Don’t bring your tires
stripped of hot rims, or used
condoms, syringes or jumbo sized
needles. Leave the headless
doll in the truck, along with wrappers,
giddy snack vestiges and Keystone
cans. Don’t bother with torn underwear —
some young prize — or that quilted flannel
shirt, its insulation spilling from shiny
interior seams. Keep your mismatched
cutlery, fork tines bent like a $4.95
breakfast special. Send your compact
fluorescents on a trip to never-never
land with last year’s cell as busted companion.
Bury elsewhere two decades worth of smoldered
butts the color of clay. Toss fragments to sea:
green, brown, clear glass, to tumble edges soft.

Bring children to learn to read, tie shoes backwards,
upside the tales. Let them decipher shape by color.
Bring triangle squares and scissors. Bring a narrative
line with a blaring arc that flares under a welder’s solder torch.

Balance the putrid organic matter so time will weigh, remove
oxygen and trace cardio-pulmonary systems back to bacterial beginnings.

* * *
Maybe daylighting stuff that is hidden — for protection, for safe-keeping — isn’t such a good idea. Or maybe I should have expected a mess instead of some utopia.

gravel and dirt
into my hair, dust
in my eye. Throw

me a line.

I hear: clink, pebbles
drop, dink dink
between chain
and rock. Flickers

of light, metal
on wall shimmers
black to brown to
warm to dark. Place

captured hand on
craggy surface, draws
along the edges. Push,

throw a shoulder
into it! Tilts the balance,

thrashing back and forth
exhaust this act
rock back to sleep
forgetting the urge
to be rescued.

————————

I used the chain link idea in “Tripping the Wire,” along with the idea of “Balancing the Burrow.” Looks like I’m still stuck in the bunny hole, and having difficulty getting out…

(Deb, a technical question. Not at all poetic – how do I link this post to your other posts?)

If you’ve aroused your burrow (they are temperamental and don’t like to be moved), the lap stops rocking because the hole leans at an angle. To fix this, rock the lap and balance your burrow. Don’t use a crow bar. Continue testing for balance.

This requires a good ear and a lot of patience.

Balancing your burrow demands action. Place something under your burrow on either the left or right side to get the lap rocking just right. A blanket or pillow will probably do the trick. Tip your burrow towards the sky so that it leans. Be very careful with these tricky maneuvers. Don’t tip your burrow too far in either direction. Your burrow may veer too far off balance.

Trying to catch one of these monsters is not easy.

* * *
Process notes: A found “poem” using repair advice for “how to fix a grandfather clock.” I tied into Jenny’s “time.” I also used “lap” as a key word. I started thinking about lap siding, but wasn’t as amused by the mash-up.

Define desire, a sense tied by tides,
by chemical surges rich as ocean broth.
Find the trash vortex deep in the Pacific.
Set anchor in swirling bits and chunks,
refuse that cannot biodegrade or forget.

Refine how you call your friends close,
casual refrains of shared lattes and sweets.
Welcome a swell – the arch archaic term –
a fellow, a dandy, someone of fashionable attire.
Imagine something fine about the neck & head
not a noose or a hood, sweaty grit stains
marking last moments, a venerated shroud.

Fine-tune a time-piece, trim the ticks,
match the watch, the watching, the alarm
to dine, to retire, to march around the yard.
Fresh air daily portioned just so, a drop.
Wonder at vice-presidential insight, the move
from Bechtel to prison as wise investment strategy.

Find the fine line that trips your wire,
sets straight white teeth on edge – remorse,
cautionary tales for the fearful, for masses
worried a way of easy life – drink from a clean
faucet, shit in a pipe that will do your business – won’t.
Effortlessness. So we may fish rainbow trout at dawn then
discuss what ought to be at dusk, then lay on pure Egyptian sheets.

Confine night’s relentless restlessness.
Filch one memory for another, acquire the habits
of a world-class traveler. Mount photos on a gleaming
wall, waxed by hand over earth colored like
the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in twilight.
Talk about the comely indigenous population
as if they were a charm and you the chain link.

