Mood Tone 22 (or a yawning that dares defy dead Chekhov’s gun)
I woke up on Fridays at six, as God
the clockmaker’d beckoned me but
by a scroll or a vision or some shrill
allen wrench twisted a tic or a
twitch to the left, to the left,
to the right, and the right again,
always with coffee and cigarettes; yet,
this morning my very last cigarette seemed
to be furnishing maybe an ozone machine
for Pod and Homily Clock—and
as the Marathon station, formerly
owned by the men who would
blow on and bless all the lot-
tery tickets, had traded hands,
its wood-paneled flesh now
expressly prosthetic, a ply-
wood impression of crow’s-
footed cellophane seething;
and all of the cigarettes
there, now snared in just
this lumpy, slumping staleness, that
made the great hemlock blight
read more as an underfed flower
pot cracked caulk-greige with
tatty and gasping, rat-kinged
spearmint—
and the Felix Street corner store, stuck
still sporting some toe-sprawled spall of
eddying yellow wood, tacked to the
cracked and impacted door, bent
splintered to blistering ridgeback hackles,
had altered their moseying opening now
from seven to eight—and eight was
too late, and, maybe, what’s more, as my
smoker’s devotion had grown to a
need for a morning cigarette, strictly
to plumb what rankling waste that a
sweltering yesterday studded my stom-
ach with still—I scudded off over the
cross-armed flanks of a tick-afflicted,
car-throbbed Broadway, off to the
7-11 my partner had mentioned
once seeming like sitcom fodder,
the humus of some great play or
something, epics cracked hourly
under the crackling awning that
dared defy dead Chekhov’s gun—
En route, what accreted like
poplar blossoms and plastic
sacks in a throat-scratched
shower-drain sewer grate,
stammering: first, what seemed
but a big gulp cup left
crucified over a re-
trofitted tobacco stave, seeming
the tar-eaten tooth of a
semaphore marking the
sidewalk cracked like a
dive-impacted palate a
cat’s scrunched trying
to wildly suture in sleep—
some cross-eyed pundit’s
tooth-pale graffito pressed
fizzling, blistering, pimpling
deeper in fractured skin of some
stop-light’s skull scuffed, scarcely
saltine-solid, still steadily echoing
Bush & Cheney ’04 in a
ripple of nearby seam-
ripped hyacinths vying to
shrivel up under the shade
of the twee little sheep
weed, lamb’s ear lolling like
sickly tongues clung over an
icicle’s phantom appendages
pinned in the wind still—
coppery glint of a crumpled Ferrero
Rocher shell squirming from
under some sudsing, iron-on possum’s
carcass ensconced in the
swollen swale set green and
alive as the sobering, homely,
and dispossessed beggars and
tradesmen, trilling in
step with the blushing and
pockmarked cloud bank burrowed
above as but burning butter, all
trying to cud of the glum summer
mugginess some scarce moment’s
rest,
the restive expression of what
was the night’s sly, slippery
hellbender respite bent now
barely to three or four mewling cop
cars, respite slipping astray of the
pimpling morning but boiled to
bubbling celluloid—was it a
zoetrope squarely knit together with
movement, meaningful under-
currents, the scattershot reek of
sewer-lolled scat and just what’s left
of a house cat’s war path, or
maybe, simple as soles spray over
the clover, the scurrilous
concrete, slack-jawed
windshields’ central
incisors spat,
some psalm of unbridled seltzer
stinging the eyes like sweat reprises
placenta—Suckling cigarettes later, it’s
all resolved in a
distant buzzsaw soughing the song of the mogwai,
sawdust shinnying thicker than cigarette
smoke unspools in scintillant fog, soft
cherries sucked plumper than
stars weaned away from the
gnashing night, the
delighted expanse of a
cherry’s light hereby vying
to scumble or muzzle the sun; what
gremlins attuned to distorting the
scars and the starlight into a
litter of spit-swoln cigarette filters
bivouacked over the ass of McConnell’s
boils now girded with crepitant rails and
all but arthritic box trucks bulging,
reckoning Urizen’s endgame clear
as a cigarette settles an upset
stomach—
5 thoughts on "Mood Tone 22 (or a yawning that dares defy dead Chekhov’s gun)"
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I love your pursuit of speficity and sensory details.
