The Flower Pot

The Flower Pot
--------------

I guess I wasn't all that
surprised to see a flower pot
sitting outside our door

La Contessa had asked me
to take pots from the balcony
down to the garage and
clean them out

that was just a few hours before

they belonged to friend of ours
down the hall

so I looked down
at the flowers
at my feet
bright
as spring

(rising dainty to my eye)

and bent over
to pick them up--
pot and all

my fingers
formed a cradle for the pot
itself
preparing for the lift

but when they reached the object
down there
they recoiled
in confusion

for the pot
had morphed into

something
soft
giving in to confused fingers
expecting ceramic
or molded polypropylene

not--
a canvas bag

containing muffins

from the neighbor friend
...
instead
...
such wonderful miracles
occur
when the eyes
forget
to feed the brain

josjr (2010 1201)

Spinning Disk

Spinning Disk
----------

400 pounds
I was--
Beyond the scope of reality ...
That is ...
Beyond the scope of the spinning disk
that stops at 300 pounds.

300 pounds of of visibility --
But, there I was

Beyond ... beyond ... beyond the horizon ... Gone,
Vanished from the caring...
From the fantasy --

But who cares!?
I say...

The blood has to burn with a names like Fatfish
Idiot ... Incompetent ...
as terms of gnarled endearment

Where love becomes a word ... no ... an artifact ...
a whatnot thrown upon the coffee table
in the presence of company.

josjr(2010 0125)
...
http://josjr.com

Snapping Beast

Snapping Beast
----------

It's hard to lift a snapping beast.
It's hard to raise a child.
It's hard to sit beside a son
There, on the other side of the front seat
Becoming almost too large to fit --
Ready to take the steering wheel.
"Hey, dad," he says, "What's that in the road?"

Through the windshield a large turtle
Clutches with helpless feet turned up.
"Let's help it," says the son.
The bridge is close, a field nearby.
Together, with a goalie stick, father and son lift
And dodge angry jaws.
The young man's muscles flex...

It's hard to lift a snapping beast.

josjr(2010 0504)

http://www.facebook.com/josjr69
http://josjr.com/

King Snake

King Snake
----------

"So, what do you remember of me," I ask my dad,
Holding the microphone in his direction.

"Well, Jim," he fidgets, fingering his chin and the glassy air
That glistens by his skin, "I just can't remember much of anything...
Working all the time and all."

I gaze into the void that he has spread out on the table...
Dark, chilled ... quivering in confusion.

A coiled landscape twists gauntly
In the shadows and I see the worry gather in the faces of parents
Breathing in the stormy night beyond the headlights.

I remember a small flood in the road --
Mud splattering brown on the windows streaked with water webs.
A house rises ...
And there it is ... the snake ... long as my father ...

That man, who can't remember, is chasing the night streak.

I asked if he can remember the snake he chased away.
The snake that lumbered heavily in my eyes, just below the skin.

"No, not that one...but those snakes?" he lilted into a question, "they're called King snakes, because they were brought here from some other country by the King ranch to kill the rattlers."

He didn't remember...exactly...
But he did remember the King snakes.

josjr(2010 0504)
http://www.facebook.com/josjr69
http://josjr.com

Hey, Dad!

Hey, Dad!
---------

I saw you through the plate glass window at Lori's, on the corner
of Cleveland and Buford streets.
At least I thought it might be you-- your shape--the way you stand--that wild tangle of hair--

But the chances were slim since you said "I am uncomfortable because of time
gone by."

Then there were the street crossings
to avoid me on the other side --
The times you vanished in the bookstore as I walked in --
Your face covered with hair like an infant--out of sight--invisible--
But I saw you --- anyway --- through the bouquet --
Your face hidden in red and fear --

How does a father become so trivial ... so sinister ... so discard-able ... ?
Sure, the divorce ... a sun-baked prairie of distance --
Now a decade
And there you are, waiting for a light to turn ...

Do I step out? ... become the beast that barges from a savage, dark wood?
Do I wait for you to pass by ... another decade slipping through?

