images

valentine days card
faded red, a heart with a rose pinned
to the front, or glued
a thin brass arrow, fine as a piece of pin
through the red red rose
on the wall
drooping and pinned again to dry upright
second frame, petals dragged down
by pendulous crystals representing tears
suspended by levitation
the man who bends the spoons
every silver spoon across that long table
was bending with his crass remark
with her high headed laughter
eyes all around
chairs with padded cushion and wood to break the back
sit up straight
don't slouch
don't wear those shoes
knocking over a glass of champagne
it wasn't an accident and no one repeated the incident
no one bothered to burn out the etching in the tree
no one dared
one giant whisk of the tablecloth for a magic trick
to send magnolias tumbling
aphids in the cloak closet
on the jacket that was going to lunch
tambourines coming from the quiet room
man down
third frame--bees buzzing about the lilacs
headaches and a cold wet handkerchief
stakes for the climbing peas
mendel, my favorite scientist, so x and y
and determinant, finding fascination with the fly
with predetermination
creating a style an entire way of life
sometimes surprised at the odd abberation
some love what is different and others pull it out
green scrunging their hands to get to the root of things
fourth frame--
the longest wall, whitewashed, you've ever looked upon
reaching to the pinnacle
scale by scale
dungeons & dragons
fall apart
back to the circle pool at the public park
oak leaves sticking to the skin of children
sometimes, nothing matters anymore
there is nothing to do
compass broken, map muddied, and i am to
be castaway
frame five--
the smell of dirt on the pavement on the cement
lying face down on our towels
pulling us up by an invisable hand to sit
in the chair watching them swim
frame six--
peeled off her mask in strips
wax from a mold
hair in a towel bathrobe slippers
smoking a joint through the pipe hole
nothing is on television just static
frame seven--
i am upstairs walking on purple carpet
granny's stuffed purple dragon lounging along the back
of the couch, i was upstairs playing johnny cash
ring of fire, on an old record player
watching rick baken driving his tractor through the orchard
fbi mob man gone country. i saw them through the lace curtains
with the hideous stuffed horned owl on a perch
staring at me from the bureau
legal papers in boxes, bags, and strewn across the floor
granny dancing the broom on oxycontin
i was rubbing her calve that had circulation
cut off, swollen like a pulp and no doctor
in wenatchee knew how to help an old woman with a swollen leg
wear spandex tights they said
bees buzzing for pollination and i'm always trapped
without a car, without an honest word
"his beady eyes" granny said, of her own husband
following me everywhere.
i suppose she had too much fun with me to keep up with the
housework as he preferred
get a fucking assistant or housekeeper multi-millionaire
frame eight--
orange box with carved leaves citrus
a box for paper, folded notes, black & white photos
violet candies from france
frame nine--
licorice mix with real licorice root
someone wants her to be filing papers
affixing stamps, hoping her mind will
come to nothing counting the ticking of the clock
frame ten--
put more time into 30 years than most people put into 60
but would rather i not write so much, or about so many names
i may not be riding a unicycle but i am brave
in my own way. we jungle people
swing to our own tune and shock eachother with
the approach of another
some ride unicycles and others ride mercedes
pimping through the welfare towns proud
frame eleven--
pencils in a round case, bus station amarillo
throwing these darts for the bullseye
one, two, three, four, five, and six
hands on glass, one hand crossing over the other
piano panes taking one frame after the other side by side
i don't know what this is for
but i see clowns doing this in pantomime
frame twelve--
dirt trails and hills
riding bikes through the tug of war,
all i needed was a box of chocolates
not someone telling me to fucking
get a job and be more productive
when i am in pain sitting, standing, and even lying down
marriage is not for the disabled
modern man wants the hooker wife and the breadwinner both
now, she is doing all the domestic chores and working too
men no longer go to the mistress for sex
they go for a fucking home-cooked meal and some sympathy
frame thirteen--
lined up all my books in my bookcase
peter rabbit and beatrix potter
row after row and winnie the pooh
charlotte's web and diaries
harry potter and the baby animals
drive the car into the garage
come out a new man, disheveled unshaven
like tyra in a fat suit
frame fourteen--
muslim woman in a headscarf made
out of the american flag
frame fifteen--
suspenders on saggy pants
grandpa is going to work
on something important today
in the hayfield
frame fifteen--
mother betrays a trust
brother betrays a trust
family attempts to steal from me
persuade an old lady not to give to
who they know is her favorite granddaughter
greed, greed. poisoned words to protect the need
no one ever beat me harder than he did
grandpa, for daring say something about his son
same thing 10 years later or more
frame sixteen--
stripping the bark from the ground up
revealing white flesh pulp
he put his hands around her neck and tried
to strangle her. shook her as she was choking
her straight blond hair in her face
pushed her head into the wall, the back of her head
tied her feet and hands together
dragged her hogtied to the door
frame seventeen--
spirals of light and rainbow from
two sides of the wall
flowing torwards the middle of the room
bottecelli with venus in the shell
standing with urns to either side
frame eighteen--
break ups are break ups
deal with it. a duck rolls the water off its back
and moves on. there is no melodrama
there is only what is before you
familiarity breeds contempt
deception breeds hatred
breeds lawsuits, breeds a new animal
mendel for mendelsohn
pulling inards from the turkey
is what women have done for centuries
guttermouths are not created overnight but in
rebellion of sugar and spice and watching the milk
curdle on the stove
gutting the pheasant and the fowl
thinking of the shit sprayed in while flying over
my kitchen garden, of the labor of our hands
on the backs of our men, in their hair, and across our hearts
a dirty mouth is small respite, relief, and revenge
for kissing dirty hands and lips
tapping out the white cigarette
falling to the side.

(aside, like jacqueline by franza ferdinand. pretty voice)