March Over & Out 4.0

3/2014-  New Work Marbels 1

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Lost March Marbles

When you finally lost

Your marbles in March

There were these knowing looks

All around.

 

The rules are unavailable at this time.

As were scouting reports, rumor or conjecture

While all this then is just memory on the March

All heel toe retreat cringing in seasonal lecture.

 

The rules are still unavailable at this time.

Marbels 2

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The iris in your cat’s eyes lost

Looking in other mirrors

Small round and ultimately

Quite manipulative.

 

While at once some forgotten name

Is merely a marginally interesting game

 

So you’re left thinking

 about more marbles

 lost in the March

and just few of their names:

 

Ade, Beach ball, Lutz, Oliy

Onion Skin, Oxblood opaque

Plastic plaster China toothpaste turtle

Steely Mica swirly Sulpinde

Marbels 3

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 So it’s down the Bunny Hole

I’m afraid with you then without

so much as a kiss

And just what game will it be next tonight ?

Knuckle Down Keepies or Quities 

 

So you just show them all

There Tiger.

                                                                                                                    Uncollected   3/14

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More Short Dogs Marching

 

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Those  Clowns in Mid-Town

 

Police report reads two white Caucasian males

In costume aggressively attempting to entertain

Riders on the A Train into Times Square

By suggesting they eat peanuts out of a bowl.

 

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Your  Gender  Shovel

 

The last man who knew

How to do anything died yesterday,

He remains unburied

Seems nobody remembered

What to do next.

 

Except her.

 

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Lost & Found 2014

 

FoundOne Conscience

Like new- hardly used

Lost Heart

Yeah I know it’s broken,

But I still want it back

 

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Deaf as the Moon

 

Go ahead

Yell your head off

No atmosphere

No Sound

 

No

Audience.

 

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Telecommunication

 

Never call anyone

When you have a chip on your shoulder-

Take walk around your block head

First

 

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You Can Never

 

Hold back Spring

But you had better remember this-

 

Any rumor about a thaw around here ?

Is just a quick freeze on the rebound.

 

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March is made of

 

Memory orphans

That nobody wants to claim.

 

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Defuse this Spring

 

Go ahead.

Give it a try.

 

Uncollected 2014

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March 2  

12.00

Last Day of Winter

 

So sing blue sky without

memory on the cusp

of seasons exchanging gears.

March in transition chilly

with a deceitful light promising

warmth but delivering

stark fingers puzzle scissors

purple brown sleeping limbs.

The air in the room hisses

in more chilly silence

Students bent to their task

glance out the window

hoping an answer appears there.

A flag flutters stiffly at the end of a pole

sporting a patriotic boner

like it was an end of the broadcast day

announcement.

But this is mid-morning

for such a terminal signal

a sign-off, a blizzard of white noise

so the clouds defuse the light

and the classroom darkens…

A blanket of gray descends…

bringing with it a big black old memory

of a time like this before

where the silence bores into the ears

and fatigue of vague weariness

invites the eyelids to begin to droop

There is always the sleep of change

reminding each fleeting season

just how short our time on earth is

in March.

                  The Terrible Now 2009

  *

Seems like it’s only just time after time- in the past tense here is a revision of Daylight Stealing Time originally published in Greetings from Gridville 2004

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 Daylight Stolen Time

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How did we lose that hour?

Last night fast asleep

We stole the time there.

Conspired it to dream hide.

 

O Please do not now decide to wonder why or how..

 C’mon…

We did it all over the face of time

Crossing state lines-

to invent second hand lives

liars in the face of time deferred.

 

Squirreled away an hour in secret

Pulled backwards at the hands of the clock face.

You would tick along with me.

 

We made that red finger stop once

Made it talk

Maybe even laugh

as it passes us by now again and again.

Shrugging mute.

 

Tonight we turn our back another hour

like you turned your back on me

Just In time.

 

Like crisp clean chilly starched sheets.

Peeled away the day

and slipped away and got lost in between.

 

Won’t you turn your back once again sometime with me

upon that maybe once perhaps we just might agree.

 

We might steal that time back

Hide it in the lost hour

put it away somewhere

where they’ll never find it

never even miss it.

 

In the cool clear evening

after all the daylights busy color time has faded

and all that is left is just memory

of a jail break

a common escape

an unsolved mystery.

 

I heard sirens in the distance.

I heard sirens in your eyes

They reported an all points bulletin.

The authorities were baffled.

As soon as we once spoken

Roadblocks were constructed

 

Officers had snapshots

of our expired images

once we looked like them

in the silence of the hours

we stole.

 

Our crime

is now public knowledge.

The purpose of the theft

was always open

to common conjecture.

The motive attributed

to persistent desire.

 

It is after all 

the only clues

we will left them with

even if

our fingerprints

are still all over each other.

After we are

all over everything now

 

So won’t you turn your back

again on some time with me

upon that maybe

just once perhaps we might agree.

 

Did we really get away with

one secret perfect crime

or just what we stole from each other….

Time….

                                                                            Greetings from Gridville  Spring 99/05/14

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 These icy flowers etched in glass will have to melt so others can bloom

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DSCF4008 this one*

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Mad March World

 

In this light

March simply has

nowhere to go

but……on.

 

The step in the day

a longer presence

of illumination into

the afternoon later now

every new year born

in this same way.

 

There is this sense of urgency

a sort of headless Madness

that ignites

brittle tree limbs to

fan fine struck fingers

in complicated silhouette

 

flung across the horizon

like a bottle of India ink

spilled and splattered

upon a pale blue sky page.

 

I send these words

mere reflection

auditory stenography

purely dependent

on perception systems

beyond my grasp or control

 

Along the prescribed channels

as the pale blue light

drains the liquid words

from this page

to end up a puddle soaking your socks.

                                                                                               Uncollected       3/11         

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