EASYREEDER

Selected Poems 2019-Present

131 (Emergency Contact)

I’ve been putting down your number as my

emergency contact for a few years,

so don’t be surprised if you get a call

about the demon I summoned and lost,

or the memory I had that went rogue

and road raged the boardwalk by bumper car.

Don’t be taken aback by the stranger,

so angry, so worried, so familiar,

and so knowledgeable about ghost ghosts

you gave storm names a long long time ago. A

nd if there never is a voice, email, or Fedex,

there’s no emergency and I’m just fine,

barreling through Luna Park as always,

without a care but with a blue Slurpee.

130 (Close)

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow,

every morning you’ll be farther away.

Back when we were kids and you stabbed me in

the scrotum with a toenail clipper file,

I wouldn’t have believed we’d drift apart.

We really were close, inseparable,

weren’t we? And now when you come to town

you email weeks before your arrival

so when you don’t text me from the hotel,

the Plaza like old times, I’m sure to know.

Who would have guessed you and I would stay friends?

Laying down our swords and barring our hearts

like prey–and picking up rifles like snipers

and taking aim for the killshot, longrange.

124 (Cloth Monkey Make Me Jumpy)

Cloth monkey, say you’re sorry. Say you are.

Cloth monkey, I was worried as a child.

Cloth monkey, give me cookies – crisp and rummy.

Cloth monkey, make me jumpy. Stick your tongue out.

Cloth monkey, come with ice and pour me twice.

Cloth monkey, peel me roses – with becauses.

Cloth monkey, tsk and phsaw vieilles vignes of Napa.

Cloth monkey, weep me on your terry tummy.

Cloth monkey, do-no-harm me when I’m seven.

Cloth monkey, knead you, knead you – with my claws.

Cloth monkey, smother me in fuzzy pile.

Cloth monkey, itemize me – any price.

Cloth monkey, you’re not sorry but I’m l8nely.

123 (K)

What if I say you’re fine, spelled with a K?

What if you said nice? K N I C E.

What if we had flitter eyes and wood hands?

And what if the curtain dropped again?

And we were unstoried, unseen, unheard,

and unbelieveing of the other sides –

love, d8th, all the way to the balcony.

No puppet maestro two-handing the stage,

no footlights to set our flounces a flame,

no crying crescendos or brassy bands,

no love-me, love-me-nots. (Spelled with a K.)

What then? Is the audience enraptured?

Or felted and velveteen, quicksand and lime.

123 (K)

What if I say you’re fine, spelled with a K?

What if you said nice? K N I CE.

What if we had flitter eyes and wood hands?

And what if the curtain dropped again?

And we were unstoried, unseen, unheard,

and unbelieveing of the other sides –

love, d8th, all the way to the balcony.

No puppet maestro two-handing the stage,

no footlights to set our flounces a flame,

no crying crescendos or brassy bands,

no love-me, love-me-nots. (Spelled with a K.)

What then? Is the audience enraptured?

Or felted and velveteen, quicksand and lime.

122 (Never the Less)

My mother dances late and never played chess.

She threw two hundred ravens at the doves.

One for every decade of the wars they forgave,

feathering the unconquerable sky.

My cousin chews the faces off wild dogs,

and laughs so hard at silly dreams they melt

like overdoses in silver soup spoons.

You were as loud as a witch of the West,

beating hearts with mallets through fine mesh sieves.

Sí, mi amor, Krylon Coney Island.

Sí, mi amor, Frogger turtles and logs,

and crocodiles and cars and never tells.

Sí, mi amor, never and nevertheless.

121 (We)

We said what we said. Do you remember?

We drank what we drank, and walked where we walked,

and paid who we paid, and saw what we saw,

and took what we took, and lost what we lost,

and talked where we talked, and kept what we kept,

and gave what we gave, and got what we got,

and were what we were, if you remember.

Spearmint mojitos. Mincing stilettos.

Cas on the copper. Disco candelabra.

Bones on the boardwalk. Dulces buenas noches.

Patio table w/ blistered Padrón peppers.

Souvenir pics @ Spook-A-Rama, and

a loan against a dollar and a clock.

120 (Everywhere But Here)

You and I are everywhere but here.

Down on Gansevoort at the swanky bar,

the cherrystone clams are ready for us,

on ice on a platter, on the half shell–

and the sprinklers time-on at the great lawn–

and an orange skirt is somewhere walking–

and drivers are adjusting their mirrors.

We’re 24/7, below Canal,

in the alterverse where the lights stay on,

the shutters stay up, the phone keeps ringing,

and “they” are bones like snowdrifts in corners.

We’re orphaned only in this universe,

but there, we’re in my chest and in your hair.

119 (V & V)

We’ll cloak our bones for la mascarada—

you in a crepe gown and me in black muslin,

and all our v’s and v’s will pass through us:

ingress to egress, prayed-for sweet breezes;

torsos cleaned hollow by real mojitos;

echoes enchambered by años caprices;

vacant to capacity de nada.

Sí mi amor, and should we disrobe we’ll

clack clavicles, interlace in thoraces,

bonk bonk mandibles, orbit to orbit,

and serpent our vertebrae in one den.

White stripes multiplied, distant Adidas.

Marathon 20s and O Superstars.

118 (Things Fall Off)

Things fall off and roll under other things.

