Supdate

Heart flush, five high

BLUE COLLAR

A dirty tangle, loose ends

cut like cards.

Two men eat a valley of death

and can’t finish;

a woman vomits herself

and falls in.

A series of avoidable accidents.

Runoff from gravestones.

Oceans of suits.

DAY 7: Daily double

DUELISM

Sunday

sidles in, she

just hushes us

as she ashes

warm, wet eggs

sun-heated hashes

we waste weeks to hail here

to have soft chairs on bare caches

how we shift and shear sheets

how we smile

dreaming warm cream 

will fill our glasses.

But monday, beaks ache.

time skitters into seconds; 

it’s tick for work, tock for cake

everything is right, or it’s a mistake

you check the clock

shit a brick on a plate

kick on some slicks

screech out for the interstate

he checks info on steak

but the steak is cut rate 

bukkake kills six

update at eight

Day 6: Vexodus Schmexodous

WHAT WAS UP


From the other side of the river,
their counselors waved at us,
shrugging their shoulders.

The kids were going bonkers.
So we asked them about it.

I mean, DUH, they groaned.

It was as hot as a Florida river swamp

in June at high noon. 
Which, to be fair, it was.

They pointed everywhere, making a face.

They had to wake up and go CANOEING every day.

eat DRIED FRUIT and POWDERED MILK with their GRANOLA.

talk in a GROUP about how to BETTER THEMSELVES,

for crying out loud.

This was not the real thing,
they said to us.

This was not IT.

Fine, fine. 

There was a kid, though,

who was NOT OK. 
Anthony. 

Patty and I were called in

to remove Anthony, who was throwing all the group’s food in the river, inciting a riot, et cetera,

The Usual. 

Patty tried to separate him,

get him in our school minivan.

But Anthony turned to the other kids 

and he said Look at this, boys

he's trying to get me to go home,

but we're ALL going home, right?

And the kids whoop and yell, saying Hells Yes,

we're ready to get out of this nest,

this fucking heat,

who do they think they are,

trying to feed us powdered milk.

We want our mother.

Fuck you, they said, you don’t 

have power of attorney over us.

Patty and I look at each other.
All the children will not be going home.
A conflict of interest. But Patty thought
if we just removed Anthony, cut out the bad spot,
we might save the apple. The rest would stay.

So she said to me,

Go to the minivan, get in, get it started.

I’ll be right up with Anthony.

I went up to the van’s hiding spot,

hopped in the driver’s seat, and wait.

It's really quite peaceful. 

A little ways from camp,

just a thin trail in the woods...

Too thin, even, to turn a car around.

Patty came running, jumped in,

a concerned look on her face. 

And Patty survived cancer,  so
it really made an impression on me when she said
GUN IT, THEY'RE COMING.

I kicked the minivan into reverse, and put my foot
down. 

The forest flew at us backwards,

tossing trees into the rear view.

The huge, motherly hips of our minivan

slipped through.

We reached the road. 

Patty said to stop gunning it.

So we stopped.

We waited to see

if they’ll

even come this far out.

And then they did. 
Anthony cresting, fuming 
a hot, melting grin. 

They hit the black-burnt road, 

and they turn to face Us, 

their air-conditioned answer. 

But we cannot take everyone. So

Patty reached into the slot on her belt,

Quick-drew her phone,

and dialled (of course)

The Sheriff. Who else?

"FOUR BLACK MALES," she said,

giving them a name.

They're a layin' in the road,

They're obstructin' traffic,

They're incitin' a riot. 

We waited. The FOUR BLACK MALES

approached the car,

jumping in the way like children

which, to be fair, they were.

They sat on our hood.

They joked about flipping the van.

Forty minutes 

dripped by.

Finally, the sheriff arrived.
He opened his door, and scanned.

He looked at us all.

He said, so what?
Everyone said, 
BUT LOOK AT THIS.
He didn't move.
This is Hog Country, he said.
We got people around here that
Don't Like Black Kids.
Anthony walked up to the officer,
and said, we want to go home.
The officer stepped back, and looked
squarely at him.
Now, he said, Are You Gonna
Get In That Car,
Or Do We Have A Problem?
Anthony sighed, and said,
Okay, okay.

