A Season’s Sporting

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A Season’s Sporting

by Rob Rice


 

 

One

I never called you back because you brought your bag to the bathroom and that seemed like secrets

Memory gone as of ’05’s accident

Thought it’d be funny to ask if you remembered

 

What accident

You thought

Not funny

 

I guess we didn’t fit it

Your trustless crumpled posture

Vertical fetal position

And my seated intention to euchre you

As you scolded yourself for expecting

 

 

Two

Exclusivity by demeanor and fashion’s

Integral to some self-esteems as it

Justifies the distance

They educated between us

 

Though like money it’s relative

Comparative purpose objects

Are no value less the idea they buy

Which is valueless if you have the object too

 

Rock

Paper

Scissor

 

 

Three

Remnants of the front

Of the war that exists now in as many bodies as can hold all the blood it spilled

Then, soaked up the confused purpose, salvaging it

Filling future generations

So furtively ire’s semaphored

 

Lost

Those must-be-moments of apology eye contact

Pre-bayonet

 

What do they count for

And how to appraise them

 

Me? incapable of a moment like that’s solving in a lifetime

A clear liquid’s not being water flips me out

 

But then I see it run; endlessly cold ethanol’s endless cold being my fault

The ripples in it poured are like heat distortion

 

 

Four

Rightly it’s impossible

The little croutons of contact

Day by day wearing it

The salad of each other

Us obsessively dieting

Swear by it

Fills us up

Swears

 

Isn’t it ironic that most muffins come already wearing Spanx?

 

And mixing Dew with powdered milk for breakfast

Into the frosted flakes

Lights ‘em up!

 

 

Five

Passing those guys on the street with their tongues screwed out unaware

They pass people everyday

Just not me

 

They say

It’s good to stretch on either side of the Matins

And is it easier to measure tablets or days?

 

Most people die with so much love still in them

Probably sadder than paying for the rental company to do a full tank

Then not even driving it in empty

(i.e. the losing money)

 

I wonder how many of the people I assume are sad are

They all seem it, and each one I’ve asked is

But they all talk tall tell of others

Laying in the lambent lap of

Having been heard of

 

 

Politics

How can you trust a person who wants to be a leader

That should immediately disqualify you

What indelicate world is it that we let people have power that want power

That’s a wrong trait

 

And their mixing media

The seat of civic somnolence

Who never even noted

The great bizarre truth in

How Oprah’s Law of Attraction

Relates to Pasolini

 

At the very least they want to be a conduit

And to feel it run through them even

Taste it on its way

Never negotiating with forces on the ground

For our release

 

 

Six

Tell me a story or I’m turning a TV on

Open up

I’m the quiet sage stalking you

My primary source

Unbeknownst I’m bivouacked on the street

 

 

Seven

I see faces I’ve never encountered when I close my eyes

but I recognize them they’re these fully formed people

 

Enough so that I can get a sense of what they’re like

I supplied them

 

I’m always attracted to them somehow

How they are seems fine to me

 

I never kept

Chaff or fleeced it

But I can weave

 

I know I can

Spiking the hook

With wire and lacing up a bobbing string of days

Globes that I’ll use to drape the railing

On the patio in festivity

Where we’ll have wine

Despite my not being totally sold

On the outcome wine

My not knowing about structure

 

 

Politics

Snuff films for sale

Snuff films for sale all taking

Place in an elevated ash boardroom

With a standing line of people shuffling circles

 

Their hanging hooded crania

And him seated at the slab oak head

 

One by one they arrive to face him

Bow permission turn

Oak-draping belly down

Avoiding ally eye contact while lowering their pants

Allowing him thus inspector’s access to their genitals

Which he considers

And then shoots into with a rifle

 

Gathering up pants

Cupping the bleeding

They resume the recovery line

To generate some resolve in

In the small interim pre-resubmission

Having updated their résumé

We’d expect

 

Dimensions of ‘ROE

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Last week I asked some people to spam their friends and, with them having done so (thanks, them), it seems now like a good time to launch into a phase new.

 

So, now, any new piece that we write will debut on Wednesday nights, right around 8 O’Clock, so that you can follow along as it is read aloud, to you by its author, in studio or by phone or by avatar, on Boston Free Radio. You can TuneIn, stream at bostonfreeradio.com, or do whatever you’re privy to.

 


 

 

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Establishing Capture

            New York 2/13/16

by Rob Rice

 

 

I.

Mill and machine into

Inclusion’s round logic

Those little crescent shavings

Don’t inhale them

 

The broadness of it

Its yellow-grey lights the sidewalk

Which is rough and sandy when

It’s broad daylight

 

And where does the crime come in

Inextricable recondite tertiary crimes

The beam of sidewalk

Some side street’s grey girder

 

Some crime dripped all over it

And was collected in cups?

Balanced on his feet

In broad strokes

(He said)

 

Look at me

But don’t look at me

But look at me

Look at me

I can’t have this

This not looking at me

You’re doing

I’m the parade for these pants

 

 

II.

And you want to be taken home

You brat

Everyone’s looking at you

In your bonnet and sack

You’re such babies

 

You’re dead

You’re dead moose

Your last moment, seeing yourself mounted

You’re sold as atmosphere

To hover over the haute meal

Where they’re “still thinking”

 

Clean kitchen

Clean kitchen

It’s a constant fight for balance

You wanting the sick from the cleaning products

And me the dirty surfaces

 

 

III.

Spinning in

A cream enters the rotating basin

Of chocolate and is absorbed by

Eminent domain

As a formality

 

Or begrudging for a moment a salve of affect

Bactericidal balm at the scar line

 

And leave me back here wandering

Ein kinder roaming

Waist high grasslands on the moon

Which are bound by physics/the definite need for water

 

Endless, even generations of water

Still silver sliver of moon

Its blue edges swishing

Anemone

 

 

IIII.

Wake up and use energy, valuably, ever?

Why do you think of your hands as a different person

 

Go away

And be thankful the sea was so exhausted

It bowed and accepted of

What would have otherwise been

Unwieldy

Piles of former kipsy

 

I feel a bit of resistance or occlusion

On your part

And it treats me to the threat of all this’ ending

Ictal

 

 

IIII.

I’d like a snug answer

Satisfying like the massacre of an ant hill

 

Gods

Martyrs

Kids

Less tragic tragedy

You’re relatively embarrassing to mourn

 

 

IIII I.

Sleep celebrity

Make out artist

Makes a killing

Slimy eek

Bottling public trust water for profit

 

Better than better!

Bigger is back!

Bigger is new!

And better is now free!

 

 

IIII II.

You have critically contaminated the experiment

Hence the pending eviction from your share

Leave me alone with that little anencephalic pout

Why is it grounds for a photo?

 

I have a miserably feeble language

Such that

I feel aimless and acting when I think

It’s like hard air, everywhere

Substance.all.block

Like the plumbing that formerly scored the city

Rafters, baffles, cowl, sweeps, wye

Were started in on by cement at the source

 

The disciplined

Assault themselves

Purposing deliberate miscalculation of your banality

/Your permissive rearing and allowance

/Your defiance to a bringing out broadness

As kenosis