“Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame. If you draw a giraffe, you must draw it with a long neck. If, in your bold creative way, you hold yourself free to draw a giraffe with a short neck, you will really find that you are not free to draw a giraffe. The moment you step into the world of facts, you step into a world of limits.” —G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
Thy navel is round, like a Coke can, only rounder.
One could use your navel as a tiny Coke can holder.
The roundings of thy thighs are round, too—
So round as to be almost too round to contemplate.
What are other things in this world that are too round?
Thy two breasts are not round, but sort of pouty,
hanging down like twin overripe persimmons
if persimmons had little reddish brown buttons on them
and were often hidden behind a trendy shirt.
Thy neck is long and slender like the long, slender
neck of a goose, but without feathers or anything.
What if we were to go to the movies this evening?
I said, “I will climb up her latticework to her window.
“I will stretch my man-neck to see into her window.
“She will be eating popcorn and watching TV.
“I will then suggest that we go to a movie.”
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field
that is a shortcut to the mall where the Cineplex is.
There, Junior Mints give forth fragrance similar
to the fragrance of your breath after you eat them.
Those geese really like that pond.
Look at them. They’re all over the place.
I am actually really tired of geese.
A scientist once told me there are too many
and that natural selection will whittle away
until there are only a few hundred smart ones
left—no more flying through propellers
or into picture windows, this new strain
of scary giant geese will sit around in caves
discoursing about metaphysics, inventing
wing protectors, goggles, forming makeshift
governments with ad hoc committees—
except being geese they will probably think
the branches of government are literal branches
and that the bills they pass are, you know, bills.
But then, that’s geese. There’s only so far
they can evolve before they run out of steam.
That’s why I say I’m tired of them.
Hey if you know someone in Louisville, KY, email them and tell them to go to the Pink Door tonight at 7:30. That is, if they want to see me read poetry.
My grandmother
gave me a clock
before she died.
It was silver
and the chime
sounded like a cuckoo.
She said it was a keepsake
to remind me
of our fun times.
Moments before
my grandmother
passed away
she sat bolt upright
in her bed and demanded
the clock back.
I was like,
“But Grandma!”
But no, she insisted,
she must have it,
it was foolish of her
to give it away.
I gave her the clock.
She held it to her breast
and took her final breath
with a smile
on her face.
How precious
that clock must have been
to my grandmother—
almost as precious
as the moments
we spent together
before she died.
.
So this is Tuesday.
So this—this is Pontiac LeMans.
This must be what they call
windshield wipers.
So this is Roddy Piper.
.
So this is macaroni.
This is what all the fuss is about.
It’s Anchorage Alaska all
over again.
So this is elbow macaroni.
.
So this is K. D. Lang.
And this must be her left boot.
That would make this her right boot.
So this is what it feels like
to walk down the street, alone.
.
So this is the famous persimmon tree.
This is what Rowdy Roddy Piper
was telling me about.
So this is the most famous tree in Canada.
This must be what they call
“Margaret Atwood’s Revenge.”
.
So this is that hit single
by Michie Mee.
So this is what they play—
the DJs who can’t see.
So this is the waste land
behind that one grocery store.
So this is what all
the swaying grass is for.
.
So this is my time sheet.
And this—this must be a very old ghost
come to tell me where to post
my time sheet.
.
.
1.
What do you get when you cross
a hedgehog and a ferret?
2.
What did the red-headed stepchild
say to the rented mule?
3.
Who are the clams?
4.
What to do with all these broken bits?
5.
What are the major similarities
between a flugelhorn?
6.
Are there two things or only one?
7.
Whose face is it?
.
Sometimes when no one
else is around I say
“I like boats.”
I say it because it’s
fun. Also, because
it’s true.
I like the way they slip
quietly through
liquid.
I enjoy their prows
and poop decks,
jibs, etc.
If it weren’t for boats
where would we
be now?
We’d be back on
the mainland
tending cows.
McNally Robinson just ordered 25 Observable chapbooks. It inspired me to make a new offer.
If you recommend Observable Books to your local indie bookstore, and they end up placing an order, I’ll send you a couple of chapbooks of your choice, gratis.
Details are at the top of the page — http://observable.org/books/
The number of offers
for which I am ineligible
is staggering.
The drunk men
walking down the alley
behind my house
the other night
were also staggering.
When I confronted them
the next morning
about messing up
my retaining wall
they denied
everything.
I do not know
what all offers
they are ineligible
for, but I do know
that if they would
come clean
about this incident
with the wall
I would offer
to believe them
regarding
future incidents.
Observable Books wants to sell fifty chapbooks this week, so if you order a Gabe Gudding or Cole Swensen chapbook ($8), you’ll get one of the Observable anthologies (of your choice) FREE. I’m ending the offer Friday at midnight. No shipping charges! Paypal accepted. http://observable.org/books/
News just came through the wire that my second book, Direction, will be published by Persea Books! Hooray! Big sigh of relief!
This morning we realized
that nobody really is anywhere
when they call someone anymore,
nor anywhere when a call comes in.
To dial someone’s number
on a lighted keypad
or to touch someone’s number
into a backlit LCD screen
is to confess to be nowhere
in particular on Earth—
but it is a very
particular nowhere.
In the same way that the darkling thrush
makes its presence known
through a formal song,
we call each other on the phone.
1.
Nothing is as funny
as a summer day,
but three things
are more temperate.
One. A glass
of tap water.
Two. Your mood
after we watch
“Friends.”
And three.
2.
Three things
keep me from
emailing you.
I count bad
breath and
receding hairline
as one thing,
by the way.
3.
In all the universe
there are only three things.
This is the secret
of the universe,
or as the French call it,
“le secret de l’univers.”
I don’t remember the first time
my dad told me to hurry my ass up
I must have been seven or eight
months old and as naïve as I was
I tried to hurry up only my ass
and no other part of me and he
said son hurry or I’m gonna beat
your ass good and realizing
that there was no way to separate
my ass from the rest of my body
and having noted this other curious
use of the word ass I determined
that by ass he must have meant
all of me that if I didn’t hurry
all of me up he was going to
beat all of me good though then
the question became what he
meant by good for certainly
he was threatening to beat me
badly or at least well it wasn’t
until I was two that I began
to understand the nature of street
lingo and realized that my
dad communicated in street
lingo when he was in a hurry