I step into the light and approach the curb, watching the signal ...
Will you reveal some truth? ... acknowledge?
Retreat or hide? ... scamper to the thicket of streets and cars?

You pass by -- oblivious -- no evasion -- no fear --
I watch your form from the back grow small a block away -- I turn to face the
rest of my day ... puzzled ... perhaps relieved ...
As I descended the steps into the student center a voice breaks out from the sky somewhere:

"Dad! ... Jim! ... Dad!"

I turn with weak, tired eyes and stare into a glaring sun
and the silhouette of a young woman.

--it is you --

"Hi," I say. -- "Hi," you respond ...

I can't figure out why you would run -- not walk -- two blocks to reach me in this way --

It was a short conversation ... a few phrases exchanged ... you asked about my walking stick,
then you say -- "Just because we don't talk, doesn't mean I don't think about you ..."
Then you are gone or I am gone maybe I am not even there.

All I can do was watch you, once a again growing small growing distant
obscure ...

josjr(2010 0127)
http://www.facebook.com/josjr69
http://josjr.com

Satin Doll

Satin Doll
---------

1968 was the year of love
and war
and mini-skirts

"showing the world
everything they've got,"
said my mother of girls
wearing those mini-skirts,

as though that was all
"they've got."

Television was filled with
body counts
and domino theories

--we boys,
not long from the draft call,
had queasy thoughts
of strategies:
--college (if you can get in)
--natiional guard (one step above draft dodging-all filled)
--air force (no ground combat [long waiting list])
--coast guard (stay in U.S. waters)
--navy (you stay off shore)
--marines (you're toast)
--army (you're double toast)
--running away to Canada
--becoming a carney...

but for me, it was yet another
move,
this time
from Connell, Washington
--where
potatoes and alfalfa
put food on the table
---
to Richland, Washington
--
where _nuclear_ power
was the answer to everything,
---
where a floor mural of a bomb
decoreates the main entrance
to Columbia High School
in Richland
---
where a mushroom cloud serves as a backdrop
for team logos

---

as the school's only bass trombone player,
new at the school that Fall,
i was asked to
scrape the bottom
of the brass
in the stage band,
a role that I adored ...

... just grubbing for the biggest,
baddest
dirty gliss that I could find
at the base of any
chord

--there was no place
I would have rather been
at that particular time
and place

between stage band,
swing choir,
concert choir
and concert band
it was a year of music

a place where i
could shrink away from
the death tolls,
the propaganda
and the forty mile trek
past Rattlesnake mountain
into the heart
of the Hanford
nuclear reservation

--where reactors go to
live and breed and die
a slow plutonium death--

(that helped make
Hiroshima and Nagasaki
household names)

that's where my mother
taught at a one room school
on the Columbia river
by the Vernita toll bridge,
surrounded by rows of stumps
from orchards cut down to make
way for the Manhattan Project
---
because of the distance
from home to school
I had to stay with people
in town for concerts
and special events ...

one of which was a weekend
fund raising telethon
that the Columbia High School
stage band and other groups
were scheduled to perform at

---

that time,
I stayed with the band
director,
a man who loved jazz
and loved the big sound
I could
coax,
--no, drag--
--rather, coerce--
from my bass trombone ...

on the way to the televison
studio where the telethon
was being broadcast,
we picked up a darkhaired
girl
i always liked ...
she sang in the choir ... i

--I was terrified of her --

at seventeen, i still hadn't
figured out how to navigate those
waters ...
it would become life-long
struggle ...

but on that Saturday night,
the three of us arrived at the studio
past midnight ...

it was a bit early and there
were groups from
Kinnewick and Pasco
scheduled to go first

so there it was ...
the studio ..
the cameras ...
the bright lights
a young man marvels at

--but there was no band.

Pasco's stage
band was scheduled
to perform,
but we were staring at
an empty soundstage

and on the monitor
it was announced that Pasco's
schools could not perform
on the "Sabbath" ...

however ...

the media voice said,
"through the _magic_
of _videotape_"
the Pasco High School
stage band would perform

and then the image

of their vocalist
filled the monitor,
with the sound stage we
were staring at in the background,
but on the monitor,
there was a band,
a conductor
and (of course) the music
rising up from instruments
---
the dark-haired girl and i were
dumbfounded ...
how could it be ...
there was the stage
in from of us ... _empty_!