So it was done. 
The sheriff got
back into his vehicle.
Anthony got
in the van.
The counselors came out of the woods,
where they'd been watching,
to collect the other kids.

Everyone got back in a canoe, 

and ate some more milk.
We drove away. 

...

Patty and I meet Anthony’s parents
as planned, in the parking lot
on the interstate.
He walks to them, 

and I recall just the hush
of cars. 

The parents sign for him. It's over.
Patty and I say nothing. Goodbye. 
We turn away. From a distance,

I watch as Anthony’s parents 

shove him in the car, 

and then use the backs of their hands

To welcome him home.

We pull out.

Patty says, the group

will need more food.

Also, their first aid kit

is at the bottom of the river.

I ask her if we as a base camp

are experiencing a normal amount of misconduct

from the students, you know,

for the heat, for Florida,

for whatever. And she says, 

some years

are just like this.

I nodded thoughtfully, said OK,

and left the country 

by plane 

immediately.

Day 5: Many many

DAY 4: Snore-ientalism

THE VERB TO BE

The closest I can get to blindness is closing my eyes. So when I think of what it is like to be blind, I imagine seeing nothing but blackness. A clever person at a party might say that this is false; the blind can no more see blackness than you or I can see from our elbows. But how can you compare a symbol of nothingness to nothingness itself? Only a clever person at a party can tell you that.

Today is the last day that we’ll reach full daylight, at noon. After this, it’s a series of afternoons, then dusks, and then a few weeks of a bit of orange on the horizon. So we’re having a picnic. Actually, we haven’t bothered to completely explain the situation to my wife’s parents. Her mother wouldn’t understand -- she’s not all there. Her father is ninety, and can’t hear very well anyway. So we let them be. I think, actually, that not having them know is a kind of coping mechanism for all of us. If they don’t know or care what’s happening, then maybe we can just watch them the way you might listen to someone’s heartbeat.

They’ve named it the Orest Effect, or the Rest. No doubt they’ve given it the name of a person to allow people to relate to it and come to terms with it. The particular person it’s named for, Orest Chwolson, was the first to study the gravitational lens effect; that is, the ability of large bodies in space to bend light at large distances. To the point, the vast majority of the light from the sun will soon no longer be reaching us. Somewhere in the eighteen minutes it takes for light to reach Earth, the gravitational force of an entire galaxy rotated at precisely the wrong angle will convince our sunlight to shine in another direction, away from us. That’s why everyone has started to call it the Rest. Because it will be dark, and we’ll be going to sleep. 

We chose to start our picnic just before noon at the art museum park, and we weren’t the only ones. A sizeable chunk of the city was joining us for the event. My wife and I set out a few blankets for everyone. I placed the baby onto the some warm grass, where she sat confidently and watched us go hurriedly through our nonsensical rituals.

After finishing a bickering conversation with her mother about who knows what, my wife’s sister began delving dutifully into a canvas bag with both hands, again and again. She brought out elaborate sets of clean, telescoping tupperware. Sweating, battle-hardened thermoses that had seen the comings and goings of many soups. She paused. Yet Can Not Eat These, she said to her mother. Her mother opened a container, put her hand in, and looked away, eating a chunk of something. My sister in law scowled and grumbled until the meal was prepared. 

When it was time, we brought the baby near, and sat and ate. We used the normal chopsticks from the house. I admitted, pinching a seasoned cube of beef from a serving dish, that maybe my sister in law wasn’t so bad. Better to forgive her and just let it go. Now that there were no airplanes, I wouldn’t be going home, and she was the closest thing I’d have to a sibling. We’d all be developing personality disorders and anger issues shortly anyway. 

