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Thursday, April 14, 2005

Computer Lab

The picture on the monitor across the room from me is of two polar bears in the front yard of a snowed-on lower-income suburb. One bear sprawls on his back against a snowdrift, his legs wide out in front of him and belly high, staring off at something that I can imagine is a ball game. The other bear has a more traditional polar-like stance, also looking on with mild interest. The house behind them is one of a row of post WWII ranch homes, and they are blocking a driveway where sits an early 60s red and white trim corvette-like vehicle.

The copier next to me has been making 23 copies of 8 pages for a while now, the rhythm lulling me into dream states. Traci hits the alarm and returns to the room wet from a shower. The mannequins in the hallway of Tisch School are dressed for Shakespeare. Music that will never be heard by anyone else builds vast archetecture in front of my eyes. Hair creme, cigatettes, autistic aliens. Roast pork and wontons. A curbside on 9th has a crack like Guatemala. Orange.

I rock back and forth to the pulse of the xerox. When I drift further to sleep my head does a free fall and I wake with a jerk with the gentlest awareness of where I am, returning to the bear lounging in the snow.

3 comments:

anne said...

you know, ray, sometimes posts like this one make me wonder if blogging isn't going to give rise to a serious (or semiserious) movement towards a new blurb genre. your reads like a prose poem. opens outward and everything. i am tempted to steal your second paragraph to play with but promise to restrain myself.

in a loosely related thread, i though i'd send you a found poem i wrote. it is essentially a transcription of a letter written to me by your god-daughter, age 5. emma wrote my name all over the page and wanted me to 'srkl' it, but i've included it in the flow of thought. it makes a refrain, and no one's ever made my name into a refrain. anyway, thought you'd dig it:

My Sister’s First Letter
a found poem

March 29
Dear Anne i Love you!
yin you git hom Anne
Anne Anne you shod
Anne kom to mi sol Anne
if you wodr
Hal i get home Anne i git home
Anne
Biu cep
fid yo Name
and srkl it
likc Tis

Ray said...

Anne keeping our emerging movement honest with a dose of real poetry.

Methinks, (beware...) now is not the time, nor the place, to exercise restraint.

Enjoy - I did. Very much.

Thank you.

anne said...

well, then, i might be moved to play. watch out.

glad you liked the emma bit. it made me smile for days.