from Downtown Brooklyn #3 (1994)

HOW TO GET TO THE COFFEE STORE ON A COLD SEEMINGLY LOVELESS DAY

I emerge from the subway
(Lawrence and Willoughby)
and find everyone planting trees in
the sidewalks of Brooklyn.

you're up to your chest in
a hole in the ground and I you're beautiful you
stun me for a moment
on my way to the coffee store

feigning interest in your ecological
escapade I peer into your
hole mesmerized by what color
was your hair? I only remember

skin peeking through holes in
the knees of
your long
johns and jeans.


HOW TO REACH ENLIGHTENMENT

wander a supermarket marvel
at the things
there exterior to any commerce

for hours
you're just seeing items move before you
now not

have a conversation with the customer
in line ahead of you at the checkout

say "you're not going to use that
condensed milk in that
macaroni and cheese, are you?"

she will answer, "no, this is evaporated milk" and
the store will vanish


CORRESPONDENCE

she told me to visit a hard
ware store and that candles
melt without burning.
I dreamed we were out in
the country or at least in
space, we were out
side in darkness I forget exactly where
but I was trying to fuck you
and you were afraid we'd
be seen and some other stuff
happened. it is strange how
we speak of the new edge & living
on the edge etc. while at the
same time to be marginal
ized is considered an undesirable
thing. I'll probably just take the
fucking money and run.
we can hug each other on couches.
we can ride in cars and eat
sandwiches and say that we all love
each other. we can sit on the
beach and make huge sand
penises and we have actually
and even though Natalie Merchant
has left 10,000 Maniacs the road
to the boardwalk is already paved
bottles break other bottles. skin
is removed to reveal other skin.
it is worth crying in front of ones
friends to change a tire in the rain
or to play billiards in a bar. nothing
can replace exposing your birth-
marked buttock to a newly-acquired
friend or staring in amused silence
at the lips of a brave man. there are
fruit flies that are not fruit flies
sometimes in our kitchen so we put
fruit in the refrigerator. I know they
are not fruit flies because they eat
other things too. I dreamed once of a
dormitory in great detail. I saw the
dimly-lit hallways, the narrow
stairwells and a grit to feel in sleep.
I wonder about imitations. who
would want someone who would put
up with it? who admires that? a clock
is a buzzing item. fat kid, what did
you say? playing deaf, I tell
them I just started playing and would
you like to come show me how. I felt
stupid yelling at little kids, like they'd send their
big brothers after me. kind of strange
after this morning's dream. line a reader
and other readers up and pop pop pow
eliminate them if they are their thoughts
their chance to voice give voice a chance
to make one sit and listen. to succeed at
wrapping, to succeed at bombing the view
from the window is a controlling action
but I enjoy reading a book after the type
face gets small and I sit on my feet but
what has happened to me then? the things
that are in the world can be counted in
sixes. it is possible to lift a wheelbarrow
and wheel it to New Hampshire. cyberspace
is where the bank keeps our money.
procrastination is an art-form. I wonder
if Clint Eastwood plays basketball. the
chemical acridness of chicken-flavored
egg noodles is salt. a backpack is faith in
a grocery store. I listen to the narrator
and my mind is twisted and I let it be
twisted. how twisted. rather than de
ciding how I think my characters, you
know the ones, the ones in the story
I'm reading, writing, should behave, I
let some voice I've never heard, never
will hear, tell me what to have them do.
a person who tells you they don't like
chicken and noodles has never climbed
a mountain. a cup of coffee is a shivering
sunset. cinnamon and mint are exterior
to a poem about a deafening creek and
some rocks. but it is white ceramic with
a cracked handle and is an inside-out
shaving mirror. a scorcher is a hot day.
but it is possible to withstand one with
a boyfriend to hug on a couch, which is
a sofa. the stars rush by now.
two cats touch each the other's cheek.
I believe what the voice tells me
whatever you say: puddles
of easily sloshed material, containers
behind the masks we call voices are
people with typewriters and contain us.
however, words leave gaps in sentences
they contain, and although you're the
reason for short silk dresses, it's quite
impossible to speak a straight line,
no matter how many books you've read,
because if you'll notice, as it's quite
necessary to do, that what is, is because
of what it isn't, then I'm sure you realize
that you can imagine quite a handful but
are as unable as anyone else to say so
or how. for example, if I'm making baked
beans and baking a potato, am I baking
beans and making a baked potato? you see
what I mean. writing about digitally-mediated
space is somewhat like listening to country
music. it is possible to send a Valentine to
someone you've never met just as it is possible
to open a window when it rains. newspaper
is like candy wrapping. what do clowns
carry in their pockets, anyway? giving in
to narration is no better than being herded
onto Space Mountain, a subway car or a voting
booth. a lep is a set of bended legs, a seat made
out of a bent person or a lick, feline or canine
in origin. the door to the living room is sealed
shut with the desire to live alone but
the television seeps under. four days from now
and it's back to the grind, my job as a half-clad
sweaty dancer on MTV. once you break a
twenty, it's gone: this is adjunct wisdom. pencils
also clink well when hurled at shiny tabletops.
tables are a business for some people.
the "keep on truckin'" guy is older
than everyone I know put together. he's been
truckin' for an awful long time now. sometimes he's
led other truckers behind him but more often
than not he trucks alone. I'm a trucker's wife.
a pledge is a political promise or a furniture
polish. it is possible both to tie a tuxedo shirt
around a chair for decoration or to tell a joke
to someone with whom you've never shared
a meal. how strange. a friend is someone whose
car you've ridden in and can be no one else. and
you cannot be friends with someone who has
no car unless you have one yourself. one of you
must have a car. think about it. however,
hopping across a road on which there are
cars, especially in the snow, can help to
build a friendship. if neither of us has a car,
we are doomed. we may as well be business
partners, or at the very least, enemies.
it would be possible to go and get a job lifting
stuff but I can't imagine myself being the
one to do such a thing. giving in to narration
is no better than being orange juice.