Near the end of the meal, firecrackers deafened the air to the east. A parade from a nearby temple was inching by. On the road, old men marched slowly in bright colors. They played horns and shook noisemakers. Just behind them, teenagers carried neon Gods on their shoulders. Pretty normal stuff, really. I looked back. The baby seemed disinterested. I looked at my wife’s father, and opened my mouth. I said, When Time You Were Small Ocean, You Enjoy To Play What ... Game? He looked at me and smiled, and said, Ah? I looked at my wife. Louder, she said. Say it louder. WHENEVER YOU ARE SMALL CHILD, YOU ENJOY TO PLAY WHAT GAME? He looked at me again. My wife quickly repeated the question again, but with a better accent. He looked at her and responded: 

“... ... ... ... Child ... ... Father ... ... ... ... ... Game ... ... 

... ... ... Sichuan ... ... ... (He made a motion here like 

his hand was going over the moon.) ... ... Rice ... .... 

.... .... House ... ... .... .... .... Candy (?) ... ... ... ... ... 

.... ... ... ... ... We Can Not (He shook his head) ... ... 

.... .... .... .... .... Road. (My wife and her sister laughed.

‘Really?’ they asked.) ... ... ... ... ... Father, Father, ... ... 

What ... .... .... ....  Sichuan.” 

He stopped here, and nodded his head at me, smiling. My wife then looked at me, swallowed some food, and explained. “He had a ball.” 

“Oh,” I said. “What kind of ball?”

“I don’t know, just a ball, I guess.”

I imagined my father in law’s childhood with a solitary, dusty ball. I smiled at my father in law, who was again focusing on eating some potato. Thanks, I said, and he looked at me and mumbled happily. Excuse Me, I said, I Will Return Back, and picked up the baby. I carried her to some purple flowers in a tree. We remarked happily on them, in our own ways. We made noises at the flowers.

When I was a kid, and I was bored, I would rub my eyes and stare into my pillow. The fluorescent smudges left from the rubbing looked like galaxies. They even seemed to slowly drift to the edges of my vision. I would imagine that I was tunnelling very quickly through space. It didn’t help me sleep very well, but it made me less afraid of our wooden house, which groaned in the night when the wind blew.

Day 3: Justice.

Musical accompaniment, if 

you care for such things.

IN LEAGUE

I know from television 

that people waver. 

Loyalty is an average. 

So let’s make a deal.

Serve me, 

and I’ll pay you an honest wage. 

I can read your mind,

but not your credit card number.

It’s true what I say

about evil empires.

They can be built on the bedrock 

of a single instance of trust.

Besides, equal parts 

gasoline and spark 

are not required to create

an excess of murderous fire.

We two need only be greater 

than an army of halves and zeroes.

Even a big One, with cape and mask
is no match for treacheries.

Day 2: Spectral Presents.

MY WIFE ASKED ME WHY MEN CHEAT

I wake up late

work starts late

say goodbye to the baby,

look into my wife’s eyes as if to say something like I love you and I have to go now

here’s the morning train

at the morning station

here’s my clacking keyboard

the adjustment of the adjustment

here’s the pinkening sky,

there the oranging buildings

k smoke pours out of the adjacent office space

converted gleefully into an apartment;

our neighbors are young forever.

writhing in flourescence.

here’s my still-clacking keyboard

the adjustment of the adjustment’s adjustment

here’s a sky so black and blue

maybe even raining

again, here’s the train

a straight line home

what can we do to save tonight,

drugs, dessert, sex in the spare bedroom

she says she’s tired, 

she goes to sleep,

I go to bed too late,

playing chicken with the moon

Day 1: Thick outline

I DO DECLARE:

1.     I absolutely must not have too many icons down at the bottom of the computer screen. That kind of thing just will not stand, young man.

a.     What if I were to accidentally knock the cursor down to the bottom of the screen? A menagerie of worthless freeloading software would happily invade.

                                      i.     Some ridiculous program that saves all my passwords in one encrypted file would be there. It’s a work thing, it would remind me of work.

                                     ii.     Or Skype, which always seems to be open.

                                   iii.     Oh, I’m downloading some movies? Which ones? Are they all going at an acceptable speed? When can I expect them to arrive?

