Primitive Information

Three shots and it was over. Take them and bury them. Bury them now. One foot one word. Wind kicks up. Dust spreads. Headlight skewed. Whiskey. Door slams. What was the worst thing? Interference. Time out. Voice calls: Horrible, horrible, horrible. I said empty. I said whiskey. Let’s go. Down stairs. Full of despair. Grandfather had to shoot them. They were sick, every last one.

In the general numbness: a bird calls. Screen darkens. Cue storm. Strike sun. Radio on. Light serrated, diffuse. What does it mean, divisive? Finger on page. Belly drawn. Press nipples. I said I love you. I love you, red underwear.

Wonderful. Hand full of hair. Pimple. Fingernail. Light up, Dearth. What is the worst thing that ever happened?

Exams. Beating. Short and long hair. Kisses. Dances. Poems. Songs. Tuxes. Pictures. Rooms. Cars. Evenings. Games. Glances. Drinks. Clouds. Rodeos.

Enchanted I’m sure.

One is lonely. One waits. One looks and listens. One speaks. One accrues debt. One learns to walk. One wears dentures. One loves. One is in love. One pines for love. One withers away. One revives. One excretes.

The debt is paid and the dishes clatter. The can empties and a car arrives. The sky darkens and a dog lies down. A page turns and a child drowns.

Pleased to meet you.

To die. To life. Tomorrow. Too many. Two days. To him–

We raise our glasses and drink. The screen goes dark again. Someone wiggles a toe. A doubt is expressed. Despair felt. The chord changes. Voices. Drums. Death haunts us. We gather and speak. We laugh. Exchange ideas. Drink.

Tags: Workbook by dhadbawnik
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wake up and out
feed cats, close
windows, A/C kicks
on, start coffee

*

breakfast is cold
cereal, OJ, vitamins, bowls
and spoons, sugar,
cream, kitchen light

*

off to work. Refer to
previous post. Scratch at
ankle, knee, last night’s
fresh bites

*

lean back let in
liquid, light. Heat
of day, hours away

*

that’d be fine. Open windows. Night
pours in. Listen. There are cows
close by lowing, closer
cicadas buzz and click. Dog
barks. Cats hiss.

*

Back among familiars
of whatever sort.
The faithful shirt
draped over
the chair

*

Roger, I will get
back to you, I have it
right here, what
to say

*

love in figure
of woman
angry and pretty
computer crashed

*

waving at baptists
in cars as they
pass on their way to Sunday
service, I want to be
last

*

some of these have appeared in the most recent Skanky Possum.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I read these. They represent a very simple project I started way back at the beginning of summer, to record more or less what was going on here at Cat Claw Cove.

Didn’t mean to put myself in the picture, but it’s all I could find

I clearly didn’t get very far; it was difficult to maintain the kind of daily attention/obsession that these discrete little poems represent. Now we’re moving in a week or so to a new place. “Nine things” just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Tags: Oulipostal by dhadbawnik
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Whoever goes, goes.
Personally, see, I don’t.
Not anymore.
Too late for me.
That’s not to say I don’t
think about it, but hey,
Let’s face it; I’m beat.
Like you don’t know how.
Whoever goes, Listen.
I’m telling you: Give up.
There’s a tattoo on the inside
of her thigh says:
“Jake’s property — Hands off –
I’m taken.”

a stripped-down modernized version of “Whoso List to Hunt” by Sir Thomas Wyatt, keeping the original caesura scheme.

Tags: Oulipostal by dhadbawnik
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Students.

Students talk.

Students talk about

students’ talk, about politics and

students’ talk about politics and
sex, how they’re

kind of the same thing, sprinkled
with “right” and “like” and
“yeah,” not

so much in the what but how
they’re saying (and his fingers
twirl in her hair, he leans
against her, he’s

a republican she’s not but it’s ok,
they find enough to talk about and
agree on, she gets up to go

to the bathroom, the table grows
quiet, it’s guy talk now but they

don’t know what to say, a desire to

go back to student talk

about student talk,

about student

talk

* * *

Yes, we are all the way back to school. Tina’s brother Gregor was visiting last weekend from Slovenia, and we took him to see the Strutters‘ season debut with some friends of ours

John, Carmen, Michael, and Abby

Your 2006 Strutters!

Gregor (behind me) enjoys the Strutters

Needless to say, we had a wonderful time… As for the above poem, I actually wrote it up in Austin while sitting in the Spiderhouse cafe watching some students gab at a booth I was trying to score. Any resemblance to any of my/your students is completely coincidental.

Tags: Oulipostal by dhadbawnik
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