And sometimes they break when you’re almost done.

And then you’re late but you have to go back.

And people think they’re being so clever.

And the cords are tangled just out of reach.

And what should we do with our precious time?

And what would we do without Novocaine?

Maybe eat with our hands, much too loudly.

Maybe ask our frenemies for more money.

Maybe take the extra party favor.

Maybe flip the switches and hitch the latches.

And itemize what we can’t leave behind.

And scream in tunnels on the sleeper train.

117 (Party Tricks)

You really had all the best party tricks.

Like that time you pulled me into a hat.

Nevermind the delight when I climbed out.

And what a fantabulous cabinet

of curiosities. That one display.

Not only the prince pauper, rag and bone,

but a perfect twin in the pauper prince,

shoes and watch and a better bicyclette,

and just as a broken and shining a trophy.

You, with your baton and ringmaster tails,

standing at the top of the stairs, Pinot

Noir and another walk-up sublet,

and candy bowls filled with wooden matches.

116 (Nowhere)

We were somewhere for something, then nowhere,

walking down an avenue in Brooklyn,

which appeared for you, amber and empty,

and going in the wrong direction,

away from my city that still loved me,

and into a borough with our shadows

painted in doorways, embracing in years.

Take me for ransom, and I’ll make payment

with a cereal box full of centimes,

two Dixie cups attached by baker’s twine,

and a living room set made of Lego.

My once flatterer, take me for ransom,

and I promise you my name, désastre.

115 (Ribbon)

I’ve seen it, unexpectedly enough,

a few times, as I’ve hurried through my day,

hushed and losing things, everything really,

that I’ve ever cherished, wanted to keep.

Have you, from the window of your Uber,

ever caught a glimpse of the foil paper,

the need-me crimson ribbon with the ruffled bow?

I don’t go back. No. But there it will be,

across the avenue, shining with rain.

Once, dangerously close, I touched the tape,

frayed, unstuck, like you’d also been right here,

not peeling back the wrapping for a peek of

the gift that’s addressed to the two of us.

113 (Your Name Was Written All Over Me)

We were there on the street corner,

standing too close together, or too far apart,

and your name was written all over me,

in fat marker, chisel-tip, red and black.

Oh, and all caps. Name, first and last, and times

and dates, and percentages, usually

quite high, like eighty-eight or ninety-four.

The red ink had wept onto my collar.

And that friend of yours, or maybe mine,

looked from you to me, and from me to you,

while we acted like sorta acquaintances,

and made introductions, casually,

until–who’s friend?–ran off to not see more.

111 (Coupon Booklet)

I made you a seven coupon booklet.

I handwrote your name on the first coupon.

Over and over. It’s good forever.

The second coupon is for a sweet cat.

The third one lets you pick a memory

to forget. (Crazy, crazy paperwork—

cities, states and nations—went into that.)

Coupon four, of course: a four-leaf clover.

Coupon five: a perpetuum place to sit.

For coupon six: two more days on the shore.

Seven: an only-for-you magic wand.

Your coupon booklet. Cold as cash money.

And all you have to do is come get it.

110 (Brass Rings)

And the tunnel of love at Love Canal.

When we were, what? Children? Pixies? Zombies?

The walking wounded? The last ones standing?

It was after the fires—Dreamland first—

but before we’d forgotten mermaids in

Adidas and the menu at Nathan’s,

before the quiet of these petit mals.

Then punches a ticket or two brass rings.

The midway prizes in three tries times three.

Under the boardwalk in Levolor sand.

Slushies and french fries in buckets and quarts.

Seagulls, saying, “never call, never call.”

And the D train won’t tell but sings and sings.

106 (Spring Cleaning)

For spring cleaning, you should come over here,

and after we’re done I’ll go over there,

and after that we’ll head to the city,

and then take the highway to the suburbs,

and then find the dirt road to the country,

and then helicopter to the Poles,

and we’ll toss the old file cards and cheap beer,

and clean out the desk and the Frigidaire,

and push trash bags of stuff out the window,

and fill the dumps with hard drives and CDs,

and gather papers and passports to burn,

and sand out carvings on the trunks of trees,

and stuff all the bodies into barrels,

and roll them into quarries, and off piers.

100 (Gum Wrappers)

Let’s cover the windows with gum wrappers,

and rot a bowl of fruit and watch mold grow

and fruit flies hatch; we’ll drain our batteries

and use rolls of aluminum foil

on the antennas and the wireless

so we’re shielded from radio waves

and secret transmissions from the others

who might beam in thoughts about not just us,

like nonsense about stuff out there worth saving,

like celebrity gossip and Congress,

like wanted posters and terms of parole.

We won’t be subject to frivolities.

You and me and dirty sheets and the glow

of old tv, and fudge pops in the freezer.

99 (And Then)

And then you were a fuzzywuzzy bunny.

And then you were a three-sided dagger.

And then you were a torn flag on a flagpole.

And then you were happy hour and nylons.

And then you were me, and then you were you.

And then you were a shack by a mountain.

And then you were a Billy Idol song.

And then you were Ziggy, then Jewel.

And then you were a June day with no fan.

And then you were money honey money.

And then you were a street and a stranger.

And then you were a red-check duffle coat.

And then you were here, and then you were gone.