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Snap?rebecca -that more like a full length film Italian wedding soup sounds appealing!! Cheers p -----Original Message----- From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Rebecca Seiferle Sent: 02 March 2006 05:08 To: [log in to unmask] Subject: *** SPAM *** Re: snapshot corrected Foo, the lines are still broken, but never mind, just figure the one or two word lines are orphans, best, R --- Rebecca Seiferle <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > Sorry, but the lines broke short, and since it's > long > anyway, here's the correction. > > Best, > > Rebecca > > > > war everywhere, war viral in the veins, the ganglia > gang, > for whether it's the Toyota from Maine > going 60 down 20, the two-lane that must be the main > street for every mill town all the way to Canada, > that nearly clips me off at the knees when I run > across to the post office, or the minivan pulling > out > of the Spring > Company (and why do people like to drive those > things > which waddle and surge like wheeled-bathtubs, slow > as houseboats churning their engines to get their > pontoons > somewhere!) into the gap between clotted cars, > though > the driver's forgotten that traffic travels in the > other > direction too, and so has to screech for a halt > when it's a city bus going through, her mouth > yells shit! at the bus, her cab fills > with other expletives, and I, reading her lips, > wonder > how many > die, cursing, like this, as the pedestrians take > their > courage > in their hands and dart out, > many wobbly, arthritic, cane tapping (so many > permanently injured in the birthplace of the > industrial > revolution) or drunken steps > like the guy inspired at the local bar to go for > broke > and cross to the gas station for lotto tickets. Most > have their ears glued to the news, every cochlea > glued to a cel, another voice directing them like > divine or demonic intervention, their steering > mechanisms > making a haze of blunderbuss oblivion > surrounding every head with the halo of certainty > over what matters--once drivers drove blind > into the sun, as if it were an eternal destination, > (like that man impaled on his own steering wheel > when he rear-ended a runaway truck carrying > watermelons, > their green rinds split open, too, all over the > highway) > now everyone's in conference calls, business > meetings, pagers, > newspapers on the dash, always listening to > a transmitted voice so she or he don't feel alone > the here and now, here and now where > they're counting on us, even me, atom among other > atoms, > to be awake, to stop in time, to take care of them > as they attend to elsewhere. And we do, most > of the time, we do, even the old vet > with the faded support-our-troops ribbon stickered > on his trunk who's going 15 at a crawl and brakes > hard, > because he's spotted some younger (well, most > of them are, comparatively) woman and though > she won't be crossing the street or even reach the > curb > for another minute or two, he's got to take > chivalry's > abrupt stop, be the one who throws down > his gears to let her cross the street. Expecting as > much > from the warning of his wobbling wobble, I brake > and hope the row of two ton dominoes behind me > is awake enough to notice, to keep > from cascading in a six car fender > bender,richocheting > all the way back to the impending > 5:10 where some, to save time, have stopped on the > tracks, > and so we make room for each other's random > bumpings, bumped, bumpkins halted at random like > electrons > steering along our particular orbits along a common > electrical path, and hoping not to collide on get > stuck > in some other driver's sticky threaded karma pit, > and I wonder if that's what she meant, Nina Simone > singing "human kindness is overflowing, and I think > it's going to rain," in that voice-oh, that voice, > such a surge bowl of low moan and honey light > makes a bee humming of even these end-of-the-day- > worst -hour-for-it, errands, as if my circuituous > paths were a minor liminal of chaos theory, so many > years > and no wrecks, so many speeds and no tickets, > and knowing it's mostly luck, and perhaps that's > what they all count on-jumping out from between > two cars to jaywalk 5 lanes of rush hour traffic-or > the luck or the sharpness and dullness > of others, surely, someone will pay attention > to me! each atom thinks, as if > we were all atoms, constellating out of some > maternal > bed that held us in our hands, imagine, as if the > universe > were mama, or as if we had murky eyes sharp for > unseen > movement, and me too, what else is it that shrewd > slow down, for no reason, flying at 80 on the > motorcycle > at night just as I approached the crest of a small > hill, > just long enough, just soon enough, before the mule > deer > jumped out of the sagebrush into the middle of the > asphalt, > time enough to stop and wonder, before veering away, > dumb luck, the same sort of luck of dodging bullets, > and hoping that nothing happens, that today > one doesn't see the man who sits in the grass and > watches > the blood spread like a strange ivy through the > fabric > of his shirt, the woman threaded with blood > wandering > dazed down the medium, o terrible vision when > I was five, and always war everywhere, always > war still, viral in the ganglia, and the nerves, > and still I'm rushing, always rushing home, > as if love were waiting with its words that might > make me cry, surge with tenderness, a sugar > volt melting, and say that it's over, the war > everywhere, always war still, viral in the ganglia > and the nerves in a world where Alice's Family > Dining > has pitched a sign on the corner we must all corner > by-- > Italian wedding soup > (very popular here), $8.95 a quart today only-- > yeah right, as fresh as last week-- > oh my wiseacre voiceover that knows love's just > Alice's chalk screeching on slate, a good woman, > torn as she is, if there ever were an 'Alice', torn > between > leftovers for altruistic soup kitchens and trying to > make > the sale of the day in "Clock City," the birthplace > of the industrial revolution. > > Rebecca Seiferle > 11:57 March 1, 2006, Waltham MA > > > > > > __________________________________________________ > Do You Yahoo!? > Tired of spam? 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