                                   iv.     There’s a duplicitous, infuriating combination of windows minimized down there. Surely there’s some way to close them all at once…let’s just Google it. It will only take 5 minutes.

2.     I must hide from my wife while I am attempting to write.

a.     I shall arrange to have a tiny rowboat hidden in a forest in the basement of an unmarked warehouse.

b.     A lawn chair on the roof will do.

c.      I’ll just close the door to the bedroom and try not to make any noise.

                                      i.     She found me. Now I know that the cat peed in the baby tub.

                                     ii.     The pillow must be in exactly the right form under my head. It must be:

1.     It should be a variation standing the tall way, folded under itself three times.

2.     The ideal position for the pillow shall be allowed to change once every thirty seconds or so.

3.     The best place for me to write will still be the bedroom, but I’ll just work the distractions in. No, wait, it’s time for the baby’s naptime.

a.     Also acceptable: the balcony at tree-level, rolling green branches.

                                      i.     Mosquitoes.

b.     The dark, unfinished office.

                                      i.     It smells like splinters in here. The wood feels too dry.

1.     Oh well.

4.     I must not think about money while I write. Money is evil.

a.     In general, I must not be a bratty little boy about money that I do not have. My wealthy aunts and uncles, in real estate and medicine, have nothing to do with me.

                                      i.     I was raised better than this.

1.     Stop thinking about the money.

5.     There must not be music playing. It will destroy all the minute details of my surroundings.

a.     Is the sound of the fan actually changing, or is it the Doppler effect?

b.     Why does that book cover touch the desk every time the wind catches it? That’s calming.

                                      i.     I hate that sound. It’s driving me nuts. I’m going to throw that book out the window.

1.     I’d better put something on top of that book.

6.     OK, there must be music. But it can only be…

a.     Calming techno

b.     Thoughtful movie soundtracks

c.      The Bojack Horseman cartoon show theme.

d.     That wistful song which has the lyrics, “Like popsicles in summer.”

                                      i.     That song reminds me of the word Colorado for some reason.

7.     I must forget about the color of the sky at grandma’s house. It’s a nuclear illusion perpetuated by vast stacks of cash. That was not my life. My life is somewhere else, and the less I try to be myself, the more completely I will take up space.

a.     Grandma is not evil. She’s just the world.

8.     I declare that I must not compromise.

a.     Except when something is unsustainable.

b.     Whatever.

10.  I will not exaggerate.

Leaf me be.

XXX

I found an old jug of something

when I drink it 

I become an animal again.

After one glass

I can live in the forest. 

I lose track of my wallet.

Agriculture, or the keeping livestock

begin to seem like a huge commitment.

After two glasses 

I prefer not to settle down, so

I just roam. I’m pretty sure

that I’ll find whatever I need

out there, somewhere.

If it begins to get cold

I’ll just walk with the sun

on the other shoulder.

My feet become faster 

than seasons.

Three glasses and I just smile

at the unexpected warmth 

of the ocean.

Tasty chips.

Huge echo.
https://youtu.be/s5BJD9Q9W4g?t=32m30s

Technotastic.
https://youtu.be/hUEkzdwLy2Q?t=7m39s

Super Turbo 80s!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GQxIzUYYPw&feature=youtu.be&t=6m25s

Ze Americans.
https://virt.bandcamp.com/track/bgm-k8-e

Coin dessert
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HzVgal66E4

Ladder to the roof

GRAYISH SILVER

I can tell my $10 bicycle

from the others on the rack, 

because it is the only one

with a green leaf in the basket.

I never take it out, not because

it is useful, but because it is green.

Do I love this place? Dust

gathers everywhere, I don’t

know if I remember correctly the difference

between adornment and reality.

Maybe all the skyscrapers I’ve ever seen

were scrubbed fantastically.

At night, when I board the train

I leave my bicycle alone

with the others on the rack. 

An ugly gradient of rust

reflecting the beautiful electricity

from the signs around the square.

Familiar.