...yet...

there was the band,
on screen,
in the air,
inside television sets
throughout the Tri-Cities
...
we had never seen anything like
it before ...
it defied all logic ...
it just didn't seem possible,

we just had to agree,
that it was _magic_ ...

it was
--so
appropriate that
the music coming from the
empty stage,

from the velvet-voiced singer
from somewhere
that ghosts inhabit
mysteriously, were
the

smooth sounds
of Duke Ellington's "Satin Doll":

--Gigarette holder,
--which wigs me,
--Over her shoulder,
--she digs me
--Out cattin'
--that Satin Doll.

josjr (2010 1114)

Nonrenewal

Nonrenewal
---------

a student worker
said--
casually--

"why don't you just
retire?"

when I received my
non-renewal of appointment
from the university ...

a simple statment.
a simple observation.
a simple conclusion.
a simple solution.

--to a problem

that was far to complex
and
obscure

for such clarity.

is that how youth
really is,
confident

that the sun will rise ...
that the dew will accumulate
upon the grass
and that the mississippi
will reach the gulf of mexico?

i guess the problem
--for me--
is the word

"retire"

to think about it
is like eating
a handlefull of dried
alfalfa,
a musty mix
of fiber and countryside ...

am i ready to
tread down such a path?

--is it the driveway
to the rendering plant?

--is it a path
to new adventures
with one less eye,
a lot of worn tread
and too many tecnologies

dripping off
and puddling around my feet?

the old burr oak across the street
stands firm,
but leafless--

the mississippi doesn't
really care,
its silt slides down the gullet
of a nation
yielding to yet another
shift in the tectonic plates
of history,

buckling and snapping
like dusty straw
spread out upon the floor
of barn stalls.

maybe the student
meant

re...tire...
get a new set of wheels

---

i raise a magnifying glass
to the computer screen to see
if what i've written
matches
what I've thought

and i think of the young
woman at the coop
packing my grocery bags.

I am in awe
at how those
fingers and eyes
move so deftly,
with ease,
speed
and
tranquility ...

I string my left arm
through the straps
and prepare for the
two block walk
back home

turning away from the cashier

i hear a woman wearing a
hijab and a long,
dark, flowing dress
yell out:

"sir!"

she's holding my walking stick
and smiling ...

she's the same woman
who has walked with me
--at times--
past the
east seward tower
and shouts words of caution
when i'm on the verge of
colliding with signpost
that somehow

materialized,

right there,

in front of me...

josjr (2010 1114) ...
http://josjr.com

The Nunnery of Poetics

The Nunnery of Poetics
(in the magic land of "ED")
---------

La Contessa
has cloistered herself
in her chambers,

a kind of nunnery of
poetics,

with her pen and quill
and Kindle--

she converses with the muses
lurking in the shadowed
fringes of her bed,

calling to her
when Il Matto
has gathered up the trays
and espresso pots,
closed the door,
and moved on to do the
morning chores ...

josjr (2010 1114) ...
http://josjr.com/

The Window

The Window
---------

"It's for the education
of the kids," said
madam-x ...

at lesat that's how she justified
the paper route.

This was the statement
hung in the mind of
Il Matto, as he picked
tied bundles of the morning
news.

5, 10, 20 thick,
depending on the
events of the day
before ...

off to the truck dock
in Vadnais Heights,
right behind Medical Graphics,
at 4:00am

in the garage by 4:30am
for folding, banding
or bagging
(depending on weather)

on the streets by 5:00
on foot before the cold--
in the car when the ice
and snow
arrived ...

...

