Drones for the Late Summer
And the cool broke through the shaking heat
when the leave were the deepest green
the black gum beginning to burn
consumed by flame in fortnight
(I’ve always wanted to use fortnight
in a poem, and now I have).
Wind carrying the cider mill
in the cool that breaks the heat
from sun-burnt deep skin beat
sun-turned tan chest, less we forgot
the summer fraught with lessons
wrought with a heated hammer of
love and hate and the things that make
up an existence of growth and unknowing
seen as the shaking stark light
though sun-staring bright eyes.
speak with many voices,
beginning with few,
quickly accumulating until all voices
with an excited wispy voice,
until the fall arrives.
These are the words performed alongside the piece Drones for the Pre Spring.
I see a train leaving it’s station and a man running alongside it, waving goodbye
to his partner, joyous and tear-filled, the two lovers are children
I see trees reclaiming their land.
I see able-bodied businessmen going home for the day, returning inward.
I see us building on top of ourselves, on top of ourselves, on top of ourselves,
I see Troy V VI VII VII IX
I see Troy X
I see a seven-layered cake comprised of three types of cake: chocolate, hazelnut,
I see a passenger pigeon, riding first class, on an air-o-plane.
I see a theme park, constructed entirely out of crate-paper and rubber-cement.
I see the hair of each person wrapped around the globe as if to form a ball of
yarn, for the great kitten of the universe to delight in pawing and
I see a mess of tangled hair.
I see Mary, Jesse, Drake, Becca, Cameron, Stephanie, George, Izzie, Nathan,
Annie, Tripp, Reid, Kristen, and what’s her face and what’s his face, entering
into memories in which they don’t belong, confusing my own past.
I see the god in the trees, and in bird dropping on the pavement.
I see god in the pavement.
I see god in the curtains over there, and in the bird crying
I see god in the tears of the crying bird.
I see god in the _________
I see twenty class-mates giving a lecture on ableism, pride, and the
cognitive dissonance of grownups and how they can only accept so little of
the reality that surrounds them.
I see a never, again.
I see overturned rocks and their shadow-y implants.
I see a child running away from a creek side with a handful of pyrite and a
saunter, and a plan to invest in the New-York Stock Exchange.
I see a another child running away from a creek side with a dust of gold and
gap- toothed smile.
I see the mechanics of infinity and a sting.
I see melancholy elephants go by.
I see a never again, a never again.
Repeat ad lib. ad nauseam. add syllables. add pauses. mix order.
stumble on words. add new words to existing phrases.
There was a Mystic Reality We Lived in Once
grandiose and noise and world, I was moving back and back,
a slow and quiet thing approaching an early life
brooding in mists and in song – back the theatres, back the gyms
round and round the memory backwards to swing sets and boas –
until the desolate topography – I was a child, in glamour, in heels –
let’s all shout our multiple histories celebrating complexity of past realities
on histories into the skyclouds – within the past, before the past, before
we will shout memory, as there was concern with a sense
within the reality, all we knew – of self – of what humanness was.
This is the accompanying poem for Drones for Winter, concerto for organ and string orchestra.
Drones for Winter
throwing water out the window
mufflers on a highway
dusting snow in the wind
exhaust of a city skyline at morning
the Mississippi at Dusk
burning old love letters
the burgundy scarf your friend crocheted for you
the humidifier attacking the common cold
street cleaners at night
the phrase “blowing smoke up your ass”
wine and a bath
dust in sunbeams
waking up to a lover singing, getting dressed
placing my hand under my lover’s shirt when we’d lie together
the way we were before this.
Please if you could turn the fire off when you leave, you would make me happy. Dinner is at seven and I will be proposing to you so wear the suit with the navy, the forest green, and the burgundy that I love you in, and I’ll wear my red pants, the shirt you kept me from throwing out, and our small infinities together. It’s cold out, so don’t forget your heavy coat (like you always do). If all goes well, we will have a baby named James in two years time.
read this section twice through
in a quiet whisper as if your lover
was an inch from your face.
We were rich with diamonds
in our hands
until they melted through
the cracks of
our fingers and water droplets
into our skin returning to
as those droplets
our fallen tears in a past
Evaporated into the
and were enveloped by the
and became the
and our tears were the
Frozen by the heat of
and then like tiny undamned
cast out from the
onto the ground in this
tree top city
where it sat among the other
diamonds in the snow
that we then picked up and let
melt in our hands.
And I Was
And I was
And I was running [backwards}
and i Was
[like a snail]
And I was running
And I was Running and I was Listening
And I was
And I was Running [like a
snail] and I was
Listening to Donna Summer time
and the living is easy And I was listening
To George Gershwin and I left
out in the rain and I was running
and I'll never have the recipe
And I was Listening to Donna Summer George Gershwin
Listening to Donna Summer
And my Love child
in the rain never meant to be
listening to Diana Ross
And I was
Running in MacArthur Park
[was melting in the dark] listening to Diana Ross
I left the cake out society
the greeeeeeen iccing Fasten your seeetbelts
it's gonna be a bumpy night
I was running in the rain flowing down it's gonna be a bumpumpy night
And I was Running and I was Listening to
I was the Love Child Running.