Michael Rothenberg

FEBRUARY 20, 2011

Murderous drug movie blood worm blooming transient crest convulsive quest of stars clot and spangle the fist, sleep, wheeze, creased rubber sheet, blue lung stolen from a boozy seraphim, steamy white squid and scrambled sweet bread acid sputum brain pan, pearls, grains, rain, verse, overdose, we give you our poems, our songs, movies and comics and when it’s time to pay for the tears you want to sneak out the back door.

FEBRUARY 23, 2011

Invisible trombone combo, hippodrome, stone palindrome, homonym, anomaly, family tree.

Leaf blown off the deck into the moon.

Bloom, bone, rune, sewn, scar, fume, star, tune, serial disruption.

Mariachis on the wall of the many living waters.

Corridors of censure. Closure. Soldiers. Blood and oil wars. Boulders and skin, sloughed. Mechanisms of cacophony. Towers of rabble. Drivel, rubble, ruffle, dibble, dabble, rifle, riffle. Riff raff. Corn dogs and pollywogs.

A thrilling roller coaster ride breaks from its rolling tracks.

Dives, leaps, towards astral attraction, across the zenith.

Of the living room.

Silver spoon. Destiny and coincidence.

You make the worst and most of your wayward dreams.

Gleeners, DNA, ecology, cataclysmic chaos and birth. Evolutionary dental floss, apology, string theory, calliope. Calliopic blues.

Love goes around the corner for a Margarita.

FEBRUARY 25, 2011

Built in the 1940’s, the yellow motel with red shutters on the Hollywood Beach Boardwalk has a lovely view of white sands and shimmering blue Atlantic waves, naked beer-bellied Canadians slinging their pink dimpled guts across the dunes. Somewhere beyond that is a teeming coral reef, sharks, dolphins, sea turtles and a million billion sand dollars. Maybe Cuba.

Weekly rates, daily rates, sun cream, coconut shampoo, chocolates on the pillow at bedtime, beach towels & beach chairs, hot tub, sauna, a tropical lounge on the patio beneath the palms, Margaritas and Tequila Sunrise.

(Jimmy Kanoodle, the bully boy from Madison, Wisconsin walks around with a transistor radio plastered to his ear. That was a long time ago. He was always kind of square.)

I don’t know where they got those bicycles but it sure looks fun stuck to the seat in the sun, steering with one hand and a frozen yogurt cone dripping in the other. Lick, pedal, lick, pedal, crisp red blistering shoulders, white shorts and straw hats, lick, pedal, lick, lick, watch out for the kid with the purple plastic bucket and shovel, he shouldn’t be running with flippers on.

Michael Rothenberg is editor and publisher of Big Bridge. His poetry books include Man/Woman, a collaboration with Joanne Kyger, The Paris Journals (Fish Drum Press), Monk Daddy (Blue Press), Unhurried Vision (La Alameda/University of New Mexico Press), Choose (Big Bridge Press) and My Youth As A Train (Foothills Publishing, 2010). He is also author of the eco-spy thriller Punk Rockwell (Tropical Press). Rothenberg's editorial work includes the selected poems of Philip Whalen, Joanne Kyger, David Meltzer and Ed Dorn (Penguin Books) and the Collected Poems of Philip Whalen (Wesleyan University Press).
previous page     contents     next page



Post a Comment

<< Home