--on foot=-

gripping the papers,
one by one,
pulling them out of a
cream-colored canvas bag
Il Matto adjusts
the shoulder strap
where it dugs into
skin and bone

"a route to educate
the kids"--
he hears madam-x
again

with each driveway,
door and sidewalk ...

but il matto
had
to put aside resentment
and exhaustion
to deliver,
porch by porch,
the news curled up
within such inkstained
crispness

the smell of
fress press
sliced through brisk air

fog puffs
powder the darkness
scraped away by streetlamps
and garage-mounted,
motion-triggered,
flood lights--

then there was
_the house_,
the one with the big window
without curtains--
always lit
at 5:00am
with a big man sitting
at a large table counting
stacks of U.S. currency ...

big shoulders
bulged from dark underwear ...

the house:
devoid of furniture,
except for the table,
the chair,
and the counting man

--when Il Matto
trips on the curb,
a pack of doberman pinschers
races out of
chilled shadows

--barking--
--no, growling--
--gnashing their enamel

petulance--

the counting man
stands up
with a heavy dash,
brushing aside the stacks
of cash,

rushes to the big window
and glared out
with an aggressive sneer ...

il matto
grabs another rolled
bundle and threws it over
the canine
platoon

before
slipping into the next shadow
flooding space between
houses,

ready
to fling the bag
laden with headlines

--if need be--

the daily ritual
to welcome another

day ...

before
fixing breakfast for kids
work
shuttling kids
to
hockey
dance
and school events

...

knowing the counting man
will be there
with his dogs
at 5:00am

josjr (2010 1113)

... http://josjr.com

Doormat

Doormat
---------

How does one open the door?
Lie down on the threshold
and let the _guests_ in
...
---it only hurts for a while---

30 houses <=> 5 states
17 years <=> 0 - 17
(Texas, Arizona, Colorado
California, Washington State [not DC])

what does a tumbleweed look like?
--dried sorrow--

Contact?
Ray Walston on
My Favorite Martian
knew how to communicate

I ordered one of those
Mercury space mission models ...
_from NASA_

... put it together ...

i wanted to know
what affection was
(illegal...can't do that)

is there life on earth?

...hmmm...

gotta add a few more states
(Massachusetts,
Mississippi,
Missouri,
Iowa, [where did this 'I'
state come from?]
Minnesota...

throw in a marriage
(first try) [doormat]
--kids(two for one sale)---
then lie down
on the threshold
once more---
[doormats make great companions---
easy to make and eliminate] ...

seconds?

ejection...ejection...
erasure...erasure...

...No more states following the Mississippi...
gotta stop...

Do you know the way to
Mayberry RFD?

My, how did June Lockhart
jump from the mom on
Lassie
into that Lost-in-Space suit?

Jupiter-2

Danger Dr. Robinson, Danger Dr. Robinson ---

(whew! puberty on the Enterprise...)
Lt. Uhuru where are you?

Sky King--Soupy Sales--Jungle Jim--
Rifleman--Roy Rogers---

Happy Trails To Yooooooou....
'Til we meet a agaaaaaaain...

---and (of course) ANNETTE FUNICELLO!---
---M-I-C-K-E-Y...M-O-U-S-E---

Morticia!!! (I love it when you speak French)

is it time to move yet?

remember now,
just lie down
on the threshold...

it'll only hurt
for a while...

(hint: it's even better if it's
a church - why not just
build the damn thing!
--be the doormat god meant you to be

Contact...Contact...Contact...
(can't do that...)

"you got anything else to give?"

... Doormat(a fool) <=> Il Matto (the fool) ...

josjr (2010 1112)

Flipper - (Poteet, Texas 1965)

Flipper
---------
(Poteet, Texas 1965)

Having
--just
unpacked from yet
another _cross-country_ move

--this time
from
Tuba City, Arizona
to
Poteet, Texas

more white stripes
and mile markers to count

this time in an old station wagon
with an overloaded trailer (again!)

[fodder for another poem]

trading Navajos and Hopis
for cowboys

the mother never said why--
why this move?
why here?

there was no tv north of Flagstaff,
except at the uranium mine --
[the miner kids boasted about
Mutual of Omaha
ads on the cable tv set]

---even the Beatles arrived without
me knowing what the craze was
all about -- those wigs in the stores?

why?

the new house on the edge of Poteet
had air conditioning
and the strawberry capital of Texas?

