a day,

each. 

we got used to it.

how could you not

then winter solstice came.

in perfect synchronization with that longest, darkest day,

he changed.

as the minutes clicked by, he shrunk away. 

stopped watching, looking, smiling.

even ceased to speak. 

which meant the compliments didn't come.

the well dried up and with it 

all our pride and overhealthy self-esteems

we devolved, became 

animals and clawed 

at the ground then each other 

with our uncut nails. 

still he said 

nothing. 

so we conferred. late at night 

when he slept on the old futon 

shoved in the corner of that front room.

and decided. we had to leave.

to find another prophet

who would notice and flatter and butter

to get us back on track. 

sum haikus 4 yous

----------HAIKU TRILOGY ENTITLED MELODRAMA ON DAY THREE----------

Jan13 

Cookie dough in purse 

Supposed to be for my lunch 

Eat it on the train 

Jan14

Are we strangers now

Siegfried, Roy, and their tiger

Or will we say hi

Jan15

Delayed onset growth

The doc's mouth opens, closes

His lips are so pink

Curiosity Is Good for Mice

A homeless man 

Sitting in the train station,

Peeling off his layers one by one.

Unzipping each coat and peering with true wide-eyed fascination,

Bordering on shock, beneath the fabric, underneath.

As if unknowing what might be there, 

Unexpecting of what was. 

The layers of clothing 

Covering rough, dry skin.

All/each surprising, new. 

Continue to unzip, uncover, peer out 

At the shifting, spinning world with a largely astonished gaze. 

"Never know what you might find," he chuckles downward to himself.

Anti-gravity

White envelope, clean, crisp.
Almost starched

Delivered not to her,
but to her boyfriend who will
Know where to look, how to contact
And find her.

It's a process, a procedure, the grandmother sighs.
All is, always.
Nothing simple anymore

He hands the letter inside a letter,
Russian doll envelopes,
Over to the intended owner/recipient
While standing quietly
On Peabody Street

Outside, on the smooth, well worn curb
With one foot on the pavement
And one up in the air, behind his head
For a quick Warrior 3, King Dancer adjustment.

The letter slips and dips
With the wind's frivolities
And then is taken. For keeps,
From his fingers to the clear, smooth, cool blue overhead (both feet are down and planted now).

Not a single cloud to mar the sight,
no white up there, no bright.
Except that paper as it bobs around.

The only white against the blue,
The nestled sheets with the handwritten To:
It floats further toward the sun.

She watches it go, it's almost fun.
To see her name, in cursive in the sky.

summer gone by

June 17, 2008.

The love of your life 

Drives you down south, 

Two towns away, 

for an acquaintance's graduation party 

but you smile and hug and smalltalk with her family 

like you've always been close friends.