The Poetry Marathon

If they told you it would be easy, they never walked that road,
never sang in that octave you’ve been practicing.
If they said you need to try harder, note that sheen of fear
on the forehead that says you’re better than they imagined.
No one knows your diligence, your dedication, your feverish
quest better than you do. Don’t say a word, don’t tell
what you already know about the path from here to there.

No rational correlation, no intent on the part
of the Post Office that recently issued Forever
Stamps celebrating the sun.
About that Forever part, I mean. We can hope.
Coronal loops, plasma blasts:
Stunning shades of gold and copper. Fire,
after all. The deep marble blue
of the solar flare, tranquil and torrid.
We still celebrate celestial bodies as if
Earth is the center of the universe
and all of it is just there for show.

The expanse of the Atlantic,
A tin house like an aberration.
The cabana to change your clothes,
considering how to hide
your car keys when you walk
out to the ocean.

A sinkhole, a marvel of nature,
human negligence in Surfside.
We used to drive down to visit
some private school boys there.
Ronnie, who would stroke my hand
like a kitten, and called me rhyming
nicknames in a singsong voice.

Interviewed after the disaster,
Moshe Candiotti said “the building vibrates.”
He imagines its must be what an earthquake
feels like. Running down the stairs, Moshe
sees the other side of the building
Already in ruins. Ronnie were you there
at the Shul of Bal Harbour, sorting
donations for survivors, not worrying
about where to hide your keys?
A tin house like an aberration,
the expanse of the Atlantic.

Joan says, I’ve been a little scattered lately,

you have likely felt the same. Endless

possibilities are not always a virtue, 

All the natal charts, tarot cards, and

oracles are of little help today. 

But your body knows, your breath

will tell you that you don’t need to decide, 

Ace of wands, eight of pentacles, 

you have likely felt the same.

I wanted to be a Cosmonaut

because Yuri Gagarin is a more melodious name

than John Glenn, because the Soviet

artists depicted outer space like poetry

rather than like science. 

The first woman in space,

also a Cosmonaut, 

coincidentally romantically named

Valentina. She radioed down 

from her solo flight: “It is I, Seagull! Everything is fine. 

I see the horizon; it’s a sky blue with a dark strip.” 

Is the unnamed narrator also, inevitably, 

An unreliable one? Reader, you only know 

the world that she lays out like cards 

on the table before you. Who knows what 

she hides? Certain ruptures, 

Tuesday afternoon traffic jams,

the inevitable boredom of 3 or 4 a.m.

The story begins at sunrise, she says, 

imploring you to “hope like anything 

it would turn out alright.”

The Exhaustive Guide to Dopamine and Magazines

does carefully curated pairings

for precise

target

audiences.

If you live in this zip code

that locals either gleefully or begrudgingly call

the oh-four,

You may be looking for the ideal edibles

to go along with the latest issue of Spin

and the Elton John live album you played

out by the pool when you were still

deciding on your major. Oh decades ago.

Who knew

there is a grouping called dopamine antagonists

used most frequently to treat psychosis?

I don’t follow the science but always read 

the side effects, seldom included 

in the magazine ads

as the worst case scenario.

We create splendid things purely by accident:

The just-crisp waffle still tender on the inside, 

awaiting the slow, golden pour of maple syrup.

The way sunlight glimmers on the doorknob

polished ahead of the visit from your childhood friend

who rushes into your arms for a celebratory embrace.

When the pink and orange neon of the Sleepy Hollow Motel

clicks on just as you approach and the gleaming arrow

feels like you’re driving right into 1956, one more time.

Then waking from a dream rife with confusion,

the wrong people in the right places, leave you 

with the assurance you no longer need to consider them. (more…)