--it had tv--

after unpacking
and turning on the tv set
(not used since Greeley, Colorado)
the gray luminescence
--oozed--
into the living room ...

the television show?

--Flipper--

josjr (2010 1112)

Step-Father Ire

Step-Father Ire
---------

I had a step-father once
who became angry
when I refered to humans
as animals

it was not as though
he was religious,
even if he met my mother at church

he did
--once--
say he saw the "light"
that christians want
the "world"
to see,

but humanity
was sacred
to him
whether of not he'd read
even
a single verse
of the

"holy" book

and _sacred_ meant
that humans were not animals
and that
animals were not sacred

and that
kids
just
needed to _shut up_!!!

he never really looked at me,
just grunted
as he stared at the pocked skin
on the back of his hand,
picking scabs ...

it was his sacred
act
after coming home
and taking his place at the
kitchen table

he leaned back--
with the chair tilted slightly
towards the window,
blocking the door to the basement ...

he crossed his legs
and placed a hand on his knee
--the other hand
worked its bloody task ...

"humans are NOT animals"

he said.

Not authoritatively,

rather,
angrily,
self-righteously ...

his anger never did
dissipate ...
it just simmered
and flared.

"humans are NOT animals"
he ejaculated ...
a kind of secondary tremor ...

the entrance to the basement
was blocked by his
bent,
dark-red form...

I just wanted to go
to my room in the basement

with that stupid
article on the Beatles
glued to the cinderblock wall.

josjr (2010 1111)

http://josjr.com
http://cyberkindle.com

La mia chiesa (Italiano e English)

La mia chiesa
---------

Ho trovato la mia place
a Roma
--nella piazza della rotonda
--un vero e proprio
--edificio
costruito per
tutti i dei

non me ne frega che
esiste oggi
solo
perchè i papi
pensano che fosse convertito
--come la gente--
nella nome di una nuova mitologia

il fatto è che

era stato, e ancora,
un luogo
in cui
--dentro la città eterna--
--si può

rinfrescarsi
nell'ombra di
mattoni
antichi

la stessa ombra che
era stata caduta
sulle anime
piena di mitologie

--una diversità
che me fa felice

accanto la fontana
nel bel centro
della piazza difronte la mia chiesa vera ...

il pantheon

josjr (2010 1109)

###
### English
###

My place
---------

I found my church
in Rome
in the piazza della rotonda
--a building
constructed specifically
for all deities

...

it doesn't matter to me (at all) that
it exists today
only
because the popes
thought that it was converted
--like the people--
in the name of a new mythology

the fact is that

it has been, and still is,
a place
in which
--within the eternal city--
one can

be refreshed
in the shadow of
ancient bricks--

the same shadow that
had fallen
on souls
full of mythologies

--a diversity
that thrills me

next to the fountain
in the center
of the square
in front of my true place ...

_The Pantheon_

josjr (2010 1109)
http://josjr.com

Infelocity

Infelocity
---------

her brother was planning
another of his mystery tours
--of the wilderness--

leaving without a plan--
no communication
as to
--destination
--duration
--motivation
just a sense that he
loved to be
somewhere
_else_
--alone
--isolated
--lost in a world
where he disappears

in spectral ecstasy

la contessa fretted
and yearned for a brother who
could just be there
--in a chair
--on the balcony
--in a short walk to the Birchwood

from her post-surgery wheelchair
and a foot in pain
--she accepted
--a memorial day invitation
on the eve of the delayed exploration

she waited
--half expecting him to disappoint
--once more
...
then he appeared,
as silently as he would often vanish--
late
but welcome

il matto wanted to ensure that
la contessa was safe on uneven sidwalks
dusty potholes and savage curbs
so he grabbed the handles of the
wheeled chair and pushed her

navigating

--as conversation--
passed between brother and sister

il matto was content to simply
listen
--silent--
watching for the buckling of
cement and bituminous road bed

=-at the restaurant he was scoffing
at the idea of flushing
korans into toilets at
guantanamo--