I have 2 questions:
1. Is there more than one poem here or does this need to be divided into segments? Obviously, your call!
2. Is God the clockmaker or is time a construct of humankind? Does this question even matter? Feel free to ignore me.
First off, thank you for your thoughtful and kind remarks. Secondly, thanks for asking. I’ll try to answer as best i can.
So, this poem’s inspired by details from my walk this morning to go get cigarettes. I was still pretty dreamy, groggy more like it, but certain details stuck—certain details demanded that I should record them. Mind, it didn’t feel like enough, for better or worse, to simply limn and embellish a few choice details and call that a poem. As my roots remain in more dramatic forms of writing—i cut my teeth scribbling screenplays—it felt important to provide a sort-of frame suggestive of nervous, slice-of-life short story; and I feel like maybe this might be why, to you, it feels like multiple poems: maybe the frame’s a bit forced, perhaps? What’s more, it does cover two short walks, the moods of which were rather different. However, they seemed to play into each other to me, so I pinned them together.
In trying to rationalize what I had written on a subsequent walk, seeking shelter from the storm between shifts as a line-cook—being a pedestrian is almost fundamental to who I am and what I do and think and feel—I found myself thinking that a good bit of the poetry I write typically rounds out as so: a) I’m trying to put a very particular feeling to sound and image, one that I find I can’t quite contain in a single expression—I’m trying to share something almost ineffable in very elaborate slews and slurries of slippery words; b) I’m trying to catalogue what seemed a salient conversation in vibrant verse; c) I’m taking a beautiful line that something lolled out over my head and (perhaps too erratically) planting it, or more rather embellishing it, in hopes of groping for something deeper therein; d) I’m groping for meaning in some mood I’ve distilled from a sundry stir of particular details, some reason they feel conjoined or fluid or threaded together, and this one is just such a poem—in fact, the allusion to bucking Chekhov’s gun, with hope, suggests that everything is potentially salient, interconnected, and evermore ushering something more forward. Everything’s potentially Chekhov’s gun. Everything has its place and weight on the stage of our lives. If I contain multitudes, so does the broken glass beneath any graffitied stop sign.
As per time’s place here and the mention of God the Clockmaker:
I think that the suggestion with the latter is that we should question our routines and habits. I tried to establish that my routine had been altered, and in so maybe my perspective was altered as well. To my understanding, the Clockmaker God of deist lore is one who created the universe and then allowed it all to unfold unhindered. There’s still a suggestion of destiny there, and I think I’m perhaps too softly suggesting here what Burroughs suggests with his Gysin-inspired cut-ups—that he’s altering prerecorded reality by cutting it up and piecing it back together in maybe more inspired and alien arrangements.
I won’t pretend to know exactly what I’m talking about in every line of every poem I write. They remain commonly mysterious to me, which honestly is why I like them. This poem is an expression of my heart reflecting the world as best it can, albeit a rather warped mirror; though, in studying those peculiar reflections, i. e., the strange and haloed details, the peculiar and particular feelings, the allusions like moorings in webs of ideas and culture that very much predate my very first thoughts andwords and feeling here, I think I begin to better understand myself. In understanding that, this apparatus through which I filter everything, perhaps I can better understand what’s filtered. I do think all of the mentions of time, of which there are several, are ultimately meant to buck the idea as a construct; and the little litany of details is perhaps meant to urge one into observing the present.
I don’t know. This feels right now. Tomorrow it might sound absurd, pretentious, inane, and fallacious.
I really love the tenderness and character/world building you achieve here:
“the Marathon station, formerly
owned by the men who would
blow on and bless all the lot-
tery tickets, had traded hands…”
I didn’t know them, but I wish thy were still there blessing the tickets!
“its wood-paneled flesh now
expressly prosthetic, a ply-
wood impression of crow’s-
footed cellophane seething”
“stuck
still sporting some toe-sprawled spall of
eddying yellow wood, tacked to the
cracked and impacted door, bent
splintered to blistering ridgeback hackles”
” in a
ripple of nearby seam-
ripped hyacinths vying to
shrivel up under the shade
of the twee little sheep
weed”
“iron-on possum’s
carcass ensconced in the
swollen swale”
Too many gems 💎
And to answer a tiny bit to your above answer/explanation
There are so many poems inside your poems. It reminds me a lot of how you draw. There are worlds upon worlds and you can nearly zoom into them infinitely, at least there is that feeling.