* * *
Process notes: Basically a free write using No. 2 of Tripping the Wire as a jumping off spot. Certain sounds influenced the path, and god knows what else.

Drive past the exit you want to take.
Open all the windows, balance the speakers
to roar. Sing. Pound the wheel. Chew every
piece of gum until your jaws ache to match
sandpaper eyes and blink. Blink. Blink. Don’t dare
yawn. Scratch every place that mentions an itch.
Think of every man you’ve ever slept with.
Wish you hadn’t thought of sleep with two
hundred miles to make before you can stop.

2.

Define desire, a feeling tried by tides.
Refine your comrade, welcome a swell.
Fine-tune a time-piece, trim the ticks.
Find the fine line that trips your wire.
Confine night’s relentless restlessness.

* * *
Process notes: Jenny wrote, “I desire this word to be defined: a tired feeling, with time as an unwelcome but inevitable lulling companion.”

I think each line of No. 2 should be its own poem. But I can’t write anymore tonight. ‘Night.

A lapping tide, rocking si(de)(b)y side

- – - – - – - – - – -

During revisioning this common word, “tide,” the word, “side” actually started looking foreign to me. I think the rabbit hole is a lot darker than I had first anticipated…

I desire this word to be defined: a tired feeling, with time as an unwelcome but inevitable lulling companion.

How did I tie this to both Deb and I? Is something for the sleepy eye… 

Watch us go through the process of fitting an add-on
power word with no regard to proper setting or tempo.

It will reverberate and you’ll know
what we  know: every point is some small redemption,
every setting is a chance to rev our engine to exhaustion.

Swap factory issue parts and bypass mundane cast
cases forced into the tempered engine of industry.
Add integrity to taste. Mark as durable as a pile of rags.

Outside pressure will withstand wear and abuse if only
we can simply separate moving parts, arousal, reduce friction.

* * *
Process: I borrowed bits of phrases from Jenny’s post, a bit of my found poem, added some engine language and included other stuff. (Not that I know anything about engines, it just seemed to fit — but did you know you can find a glossary of automotive engine terms in English-Spanish?) I know less about stuff than I know about engine parts. Sometimes I simply like the sounds of language, which when it gets to that point is not language but only sound.

And all I can hope for at this point is the same small, stupid, redemption that Elmer Fudd had when he went around hunting for ”wabbits,” because how can you not love something that looks and talks like an infant? 

Or…how can you not love that word, “wabbit” that “waughty wittle wabbit.” 

I won’t know what I’m wooing, and I won’t wunderstand Web’s wost wabout wapping to wypass whis wpam.

* * *

Sometimes it is easiest to start with something else. This is a found thing. Maybe it is a prose poem. It was spam in Read Write Poem’s filter.

I exchanged “power” for “dust” and “words” for “collectors” and “dictionary” for “woodshop.”

Communication is shared language. We (Jenny and Deb) want (need) to make up our own words (or images) because the ones given us aren’t enough.  We intend (hope, desire, crave) to create our own meanings. In this exploration (the process that will unfold in the next 31 days) we will explicitly define words differently and then use “our” definition throughout the collaboration process. We will create a glossary  and we will keep adding to it. Changing it. Using it. Change it. Use it. And might be changed by it. Or that is what we think we will do. Today. Tomorrow might bring us a different thread to pull.

Daylighting — comes from the idea of a stream or river that has been paved over for “civilized” use (roads, etc.) and then opened back up because people realize that healthy streams (clean water accessible by plants & animals & humans) are good for us … this plays a big part in urban planning & renewal, at least in Portland, Ore., where we live.

Rabbit Hole — is loaded, and not just with thoughts of Alice and wandering to strange places or getting a leg broken when running across fields of hidden holes. It implies a strange and possibly dangerous journey. Or maybe that is just nerves tingling with excitement. Sometimes bellies can’t tell the difference between fun & fear.

* * *

Verberate (ver·ber·ate)  verb
To say something over and over again, in lots of ways, until it’s meaning is understood by those doing the communicating. Not to be misunderstood with fighting or disagreeing or having “words.”