From Time Warner to Me (1993)

Here's a small book of poetry sent to me from Time
Warner Cable.
I have corrected the typography to correspond to contemporary poetic
layout standards. No punctuation has been changed.
— J.H.H.L.

     In a city
       of a thousand stories,
           cable TV has
              time to tell them all.


      CNN - Thought Provoking and Analytical.

10:45 pm.

      Barbara
      was helping Jerry
      pack for his business trip
      to Chicago.
        It was his fifth trip this year.
      Even after 25 years of marriage
       they still fought right before
        he went away.
      This way
       they didn't have to admit how much
        they hated being alone.
      They stopped fighting
      and listened to the news report
      about Bosnia.


      THE CARTOON NETWORK - Home to the Top Toon Stars.

3:51 pm.

      Grandma
      was watching
      Michael and Denise.
           After Michael wrote
            on Denise's homework with a red crayon
              he acted silly
        just like that dog on TV.
          They all laughed.
          They loved Droopy.



    HEADLINE NEWS - A Whole Day's News Every Half Hour.

9:32 am.

                  Like usual
     the alarm didn't go off.
     Allison
                      jumped in the shower then
        threw on her blue suit.
     She didn't care if anyone
      noticed       the      wrinkles.
       She checked
       the ticker.
       She checked
       her watch.
       She'd be right
       on time.

   TNT - Originals, Sports and the greatest Movies Hollywood ever Made.

9:22pm.

      Tom and Michelle sat on the couch
      eating    beef and broccoli
        with chopsticks.
      They've been living together for two years. She's
            a lawyer. He's
            a social worker. They both
            had a terrible day and
              needed
                to
                  escape.
            She       wants
                     to reminisce.         He
                     wants a score.



    T B S - A  Great Place for entertainment.

4:12 pm.

      Scott was practicing
         his swing with a 9
           iron in his living
             room.
      When he was a
        kid the things he loved
         to do were
                    go golfing with his Dad,
               watch a James Bond movie and
        look at the pictures in National Geographic.
            He          still        does.


   At any given
      moment in your
       life, cable TV
         can
          make an impact.

Cyberspace Cowboy

The kernal's full of patches and the protocols are slow
So I just hit the hardware and it doesn't even know.
As long as software's written by a team of lamer nerds
The hardware will respond to you if you just know the words.

As I strapped on my eyephones and I pasted on my 'trodes,
I drifted into alpha as I  hacked away the codes.
I slipped inside the mainframe where the passwords all were blank,
And rustled 15 million from  the Central Euro Bank.

My dataglove was flaky and  my eyephones out of phase
The jitter in the timing pulse  extended the delays.
My duty cycle lengthened and  I felt the coming crash,
I loaded up some structures from  the swapped-out data cache.

When all at once the Supervisor signals and events -
The Cyber interface police has found my evidence!
I squeezed the glove and clicked the mouse and tried to use the Force,
But they had cracked my virus with a hairy Trojan Horse.

I couldn't interrupt them or defer their tasks from me
Or re-assign their swapspace to a low priority
So I just took their task ID's and put them in a queue
And vectored them to address NIL and hung the CPU.

I flatlined by the access port to watch for their reboot.
I plucked the 'trodes and cables off and threw them in the chute.
The FBI came knockin' with a warrant three feet long -
But all they got was "Space Wars" and a moldy game of "Pong"!

(circa 1988)

Unemployable Feathers

Lakes hold a special fascination for the dry.
The subtle lapping water, often carrying leaves and pine needles with it, the delicacy of the wetness, which is not at all like the pulverizing crush and spray of the ocean, coyly invites one to join it in its gentle pulse. Lake plants, growing richly but stopping inches below the surface, cluster by the rocks and in submerged gardens which can be best discovered with a submerged foot.
There are days when the partched air rattles the cane curtains and dust balls scatter over the newly swept patios.The corners of my mouth hurt. I don't need much convincing. The lake is audible. Water striders are practicing their moves in pairs by the roots of the shrubs by the water's edge.
Most people would prefer cautiously wetting their feet, imagining that the feet would convey a sense of what a more complete immersion would be, but I prefer the whole body approach. I step back. I make sure there are no floating branches or hidden rocks. I slick back my hair. A hot breeze eggs me on. I rise. I straighten out.
But I do not sink. I am repelled like oil off the surface of the lake, as if it were made of rubber.
The force of it bends my nose. I reach my hand into the water to use as a salve. Oddly, I hold a palm full of water like a melted ball. As I squeeze it, it acquires a clay-like texture and weight, which is not unpleasant. I found that I was floating away from the shore, which would be disturbing if I thought I were going to sink, but I rather felt that the situation was under control. The mass in my hand became birdlike. It grew down, a beak, and a tiny pulsing heart. Claws scrabbled at the ball of my thumb. Gently, I released the bird, and blew life into its feathers, whereupon it passed away, flopping over the water's surface. Now I was alone. I also had lost sight of the shore and the sky was a uniform mottled gray.

SLOW FOOD Nov 12, 2004

A soupçon of soup's on the stoop, son.
If I am whistling, it's because I'm about to boil over.
I'm ready.

Waiting for eating's,
not grating, defeating,
we're hating the speeding,
berating the seating.

You are what you eat.
Be slower ... eat slower.

Where is my order? And what is my order anyway? Primate?

If that tomato has no living relatives,
I don't expect to find it by the smell it gives.

Let's relate.
Let's talk a lot about what we ate.

cannoli, carciofi, cannelini,
panucci, prosciutto, panini,
lasagna, legumi, linguini,
zabaione, zuccotto, zucchini.

Maitre d'! How I hate your tea!

Over 30 Billion Served .. slowly.

