1. |
Distaccati
03:50
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I found a telescope, put my eye to the lens,
and there I was, in a dark that doesn’t end,
and I was sitting on a star as on a beach,
watching the black current roll like a centipede’s feet,
watching the golden silk spiders float on the sea—
Walt Whitman laid his blanket next to me
and said, “The more you know the smaller you grow,
You may remain fat and sane
or follow me.”
We swam from nowhere to nowhere until finally Whitman stopped,
and, pointing to nowhere, he said, “There, that spot,
that’s Job in a heap of dark matter.”
And Job was shouting, “God’s not a green cloth hanky on a silver platter,
or a parking space, or an empty bladder,
and you won’t reach him from your step ladder.”
Then Whitman struck a match and Job’s face blew like a horn
“Darkness, darkness, darkness, curse the day that I was born!”
So I blew the flame out and dove head first into a black hole,
and time came crawling after me like a paralytic mole.
I landed, like a screw unscrewed, on the other side,
in the middle of a boxing match, a bare-knuckle fight
between Castor and Pollux, when one accidentally punched me in the mouth.
I fell flat and my consciousness went out.
Next thing I’m on a spiral staircase going round and round—
without knowing if I’m going up or down—
until I reach the bottom or the top, and there appears
the Unmoved Mover, laughing to tears,
and, pointing a camera, he says, “I don’t have a script,
so I want you to act terrified but tranquil—pretend you’re on a ship
that’s going down, you know your life is going to end,
and count up from one to ten.
We’ll put the words in your mouth later”
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2. |
Morning Rumors
03:21
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Dreams pass like floats in a parade across the dark . . .
Light is creeping up the glass—
What math! The sun reiterates the past.
The neighbor’s mowing sounds of my own uncut grass,
the garbage men forgot the trash—
What math! The sun accumulates the past.
An audience has gathered in the bathroom mirror,
they jeer, and beg, and bluff, and laugh—
What math! The sun exaggerates the past.
Now is the time—uncork the exalted wine,
a cardinal is in the bath—
What math! The sun incinerates the past.
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Todd Portnowitz New York, New York
From 2004 - 2009 Todd Evan Portnowitz performed as singer/songwriter in the Florida band Clock Hands Strangle, recording two LPs, Redshift/Blueshift (2007 Team Grizzly) and Distaccati (2009 Chocolate Lab). He now performs and records as a solo artist out of New York, NY ... more
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