"how could you flush
a koran down the toilet?" -- he sneered --
unusually cynical and sarcastic --
all at once -- he was not

overtly

political --

he drew the smoke from his
cigarette
and exhaled in the direction
of la contessa's allergies --

how could he not have known?

he talked of books he wanted
to leave her
---
and plans for nieces to care
for the cat

but the trip itself
--was to remain concealed--
--a mystery to be unwound--

when the meal was done
il matto took the dishes inside,
returning to find that
her brother had
taken control of the chair

and was headed
back to the tree house

il matto quickened his pace
and caught up
to the two,
suggesting the asfalt alleyway--

he figured it was smoother
and less susceptible to her brother's
casual disregard for the terrain

...

that's when it occurred,
the conversation on childhood --
his reminiscence of their time
together ... as children ...
sharing secrets ...
connecting in ways la contessa
had long tried to
establish once more ...

he was in a new place,
almost calm,
a little boy pushing a waggon,
with his older sister
enjoying the ride --

"did you know" -- he suddendly said --
"that the secret name you gave me
was to basis for all my computer passwords?" --

the computer scientist,
the champion chess player,
the mountain climber
and
--wilderness trekker--

had laid it out there, on the
chessboard --
one last move --

--castling--

that most curious of defensive
acts--

--the master
giving up the keys to the castle--

"infelocity"

josjr (2010 1108)
http://josjr.com

High Tech Intruder

High Tech Intruder
(inside Cray 2 lab - 1985)
---------

Early in the morning--
behind security
and windows
shut down with shades...

Classified
Secretive

Hidden from the eyes of the
Uncertified

complexity

thirty million dollars
to buy one

supercomputers we called them then
untouchable
protected
like magic wands
and incantations

a cold war maze
entranced by Crays

but in one corner
oblivious
of its transgression

--its belly softly quivering--
was a mouse

watching me
watching it

as flourinert
cascades down plexiglass
and gallium arsenide

there's a cruise missle somewhere
awaiting this--

the mouse skitters underneath
the floorboards
--where cables
slither
--and dwell

it's 3:00am
and the sun is far away

josjr (2010 1107)
http://josjr.com

Dream 26,645

Dream 26,645
---------

i dreamed that we were
acrobats
on a trapeze ...
_you and i_

flying with the seemless music
of a silent night

imersed in the joy
of weightless
revelry

you and i--
--la contessa and il matto---
--through air
--through darkness
--through time

i turn over in the bed
and hold her

hovering
softly

just before the light

josjr (2010 1106)
http://josjr.com

ah, the west

ah, the west
---------

someone speaks of the "west"
---of being lost
in another place
or time

missing something
that was there

---wanting it

through open doors--magic--
maybe we can go there
---
see it
feel it

magic holds us
in memory

seeks us like a dragon--fire breath--and all--
flames licking
at the hair we have grown
singing skin
since
grown harsh like leather
warm like smooth tires
tread almost invisible

memories rubbed raw
contorted
at the tip of tongue--beyond--

on my own I reach back
try to touch it
see it fade

wish it was mine
to have

and I think
that I should be able
to

fragments
streams of Burma Shave
advertisments

on highways
fuzzy brooks
of water
laughing

I want what _she_ is having...
a childhood door
to walk through,
one that lingers
softly
warmly
invitingly...

what I have are white lines
on asfalt
mile markers I would watch
ascend
descend

computing the passage
in my _west_
the tread on the wheels
boils
burns
sticks to my fingers
when touched

resistent to the scrub
of brush
of soap
of

nostalgia...

josjr (2010 1105)

Dropped I Ching Stalk (English/Italiano)

############
##english###
############

Dropped I Ching Stalk
---------

an i ching stalk
---drops
---fingers splayed
---one eye and brain
in conflict

where?
---says the brain

the eye
---and retina
look to each other

shrug

the floor -- light wood
the stalk -- light wood

fused in the same _light_

fingers
---grope
---fumble
---feeling for the
thin, hard, roundness

hidden
in soft hues
---light wood

invisible

josjr (2010 1104)

