End of January 2008 by Michael Rothenberg

Condition of all things
Runs into each other
In calligraphic modulation
One becomes place
The other sound

Rain, creak, rush, break
Leak in the roof
Another baptism crowns

A Jew
What becomes another
Becomes a prayer

Gash and smoke
Her bare legs brace and bend
Against a wobbling street

Poetry and silk. . .

        *

The casino drops in
17,000 slot machines

One quarter: no inspiration
Two dollars: a drop of grace
Ten dollars: a tease, tug, love/hate
Twenty dollars: chance fails

Try the buffet

Drive & Park
Park & Sleep
Sleep & Fly
Fly & Fly
& Fly

Go nowhere. Get there
The end

        *

“What good is a 2 million dollar house if there’s no sugar?”
Geese on the pond at Leatherstocking Lane
Poe’s old haunt

Fat Tuesday. Super Tuesday
Giants Victory Parade on Broadway

“A patchy distribution of neurologic deficits”
“A general loss of cognitive abilities”

“I’m just not used to the cold, humidity, heat, hunger. . .”

Frigid negatives expand on a spontaneous canvas
“I’ve got to take something or my head’s going to explode”

        *

Rain and palm trees soak my sleep
I wake up refreshed
Few stars, no moon

My father navigates the open boat
Without running lights through rough seas
beyond the breakers to find a restaurant
and runs aground in the shallows

The ghosts are here in syrupy Banyan roots
Cloud streaks. Pillowy blossoms

        *

Windows fall out of a crumbling head
A naked man on a bicycle points at a broken eye
Skewered by the wind

“How long have you had that problem?”
Puppies scream from a car
The golf course flooded

Pre-dawn insomnia whiplash
Blown up against the blinds
Astroturf gardens
Populate both ends of the world

Another suicide falls from stucco heaven
In a heap. Nasty morning sunglasses
In winter sun. Florida green skeleton migraine

Naked, she held me and I didn’t move
Until the director said, “Cut”
And sent the cast out for empanadas

“Coo-koo”
“Coo-koo”

Running aground in regret of regret
Fucking ghosts
Even this place is somewhere else
Vegetation sucks at my feet

Translucent blue bottles and farm girls
A couple dozen Hollywood crows
Clouds in the cabbage palm

José Martí, García Lorca, Kurasawa
Where the river isn’t cold
Or forgotten.


		Michael Rothenberg
		END OF JANUARY 2008
		Condition of all things Runs into each other In calligraphic modulation One becomes place The other sound Rain, creak, rush, break Leak in the roof Another baptism crowns A Jew What becomes another Becomes a prayer Gash and smoke Her bare legs brace and bend Against a wobbling street Poetry and silk. . . * The casino drops in 17,000 slot machines One quarter: no inspiration Two dollars: a drop of grace Ten dollars: a tease, tug, love/hate Twenty dollars: chance fails Try the buffet Drive & Park Park & Sleep Sleep & Fly Fly & Fly & Fly Go nowhere. Get there The end * “What good is a 2 million dollar house if there’s no sugar?” Geese on the pond at Leatherstocking Lane Poe’s old haunt Fat Tuesday. Super Tuesday Giants Victory Parade on Broadway “A patchy distribution of neurologic deficits” “A general loss of cognitive abilities” “I’m just not used to the cold, humidity, heat, hunger. . .” Frigid negatives expand on a spontaneous canvas “I’ve got to take something or my head’s going to explode” * Rain and palm trees soak my sleep I wake up refreshed Few stars, no moon My father navigates the open boat Without running lights through rough seas beyond the breakers to find a restaurant and runs aground in the shallows The ghosts are here in syrupy Banyan roots Cloud streaks. Pillowy blossoms * Windows fall out of a crumbling head A naked man on a bicycle points at a broken eye Skewered by the wind “How long have you had that problem?” Puppies scream from a car The golf course flooded Pre-dawn insomnia whiplash Blown up against the blinds Astroturf gardens Populate both ends of the world Another suicide falls from stucco heaven In a heap. Nasty morning sunglasses In winter sun. Florida green skeleton migraine Naked, she held me and I didn’t move Until the director said, “Cut” And sent the cast out for empanadas “Coo-koo” “Coo-koo” Running aground in regret of regret Fucking ghosts Even this place is somewhere else Vegetation sucks at my feet Translucent blue bottles and farm girls A couple dozen Hollywood crows Clouds in the cabbage palm José Martí, García Lorca, Kurasawa Where the river isn’t cold Or forgotten.
		Michael Rothenberg is a poet, songwriter, and editor and publisher of Big Bridge magazine online at www.bigbridge.org. He is a recent recipient of a grant from the Creative Work Fund, a program of the Walter and Elise Haas Fund. His poetry books include Man/Woman, a collaboration with Joanne Kyger, The Paris Journals (Fish Drum Press), Monk Daddy (Blue Press), Unhurried Vision (La Alameda/University of New Mexico Press), and most recently CHOOSE, Selected Poems (Big Bridge Press). His poems have been published widely in small press publications including, 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry, Exquisite Corpse, First Intensity, Fish Drum, Fulcrum, Golden Handcuffs Review, House Organ, Tricycle, Van Gogh’s Ear, Vanitas, Zyzzyva, JACK, and Jacket. He is also author of the novel Punk Rockwell. Michael Rothenberg has edited the selected works of Philip Whalen, Joanne Kyger, David Meltzer and Ed Dorn (Penguin Books). He has recently completed the Collected Poems of Philip Whalen for Wesleyan University Press.
		© Michael Rothenberg All Rights Reserved