A l p h a b e t i c a l

Abandon abbreviated abdomens! Abduct aberrant Abigail! Able Abner
abnormally abolished abominable aborigine. Abort abovementioned
abrasive, absentminded, absurd, abusive academician! Acapulco
accelerated accessible acolade, accompanist accosted. Accra accrued
accuracy, accused acetic Achilles' acidic acorn. Acquaintance acquired
aquittal. Acrobat, across acrylic actress, acts adamant. Adam added
additional address. Adieu, Adkins, administer admiralty! Admonish
adolescent Adolph. Adopt adreneline, Adrienne! Adroit adult advises aerobics.
Aesthetic affairs affect affirmations. Afghan's aflame. Aforementioned
aftermath: afternoon afterthought afterward again. Agatha's agenda
aggravates agressor. Agribuisiness, Ahoy! Airline Airman's alabaster
albatross - albeit alcoholic - alienated Allah. Allied alligators
allocated allspice. Alongside aloof Alpert,

A L P H A B E T I C A L

alphanumeric Alsatian , also
alternate alto altogether. Am amateurish, amatory, amazed, Ambassador.
Amelia ameliorates American amethyst amidst ammunition. Amoebas,
amphetamines, amphibians, amplifiers, amputees, amulets, an anaconda,
analysts, anarchic ancestors, anchors and Andean anirons animate
annapolis. Anneal, annihilate, annotate, announce, annoy annual anomolies.
Anorexia - another answer. Antarctican anthology anticipates antipodean
antique antlers. Anyone - anyplace - anything, anyway, Aphrodite's
apology appals apparent appearance. Apple applicant applies appropriate
appoval. April: Arabic arachnids arbitrate aboreal arcades. Archaic
archbishops are areas, aren't arenas. Argentinian argot: aristocratic arse!
Artichoke article's arty as asbestos. Asexual Ashley's ashore! Askew
asparagus assails assassin. Arsonist associate astounds astronomer.
Astrophysicist at Atlanta ate athletic, atomic attache. Attica attire
attracts atypical audience. Audiotape augments august aunt Aurora.
Australian autobiography avenged average aviatrix. Avocado awakes!
Awesome! Awful axolotl ayes Aztec azure.
--- Nov 5, 1995

Acit Cràt Na

Antarctica's Monologue

My back is curved, the days and nights flicker on my covering of ice.
the winds blast across my dry skin down to the sea.
Are there others like me?
As I sleep, I feel the rhythm on my covers move with my breathing.
Life at my scale is grander than the lives of my parasites, but yet I wonder.
Are there others like me?
The ice calves, the winds circulate.
I have been bent by my ice coat, the glaciers flood down my spine.
Can I recall a time when I was not broken, not burdened?
White, and cold because of it.
Auroras wash and tickle my center.
At my edges, many trails bend the rocks and curve them.
How do I call from the bottom of the earth?
And who will hear?

Is the ice causing my life or deadening it?
So much subtlety is missing - so essential is my life - I can do without food,
I can do without air.
Yet, there is the spinning of the globe, the precession of the axes.
My day and night - so very extreme - causing my breath, but am I breathed?
Separation.
I was separated.
I tore off the other continents and floated south.
the river on my back became a sea; the whiter I got, the whiter I became,
and as I hug the bottom of the earth, whiter shall I become.
- - - - - - -
This is related to the Acit Cràt Na project.

The Light Of The Moon

When the moon rises, it clings to the horizon for a few minutes, the horizontal clouds glowing with a pregnant light, giving off cold rays, blue, white, rouge, and the shape of the moon, like the yolk of a just-cracked egg, bleeds out beyond those clouds, slowly coming together as it rises, becoming more circular, and, if a day or two beyond fullness, a tiny chip off the corner may be visible, a chip which causes you to doubt its roundness, its simplicity, and replaces the childlike circle with a more complicated and real planet - a planet that exists not by itself, but in a community of planets, each receiving light, each casting shadow, light that may never reach another planet's surface, though it may travel for more years than the earth has existed, and shadow, complementing the light, which, ironically, does tend to disappear as long as the diameter of the casting object is less than the light source, for the annulus of a perfect eclipse grows with the distance from the light source until the obscuring object is subsumed in the penumbra of the light emanating source, which could be a star, a glowing gas cloud, a comet, an exploding or imploding mass, or cold light, invisible to human eyes but not to our sensitive electronic senses - shadows of all different sizes cast not only by the Earth, the Moon itself, countless rocks and ice clouds and the mountains of the moon themselves, their shadows lengthening in a month-long cycle, and so more slowly lengthening, but, as the crags reach high of the flat maria, the shadows stand distinctly defined in the airless world, blurred only by our remoteness and our atmosphere, and the craters like frozen circular waves of water, with a peak in the center, intersect each other, which we can see, so many miles distant, as patterns of rings, not nice, evenly shaped patterns, but splattered patterns such as one sees in the first few minutes of rain on a sidewalk or a birdbath, the craters, which , if measured precisely, tell of basoliths below the surface of the moon, remnants of the original meteors which struck the still liquid mass, absorbed in the crust, but not deeply, rather, they too, flowing into the crust in the way the moon itself will flow into the horizon after it completes its transit, first caressing the edge of light with its limbs, bending in the refractive air and spreading again behind the clouds of dawn, one body retiring and ceding its reign in an orderly fashion, to the other, which itself is the sole source of the inert sphere's luminosity, pale, a gray that seems blue, visible on a cold night, where you can read about the color of the moon by its very light, in a line that goes from the center of the sun, past the earth, to the moon, through the atmosphere and down to the page, where the ray makes its way to your eye, sensitive to such subtle light and deducing the similarly subtle shadow.