############
##italiano##
############

---

Lasciato cadere un stelo dell'I Ching
---------

un stelo del I Ching
---cade
---le dita allargati
---un'occhio e un cervello
si litigano

dove?
---dice il cervello

l'occhio
---e retina
si guardano

si alzano le spalle

il pavimento -- legno chiaro
lo stelo -- legno chiaro

misto insieme dentro la stessa _luce_

le dita
---annaspano
---cercano a tentoni
---provando a sentire
la sottile, dura, rotondità

nascosta
dentro la morbida tinta di
---legno chiaro

invisible

josjr (2010 1104)
http://josjr.com

Kindle, Ballot and Magnifying Glass

Kindle, Ballot and Magnifying Glass

despite the ads that tell me how to "see",,,
my one
---eye
with artificial lens
(AcrySoft IQ
---Model SN62WF
---Serial #11017294 028
)

Flinches at the very
---glint
---of rhetoric ... and glare[d]-->

arguments are as dim
...witted...
as those tiny ovals that my pen
_must_ penetrate
if I am to count ...
While being counted ... worthy ...

of citizen ... shipped away ... like
ballast ...

Jobs ... they blame the Chinese ...
We see myriad faces of India ... Somali ...
And recruiters with strong accents ...
We are all tied (together) ...
There is no us/them ::: rather us :::

yet we want to blame ... someone ...
for _our_
---our-ness...

i can't see the little ovals that I must
color in
---
||| between the |||
---
lines

my kindle stares (blinkless) on artifical/real
sized letters ...
---an ink(ling) of what can come
if i can just see (the damn little oval with
my well-lit magifying glass ...
an old man (you know the old man you used to see
---tapping with his (leki) hiking stick down
Franklin Avenue ... (oh yeah --- that's ... ahem ... me ...
[someone said] silent [walking dead we can sometimes be]

i transfer (liberal) names from kindle (e)ink
to dim ovals [gentle eggs of easter/muslim/christian ...
I'm not _really_ a witch ... gimme the gun ... let me shoot
that liberal health care bill ... bulls eye] ---
My eye is tired ... does it _really_
...want
---to see a sea of talking heads
and ticker tapes of some results
from a one-party media[cracy]?

i vote liberal liberally ...
me and my kindle and magnify[cent] glass ---
---it tells me through the crystal ---
that the little oval needs to be im[pregnant] with
kindle e[pen] ink or the scanner just won't see

so I scan the columns ... try to find
the hidden [easter] eggs and paint them with
goddess spirals [blue/black] something dark ...
---my SN62WF swallows the refraction
of the lit-lens magnify[cent] and color them
that dark color ---
of bloated
--gloat-- that self-proclaimed w[h]in[n]ers
_wish_ they had ...
but (in the end) the whole world ... will bleed ...
[dark] green and red [[[regardless]]]
of how the eggs will bleed ...

the scanner "saw" it all ...
the magnify[cent] glass closed up and
nestled in my pocket next to the cell[phone] ---
--- and my kindle slipped its grayscale softness
into the silence ---

my SN62WF worked hard to tell the difference
between a sign post, a shadow and trash can ...

my consolation is cancellation of one
conservative em[v]oting conservatively

and we flip the disk to the other side
---of---a/b---b/a---
media[cracy] ... Il Matto ...

josjr (2010 1102)

http://josjr.com

The Dream Of A Friend

The Dream Of A Friend

a friend spoke of a cemetery dream
and I thought of Italy
--his house
--our conversations
--associations feeding Pasolini
that feeds my mind
and there
--In the cemetery
--reminiscing on a life
--revealed
--unveiled
--in visions
soft obscure

and internet
snippets
--do we understand the form?
--Pasolini writes of poverty

I feel the strings of history--protest--
wars I didn't understand
--the friend had paid _his_ price
--Pasolini _his_

we all wonder about that twisted curve of time
--how it all brings us
--somehow
--back

to a place where names like
--Springfield
--verse
--and dreams of cemeteries
accumulate
like bodies--resting?--vexing?--flexing?--

with the awareness--or not--
that

_anyone_
was present ...

josjr (2010 1101)

http://josjr.com