FUN METER

Stacy Szymaszek

1.

Mark    today I learn his name
            is Mark         fastened to his apron
a button that says
            FUN METER   arrow turned to “high”     I like your fun
meter                  it goes up a little     each time someone says
             that    
he suggests sipping this stout room
temp with my feet up by the fire     this market is a mountain
outpost    an aisle of hot sauce    and greeting cards     ah clear vision
                        Mark     here I am     my left foot     by the blue
reconcile    my life spent guarding           against                          surprise
attack                leave the gun / take the cannoli       I ratted on
            my family           a gay falcon         C. reading Duncan
saying I AM DUNCAN      and that is my sad knowing    who among
            us belongs         to a failed
mission    do not read on     read Parra   a dose of ANTI
Dunparra!
in the blood boil of high romance     where H.D. is a little bony
            but   all to the mustard   lads    they shred his flawed logic     I say
it’s like going to a holy place and seeing a reliquary of crutches   
            cheers to the poet who told me never to read another Whitman poem
“read Auden” but it turns out that old crab has more tenderness
in one wrinkle              
                             W. wonders if the classroom is an extension of the state
come to room 210
                                     research every name that comes out of my mouth


2.

                   if you
                        are still
                        reading this
                        the truth is
                        my lover
                        turned my
                        glasses into
                        dust drank
                        cords of me and
                        built our house
                        broke the bed fucking
                        I’m going to show you
                        upper limit fucking
                        what I learned when next we
                        swank for fucking
                        which will be
                        I assume
                        before dawn 

                   die fucking
                        die fucking
                        can’t tonight
 

                                    rooster   goat    cat   bunny   bunny   cat

                                    whippet at the crook     rooster   train   whistle    

                                    finding her by decibel         desert red bat    


3.

I prime a crew
once upon a page
words are sacred
don’t edit
scrapit                                        another one primes a crew
                                                     devotes herself to rightly
                                                     place their every word

CHRIST


4.

somewhere in Brooklyn there is
                        a storage space     of all of my likes and dislikes
and the uncertainty of “the Boss” cock
                                                in a blue suitcase with a painting
                                    I should like better
                                                            today I could not remember      
myself in the early aughts
                        check her records    
                                    upon a golden cushion
                                                of a Danish modern chair

I am often invited to hear told     the decline
                        of the grandmothers     my prophets of conflict
                          one of them hides her own teeth 
                                    though in a moment of lucidity tries to teach
                                                Sheepshead to someone in a fugue state

alert of government issued weather report
                        from the financial capital     my closest bank
branch is in Idaho       last week when I couldn’t
            sleep   I tried to predict the market          cardinal
                                    with a fat check     we ate eggs in Tucson            

and later that night she put a litany
            in my ear     lit row after row of tapers
                        my fist was a bell   and her back a tower    I bawled
                                    Spira, spera   mingled
                                    into one angel

                               green leaves over  
                                    a heart in ruins    

                               GOTH
                                    HUGO      it is
                                    true      …   my crow Pluto

            a psychic home
            for our coffee    has clear glass windows


5.

P. dreams Ozzy Osborne is
my real father     I love you all; I love you more than life itself
                                     but you’re all fucking mad!

A. says tell her I say thank you
            for rescuing Stacy
    A. has sat with all of our corpses
and said Buddhist things        buckle           let go


6.

       stirred for birds    
               +
            love   
                        prove   
                                    move      +      buckle      
                                                             high there   
                                                             no wonder of it 

the priest has a watch
tells the 12 stations of the cross
Bishop lost her mother’s watch
the priestess has no watch
E. recites Prufrock in a trance with she/her pronouns
             the Ladies of Night Prosody laugh

Cocteau Twins first US TV appearance
Liz took great liberties with her voice on “Bluebeard”
making it even more inaccessible
            and wore a monastic garment!

                                                             + we have always known you wanted us


7.   

each of my steps    boot chains to ice    echoic foot
            the walk home from prosody      we can all agree on ode
to even silly things we love
                                                            but can we make amends in dreams?

a tall glass of wool in a western town

                                                                        eastward loved imperfectly                                
            mountain
            ain’t got no

            rhymes for me
            give me your morning hand     for hand
                                                      word    for word              
                                                                                          wet for life       
                                                                                                                    tender band
                                                                                          Baroque
Buddhist
noisy nothing
                                    capitulate!     at last      no more      to do

airy
devilship
removed


8.

pulled a long shot
like an Americano 
            Prince Bestie and I
            relieved to exchange
            a platitude over the phone         me and my Bialetti      snowing sideways
                                   never walk and drink the dirt        at the same time
I’m fine
                        mother is still    my mother      description of a gruesome
murder of a half-Italian          as I steeped with my lover’s soap       
  ask   who gave me the note?    they don’t wonder
               whose heart was lost     for me to take heart     
                                                  everyone who decided against their heart

You will often tell the story. If you do that you/will be able to marry those you love…

            you are going to have so much fun…  YES   it goes up a little
each time you say…    in NYC the tundra the desert …    we perceive a form   
a householder
            of actual meaning                       no they don’t wonder   who fastened it there
                                                                    at the same time
                                                                    in the inference of their care
                                                                    a sweet burn         

                               we learn slowly   (gnostic) 
                                    less stoic bed rolls
            record a word     for a word     a regional Baltimore                                 
                 clean ears for Alidio   
                        stirred in the lower belly
                                                                           I rest my butch head