dead crannies stuffed with bloodless porcelain infested by hurly-burly numbed by graspless hugs limping blindly into freedom under creationistic canned foods made of manna and whey, manna and whey, those miscible matters of violent candor and vacant interstates.
I am on a street in Sunnyside, Queens, the
City of cities, the reflecting pool of the world,
When a jumbled reminiscence hurries in.
A rubbish removal company has parked its vans
Outside a house. Odds and ends of a life are
Stacked at the curb, though it seems the
Good stuff was picked away by the workers.
The pictures are gone. The notebooks, too.
Those summary memories confiscated --
It is a perk for the workers, one which I envy,
To salvage unique traces of a life lived,
Though I understand the treasures are rare.
The truest junk makes the curb:
Computers, televisions, electronics;
Workers have removed hard drives and
Some salvageable/saleable innards but most of this
Behavior-sculpting gadgetry will rot, like the
Vanishing gestures that attacked them,
Never crying out for salvation or re-use.
I remembered clicking through my uncle's hard drive,
Looking for his e-mail password, just steps from the
Spot at which he died. His drunk wife ridiculed me.
"I thought you were smart," she drizzled.
My retort -- "I am" -- crumpled unspoken.
I often see the text that voices speak,
Slithering into oblivion or rising to nobility,
And that day the words, hers and mine, drowned.
I never found the password but I landed in a
Swirl of text, a surprising storm of words from my
Uncle, who was not the sharing or reflective type,
But who seemed to have played along with some
Diary software that appeared, demanding use.
His trail of thought was dark and sarcastic, and
From it I wish I remembered even a single word.
Dry grins, dirty smiles, gritted jaws in the theater of an unopened mouth. Your inept silence strangles the cold night air. You stare at yourself. You think of obvious solutions to problems you will not confront. You. Imagination lost to a high squall of teenagers: Judgeful combat, rain of consequence, greeding a political homework assignment hung low to the cardboard floor. The windows opened wide, the sky soaring over your room, you recall a cold groove felled by sarcastic wind chimes. It was years ago but the anger burns. The surveillance of memory squeezes coffee from rubber.
Yellow for the gum, honey for the red, gravity reels in a fumbling ocean , fumbling ocean. Do you remember the hollow moments? The shoeshined cowboys? Does she remember playing with the rain? Does she remember fading to yellow? "The people are dying," you say. "The people are creased and dull. The people are paddling through memories of sand. They are squinting to see the riots at rage in their private spaces." You say I planned this, then you say I lied, then you say we disappeared but the soil says you died -- an erased smear of air.
Mariela's hogs batted down the waves of drying, fresh cement, allowing bluegrass propulsion beards to send Keyshawn Johnson's helmet upstairs. The parishioners disappointed Washington's record-holding discus and shot put athletes who felt Mariela's squandered dishwashing liquid should have eased accumulation of barnacles on city buses and picnic tables. Harriet's flat screen necktie absorbed most of the excess dishwashing liquid, comprising thousands of ounces of Palmolive, Dawn, and Caldrea brand products. The clumsy use of rotary dial telephones was ultimately blamed for the cement tsunami that buried Chicago. ROCK CONCERTS ARE INEFFECTUAL AT PREVENTING HAIR LOSS. THERE ARE 7 ROCK CONCERTS IN THE FREEZER. ROCK CONCERTS USUALLY REQUIRE SUSPENDERS, BUT A BELT WILL WORK. IN THE INTEREST OF ROCK CONCERTS ALL WILL NOW BUMP. WIRELESS ROCK CONCERTS ARE A TRADITIONAL CUSTOM IN MICRONESIA. ALL OF MONDAY'S ROCK CONCERTS ARE BLANKETED. HARRY SPAARNAY HAS HOSTED ALL OF MARK ROTH'S ROCK CONCERTS. THERE ARE NO COMPLAINING ROCK CONCERTS. ALL ROCK CONCERTS ARE IN ARIZONA. FREE ROCK CONCERTS ARE AVAILABLE ON ANY FLAT SCREEN TV 17 INCHES OR SMALLER. THERE ARE ENDLESS ROCK CONCERTS IN SINGAPORE. EVERY ROCK CONCERT IN YOUR OVEN COSTS $14. MY BUS DRIVER EXAMINED THE ROCK CONCERT IN MY EYES. I SAW A ROCK CONCERT AT THE BOTTOM OF A BIG HOLE. I SAW A ROCK CONCERT IN ONE WINDOW OF A LOW-LANDING JET PLANE. I THINK I HEARD A ROCK CONCERT IN THE GOSSIP WHISPERS OF A PUB ON 2nd AVENUE. SO BILL GATES, A PRIEST, AND A ROCK CONCERT WALK INTO A BAR... WALGREEN'S OCCASIONALLY HAS BINS FULL OF ROCK CONCERTS FOR 29 CENTS EACH. THERE'S A ROCK CONCERT BEING FOUGHT ON THE TURNPIKE, AND A BALLET BEING FOUGHT OUT IN THE ALLEY. I HAVE KNOWN ROCK CONCERTS TO BE IGNORANT, WEALTHY, UNDERWATER, TEAL, ROMBUS, AND FLANNEL. THERE ARE NO SECURE ROCK CONCERTS. MOST ROCK CONCERTS REQUIRE SATIN SHEETS. FEW ROCK CONCERT ANNOUNCERS HAVE EVER PLAYED THE GAME. MAKE SURE YOUR ROCK CONCERT HAS VALID ID. THOUSANDS OF ILLEGAL ROCK CONCERTS ENTER AMERICA EVERY WEEK, MOSTLY THROUGH MISSOURI. THE HIGHEST POINT IN ARIZONA IS A ROCK CONCERT. THERE SHOULD BE MORE FLATSCREEN ROCK CONCERTS. THERE WERE ZERO ROCK CONCERTS IN THE 19TH CENTURY. MASTURBATION IS A ROCK CONCERT. THE ACTION AISLE IS A ROCK CONCERT. THE SECRET SAUCE IS A ROCK CONCERT. Tough telephone, poets complain. Arrogant neckties, strangling bowling balls For a $2 internship opportunity, Carve front teeth cavities in the elderly. A proper jail lies under magnetic concrete. Punctual ooze appears on an antique map of Russia's billiard tables, but model bridge builders Serve cremated sprawl on Khachaturian's busy steak. Brunette pillows never leave the floor. I just planted 47 audio neckties in 12 cakes of Sand, but songs from the apocrypha raided my farm when Gwynyth Paltrow poured mirrors into my grapefruit.
Where are 2,567; 6,887,210; and 54,098?
Hungry trees. Gracious yams. Kiln-broiled Frito corn chips. Dying hernias. Drizzling pecan juice. Liquid wood. Drowning eyeballs of unspoken drama surface in distracted conversation. Large words embody the American concept of Big Things. Cataclysms. Puritanicalisms that death is certain and dramatic. Tall tales. Big, exaggerated beings. Kitsch roadside attractions. Big things. Big events, decisive turning points. Elvis Presley. The American lottery system. Sitting at a bar waiting for success. Vertical backspace.