P 165 #explodethelogic

First Avenue after/for Rae Armantrout

First Avenue

            after/for Rae Armantrout

(the) silence 

under peerless 

vehicle noise 

seems like 

the only 

is  

* 

doctor says 

you had 

a heart attack 

when 

(you ask)

(busy year)

*

those bricks red 

for the office 

official order

for ignoring

speed past 

* 

economics 

interrupt this poem 

child places bow 

in hair 

wails: but I can’t 

pay the rent 

still

*

Harvard says 

half of all heart attacks 

remain unrecognized

you’re not

so bad

* 

didn’t mind

constant honking

or hated it            

2/30

A little Robin, a little Emerald Tablet, a little Hondo

I look up. I think incandescently 

about my sister’s night sky app

that clarified the constellations 

from that dark corner in Texas

April night gathered outside 

                  here a true explanation

                  concerning which there 

                  can be no doubt:

as above, so below 

the secret humming beneath the secret 

I look up. I think who grouped them 

where they lay who drew ram, lion, 

water bearer come to bring needed nectar 

thirsty thirsty as we’ve been    are     who 

stole a world from us, corralling stars

                  to make the miracle 

of the one thing 

look up

NaPoWriMo -- not quite in the spirit here.

A Freud erasure: page 248 "Mourning and Melancholia" 2018...

And "Dear Ivanka" (or #dearIvanka) -- written when I was wondering why anyone considered the first daughter as a possible progressive in the cavern of our ugly ugly present administration

Super cool Rise Up Review published my "Dear Ivanka" poem, which begins with a quotation from Albert Woodfox and the lines:

How long and deeply I dreamed of being

a white lady. How distinctly I wanted 

to be tall and blonde like a pageant winner....

Erasure: 21 April: Final page of M&M

What to do with Poetry Month? Erasures, Dear Hillary, and more, I guess. No rules.

30

And April 2: Erasures: even though I've learned that Donald Trump signs all his mail in gold sharpies

Poetry Mons Begins

Some years

Didn’t want any more surprises

on the couch

with dog

a three-word Moroccan spice

spring

came today it was just a click like

the future’s snapped fingers

like how she does she does some years

like she didn’t want to miss poetry

month either                   party girl

meanwhile today’s code continues

shredding yesterday’s careful knit

someone has to be

be the last to know

decipher one long walk

city swanning until he stepped

on the trick door in the sidewalk

and dropped quick, scraped leg,

rust spot on the corduroys and

clambering up, brushing and

why did you laugh, he said

but I had waited and waited.

15: page 257

9 April, 9th Erasure (p 251 of "Mourning & Melancholia")

That seemed a little wordy so I pulled out the marker again:

8 April M&M (page 250)