Spout

Spout
Copyright Jack Galmitz
Impress 2015
New York, New York

Spout

Jack Galmitz

The ball struck

by the bat
the ball struck
by the bat
the ball struck
by the bat
makes an obtuse angle
makes an obtuse angle
makes an obtuse angle
through the air
the heads tilted back
the heads tilted back
the heads tilted back
anticipating where

anticipating where
anticipating where
it will land

In the backyard
in the grass
behind the house
near the cellar
with its warm handles
and sun warped doors
is a rubber ball
a ball unaccounted for
a ball hit perhaps
a ball thrown perhaps
by one of the boys
in the neighborhood
lost to him
lost to him
something he would have
cared for
gathered up by me
bounced against
the wall caught
bounced caught
then brought upstairs
and placed in a drawer

on a whale watch
on a whale watch
everyone on one side
everyone on one side
it looks like a sea swell
a dark sea swell
then it breaches
then it breaches
and everyone applauds

Light snow is falling

The sky glows
though its gray
The flakes are far apart
yet they find my face

spring
dawn
spring
dawn
spring
dawn
a blue tint
a blue tint
a blue tint
on all

on the east side

on the east side
in midtown
in midtown
every building
every building
is glass and steel
glass and steel
it would be easy
how easy
to get lost
completely lost
if you were strolling
here

everybody knows him

everyone knows him
the shaggy dog
the shaggy dog
with a white beard
with a white beard
a white coat
a white coat
and everyone loves him
we all love him
which makes him
which makes him
our totem

a cicada
then another
then another
play the trees
around the parking lot
like the percussion section
of an orchestra
atonal raw brut
a cacophony
an outburst
of love

reverberating
hallucinating
reverberating
hallucinating
the butterflies
the butterflies
move the field
move the field
from wildflower
to wildflower
evading
evading
the birds
and insects

in the public pool

in the blue water
the color is the color
of the painted walls
the Chinese
each wearing a floating tube
touch each other
touch each other
there's nowhere to move
there's nowhere to move
each face is joyful
each face is happy
to be together
touching touching
and to be cool

why is music
spirit
why is music
spirit
why is music
spirit
the sound issues
in waves
the sound issues
in waves
the sound issues
in waves
outside Nortre Dame Cathedral
I listened to a woman
play the hang
and I left my body
and flew along the Seine

drums
I kept thinking
of drums
I couldnt get them
out of my head
like splinters
under the nail
of my thumb
would it be a release
slapping
the taut skin
or would it be
reverberations
in my head
or something else
again
waves sharp snapped
or slowed melodic
I could call forth
the dead
focused as I would be
on what my hands
and the skin happened
to be about
as the sun strayed
and was struck down
by an downturned palm
with dirt under its nails

Extraordinary love field of foxglove

field of flox field of forever rugged rocks
soggy shade crisp blades in sunshine stage
never even ground for all the unnamed that range
here to multiply in the Name, the creator of DNA
strands
so that everything is basically the same if distinctly
not
the fallen tree rotting slowly with each passing wind
the grubs that live within the deer that disappear
the men and women bare the army of ants the wild
flowers
and hummingbirds the black bears the mice the owl
of night
so it is to the creeping vine that loves the larches so
much
it strangles them in time
forever field of love of reeds their plumes muscled
rocks
shade and sun waist-high grass sucking sedge where
each
becomes itself and multiplies without end

Chinese fisherman
bring with them cormorants
they tie a string around the birds'
necks so they can catch the fish
but cannot swallow them
I have seen a cormorant
dive into black pond water
and waited to see its head
rise to the surface
I waited and waited
and waited some more
and when it emerged
it was a hundred or more
yards off
it must have lost its skill
somewhere in time
because it hadn't caught a fish
and was dissatisfied

the sound persists

high pitched
a child, a kitten, a kid
but I'm surrounded
by debris, debris
by great slabs of concrete
great slabs of concrete
and twisted beams
twisted beams
that were the once
the foundation
of the buildings
of a wondrous city
now debris and debris
I keep hearing the high pitched
sounds of a child, a kitten, a kid
even in my sleep

I wonder what my mother was thinking

when she seduced me into being
when our faces met and I could feel
her fear of living holding living
screaming bloody in her arms
she seemed to say
be a silent white sheet
that limply hangs in the sun
from tenement lines strung
and doesnt betray itself
to anyone. Faithful to her theme
of I, Im the quiet one
you do not see, youll never hear.

these nuts didnt escape

just walked off the grounds
as if there were no men
in white coats guarding
the place nice knowing you
they thought as each made
his or her way to the city
stores with only a small
allowance left over after
deductions salaries of doctors nurses
art supplies things of that
sort the grounds
had walks and cut grass
the city stunk and they all
came back at least there were
benches to sit on and reflect.

through 3D glasses
I can see that American movies
(not cinema-thats for socialist europeans)
promote more and more SENSATION
pour the sensitivity stricken
all action heroes are men
who spend their time in gyms
expose their naked chests and limbs
(now thats action)
as character as speech as nuanced theme
and destroy everything on sets designed
a sign of the times of empire
hard, harder, hardest
never realizing the beauty of the penis
and its enlargement comes from the tenderness
of softness

motorcycle jacket zippers

his motorcycle
was covered
a mosaic of shiny glass
& mirrors
in the lights
of Greenwich Village
like bourbon spilled
from jazz clubs
street lamps
neon traffic signals
a crowd had gathered
I stumbled over
it was so brilliant
the words just came
"it looks like a cathedral
somewhere in Europe"
and there was raucous laughter

I recovered
my voice
the movement
of my mouth
the sound
of a stream
trickling over
a bed of rocks
the trees were tall
and sent the rustling
leaves of the wind
to the town
where a man
exchanged money
for gas
and a man
ordered breakfast
& patted his friend
on the back

how did I make myself

well, two boxes to begin with
both with an open end
the top was painted white
the bottom green
the top was reflective
the bottom reproductive
and nothing inbetween
in each side of the "head,"
I pasted a brown acrylic bead
so I could see outside
I painted the top black for hair
on the bottom I attached rollers
from a broken chair
so I would move and appear real
this is how I started
there were many repairs
and it's still in progress
after years

the first thing I did

after I retired
was wake up early
on Saturday morning
to watch the cartoons
I didn't recognize any
of the characters
but that wasn't as important
as I thought it would matter
actually, what I needed
was the two-dimensional world
where however much violence
was shown no one
was ever hurt
after forty years of being
shoved and pushed and belittled
people talking about me in whispers
laughing at my humiliationwhat else would I want to do

cars
honking
cars
honking
a car horn
honking
cars honking
cars honking
a ten mile
backup
an accident ahead

father & son with gloves

we played catch
until it got dark
and even after that
the small lights
above the garages
in the parking lot
were enough to see
the moths from
the lightning bugs
we talked or rather
we conversed this way
how hard or high
or where we threw
each knew how much
was being asked
& we thought wed
always remember
& this would be enough

ice-coffee and cigarettes

ice-coffee and cigarettes
ice-coffee and cigarettes
while I paint
while I paint
while I paint
on the computer program
ice-coffee and cigarettes
ice-coffee and cigarettes
ice-coffee and cigarettes
while I alter the results
on a photo editor
ice-coffee and cigarettes
ice-coffee and cigarettes
ice-coffee and cigarettes
as I respond to likes
that is my day

without god
what would we have
my hand in yours