The Carriage
No matter how gilded and tasseled, the carriage
Looks like a shell. The driver is on full display,
Telling the horse where to turn for the veiled woman
Inside. Discretion is the name of this game—whose
Home will she visit, why will she call on that man
Or woman, does she dare risk a tarnishing of her
Name. The driver knows it all, coolly flexes his wrists
To get the horses to slow, and calls it out like a toast:
Here we are, ma’am, we have arrived!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Friday, September 5, 2009: Quoted from: Plan59 :: Vintage Ads :: Mid-Century Modern :: Clarence Holbrook Carter, 1953
The Wood Anniversary
What did couples exchange and receive
After five years of marriage?
Wood, I’m told, is traditional.
Though the more modern option is silverware.
I will buy you neither tree nor table.
No carving or picture frame or flooring.
No fence, no log, no splint, no walking stick,
No whittling of your likeness,
No cedar chest, no teak armoire,
And certainly, no knives and forks and spoons.
Instead, I give you this:
A cross section of our daily sleeping and waking
And the small acts that give it shape—
An extended hand on our way to the car,
The ridiculous songs we sing on the way
To work, our cats, our old photo albums,
Our maddening, unflagging lack of a camera.
My parents received a piano
On their fifth. This song is what I have for us,
A seed, a tangle of roots, a nest balanced high on a branch.
What did couples exchange and receive
After five years of marriage?
Wood, I’m told, is traditional.
Though the more modern option is silverware.
I will buy you neither tree nor table.
No carving or picture frame or flooring.
No fence, no log, no splint, no walking stick,
No whittling of your likeness,
No cedar chest, no teak armoire,
And certainly, no knives and forks and spoons.
Instead, I give you this:
A cross section of our daily sleeping and waking
And the small acts that give it shape—
An extended hand on our way to the car,
The ridiculous songs we sing on the way
To work, our cats, our old photo albums,
Our maddening, unflagging lack of a camera.
My parents received a piano
On their fifth. This song is what I have for us,
A seed, a tangle of roots, a nest balanced high on a branch.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009: Notcot #24628
A saw, a chisel, a rake
Dragged across the block of ice
And then a mermaid
Cascading hair blown back
By the waves cresting
Around her narrow waist
The sculptor revels in
The impending collapse
Of features he had mined
From a variety of sources
Disney eyes, the nose of
The woman he had lived with
Sophia Loren cheekbones
Imagining the figure reduced
To a melting stump, a puddle
Made him close his eyes in pleasure
Dragged across the block of ice
And then a mermaid
Cascading hair blown back
By the waves cresting
Around her narrow waist
The sculptor revels in
The impending collapse
Of features he had mined
From a variety of sources
Disney eyes, the nose of
The woman he had lived with
Sophia Loren cheekbones
Imagining the figure reduced
To a melting stump, a puddle
Made him close his eyes in pleasure
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009: ffffound!--Quoted from: nl121108
Optometry
Measure the eye,
Its capabilities.
Produce numbers
That describe
Its functionality.
Ask the patient
To call out the
Digits and letters
In the poster on
The plaster wall.
The patient will
Feel nervous,
I assure you.
Plastic disc on wand
Held over one
Closed lid,
Your patient’s
Heart might tremble.
It is thus with
Any test of one’s
Experience of
The world, each
Of us seeing
And interpreting
with varying
intelligibility.
Measure the eye,
Its capabilities.
Produce numbers
That describe
Its functionality.
Ask the patient
To call out the
Digits and letters
In the poster on
The plaster wall.
The patient will
Feel nervous,
I assure you.
Plastic disc on wand
Held over one
Closed lid,
Your patient’s
Heart might tremble.
It is thus with
Any test of one’s
Experience of
The world, each
Of us seeing
And interpreting
with varying
intelligibility.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009: ffffound, quoted from: but does it float
Over time, the map’s creases weaken.
The paper’s feeble bonds have been tested
Each time I unfolded it,
Studied the markings along its wingspan,
And collapsed it between your hands.
The creases have worn away whatever
Was printed beneath—
The boundary of a park,
The delicate, tangled grid of streets into freeways,
A river.
The map is disintegrating,
A localized continental drift.
The names of streets aren’t even right
In some areas,
So new is this landscape
Compared to its facsimile.
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