A Husband is Not A Survival Kit

for Andrew and Stephen

A Husband is Not

A survival kit

To author a bigger life

A simple red cross

Across a white page

Not written

He speaks these words

A prayer embraced

Out of the void—

The fractured need

For justification

Holding up of me

Hold me up

For a while

A temporary fix

Between young

And no longer young

No longer responsible

For expectations

Strangeness entered

Easy to say

Whatever they say

Just remember

If you can imagine it,

Then it exists

Somewhere and someone else

Is taking pleasure

In it. I mean to say,

Someone else really

Gets off on this shit

I Embrace

I Embrace.

At The Place Where Time Stands Still

    Think of the vine that curls from the small square plot that was once my heart.

 

Imagine the utterly preposterous

Vine growing in the middle of a blizzard.

Snow tastes sweet as orange blossom honey

And smells like Jasmine if you’re far from home.

Indiscriminant flakes speak violet.

In my native tongue violet

Means we are always together.

Imagine the utterly preposterous

Vine growing in the middle of the desert.

Sand tastes like ice cold Budweiser

And smells like pussy if you’re far from home.

Indiscriminant grains speak hope.

In my native tongue

Hope means I will love you forever.

Imagine the small square plot

That was once my heart

Is the place where time stands still.

Indiscriminant moments speak tender.

In my native tongue

Tender means one sees parents

Clutching their children, in a frozen

Embrace that will never let go.

What I Thought Was…

A hummingbird

Attracted to the flower images

Hand painted on ceiling tiles

At the tea house in Boulder

Was only a moth coming

Undone in bright corners.

Trying On Fearless (or if I was a fortune cookie writer)

Bury doubt, finally.

Notebook List

Google creative writer’s opportunities list—

Alison Joseph (fantastic poet)

Without guidance, desire leads to disaster of epic proportion

Enterprise—East Linden—264-9990

12 noon

Return flight itinerary—two solid forces collide

No grassy earth to absorb the shock

It should be obvious, somehow

This is the original intent

And therefore, the most logical—logic

A sloppy mess

Pillows, towels, sheets

1625 Burden Lake Rd., Averill Park

5

1625

From 90 take exit 8; merge onto NY 43E

Toward Defreesville

Turn right

I remember it old and rust-pocked

The rubber handles are worn away, so all that’s left is exposed metal pipe

I tell her

Don’t try to make sense

Don’t connect the dots

Don’t discern meaning

Just flow

Allow for pleasure

Taste words

RITUAL

A brand new bike

840, 1040, 1240,240,440,640

1221 0082665

276.08

Shipping luggage—thereabouts

This is not about what you need to change. This is about what I need to be complete

What I can do

What I cannot do

300 Frank Miller

She wore a new dress to read for you

One last time,

And you applauded her off the stage

Before she had a chance to swallow the climax

My father says this is not what I would do is all

An old lover says on the east coast there are three political parties: republican, democrat, and firefighters

The nurse outside my door says God will humble you

A female pilot sits at the table in front of me

She is reading “Bazaar”

For some reason this tickles my fancy

But not always

I want a basket

I want a horn

I want tassels that blow in the wind like a Golden Palomino’s mane

—around my eyes, more black smudges:

A poem

 

This Morning is Poetry

This Morning is Poetry.

Paradiso

Despite the heat, mosquitos and fire ants necessitate being decked in long pants and thick gloves. A bandana to prevent sweat already dripping. Wide brimmed camouflage hat of the florescent orange variety shields eyes:  a gift picked up at a tag sale for a couple of bucks and a chuckle.

Argentine Bahia grass grows best where least appreciated. Flat head screwdriver digs spreading roots from between cracks in the sidewalk.  Trim Ligustrum Sinense and Viburnum with manual clippers. Best not to turn your back on these hedges, yet frailties of human nature always win out.  Rusted blades stick, making it necessary to force them open and closed while exerting a constant oppositional  pressure pushing up with one handle and down with the other (gripping and chopping  gripping and chopping). Fistful of naturalized exotic Asparagus Aethiopicus close to the ground still manages to penetrate earth stained canvas, prick supple fingers.

Coccoloba Uvifer sprawls above the house.  Fond of its leathery leaves that turn red as they age my sense of proportion is not offended.  Plumbago Auriculata’s periwinkle blossoms and arranged leaves spiral with joy, simple and entire, as do the two and three colored inflorescences of Lantana Camara, so they are also granted immunity.  Don’t mess with Gardenia Jasminoides. In the past I have trimmed too much.

Under the canopy against seemingly insurmountable odds, Rhododendron Atlanticum successfully competes on an equal basis with oaken roots. Dried husks of branches from invasive Triadica Sebifera snap with a loud crack, splinter inertia, release more than I bargain for. Like rain scattered Cypress mulch raked back within borders, which tends to spread despite intention.

Every leafy, grassy, twiggy bit of carnage left in sweat smeared brow’s timeless wake dragged to the curb.  A threshold traversed.  Before impatient humidity steals breath and strength from veiny legs.  Blurred vision drawn toward tandem chairs   heroic and inviting   strategically juxtaposed against organic contours    momentarily tamed    a portrait at rest    woman with lawn furniture   and bottled water