Pete Spence

A Lapidary of Excursion. (In Memory of John Ashbery.)

as you walk out on the freshly laid lake breathing in the contours
of the air pressing against the water you notice your shadow
is a little more satirical than the present clumsiness you adhere to
keeping your center of gravity from being misplaced in the ever
moving perspective challenging each step you take stepping
constantly over your shadow until it is eclipsed by midday
only to be drawn out into the terse fleece of the afternoon inclined
today to take its time taking each stepping stone as it comes
looming out of the bright sunshine filling out the way forward
bringing distance closer as an ideal place to lean on while admiring
the vista of the day so far while it continues to grow efficiently
on the framework of itself every moment a highlight made fresh
just now by a short shower of Spring rain you run your finger
along its vague outline and touch the clouds so approachable
like an instance of distance tumbling past the applause of your
eagerness to press on until the only thing that is audible is your breath

Bent Stacks.

           shoe horn

                              eye opener
                                     why is it called a toothbrush
                           when it should be plural
unless you only have one teeth left?

             lone tooth's last stand!

                                      gadget cleaner

                     arm rest

air bending tongs


                         a good supply of air

a solid bench to work it

stacked bents

Fly Wire High Flyer.

Norma's Not a Bauhaus insect screen
keeps the moths from my winter jacket i think!
though most reside in my wallet i'm sure!
in the night i multi task
i don't write! 
but i woke up once with a great line 
it'll keep 'til morning i thought
but it didn't!
didn't ruin the coffee!
or the shadow theater as the sun came up
which ignores me even though i'm interested
each shimmer and the broadening day
noon stands still for a moment 
then lopes towards a fitting sunset

Mirror Stage.

face the morning

not the wall!

don't feel cornered

hello morning

slap a little water
about the eyes

across the eyes

dot the i's

wipe the smile
off the mirror

hello morning


during the ocean the curtain falls
simmering on under its label
nearing Act.3. where the audience
burst into a tangle of flames
a lot of thought goes up in smoke
thick ash covers the applause
like a hasty avalanche late for lunch
or very late for Act. 2! a scene where 
a school of fish suntan on some dunes
in the wings on the wing the thief
stammers through the deciduous audience
lapsed in a replica of daylight in Act. 4.
under a full moon high tidings wash
over the precipice of the audience
clinging to the dampness of discontent
calmly reaching for the lifejacket 
under the seat as the dunes are 
swept elegantly from the stage

Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.

He is currently retired from work but not from any of the above.
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