from Midsts

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Ed Friedman


Voluble Hints

Even the head of a pin needs its special cream.
We call it Sunlit Ocean. No, Cotton Wish.
Rub it on, hesitate, watch the day get roomy.
My motions unhurried follow this line home.
Experience lagging, maybe in tight there.
Don’t smoke or depend on bees for buzz.
You watched me recently take dainty bites
to make myself hungrier, long for oceanfront,
wear faded green shorts, remove their oily spots.
One block away, Montana’s most famous film director
awaits our epic shooting script for Jump Off the Table.
Have you seen Sis’s feverish writing method in action?
Her ink dabs on sheets of cigarette paper cease all control.

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I Kid Homo Sapiens

Hand me a sleek new cardboard sign
that blesses our pear grove’s “Grand Opening.”
What likely leads to strong grasping
of tree-ripened fruit? Informed reach?
We see against circumstances, darkening
fall afternoon. Tree shadows swivel slowly.
Close the sky-blue Dodge Dart’s door, wishing it were
Chrysler’s Imperial model with strongly scented leather seats.
Who thinks skinned-animal upholstery rubs an average person
for decades without memory or complaint? I do
and don’t. But now we waddle out, fuel up, go home,
expect the world of poems. Rehearse several happy faces.
Choose one. Show it off to Dr. Alimantado’s
Best Dressed Chicken in da town town town.
the best addressed uh chicken.

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Magnify the Trippy Launch

Nakedly glued to you, walking the late road
falls away like nebulae become better known
as galaxies traveling fast and far.
Space is nothing indefinite anymore.
Point a finger and it’s there, unseen but known,
consistently imagined, spawning pull.
I agree we begin as children with hopes
(what’s simple?). Then you do something
restless, moving, and mean “I guess so
but don’t know yet.” Hot sun melts the asphalt
a little. Look at it this way—how sticky we get
when every allowance shields a person’s moment,
we bounce around like Grandma all over the place.

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Arrange Some Conga Lines

“What I dream of” and “why we get along”
are neatly tailored expressions that shelter
lingering wants, pure, true to me.
Rivers run away, then stay in the ocean.
You’ll see how it’s set up—sand, weeds ...
Night air returns to apologize in an edgy tone.
I seem sociable, bring solid forearms to rest
like I have permission. Nod, cover huge costs,
write down names: David Trinidad & Jamaica Kincaid,
Wishes shoot out as fast as suns travel the universe.
No shadows extend from them. They roam, imply,
at our service, in the name of justice, suffice it to say.

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Skirt the Alhambra

What about a girl shark in level ocean
back on my mind with boy monkeys?
They rarely do without thrills, breathe heavily,
strain to say anything, construct guesses that make them jump.
Do forms embody and constrict change?
Where are infinity transmitters potentially at risk?
I’m here at the light reflected from an emerald-green silk tie,
the perfect foil to a putty-gray business suit.
For the same reasons as scarves, my visits to Aunt Helen’s
yard and sky hold sway except when dozing all night.
“Modern Plurals Overshadow Strong Interests” is the New York
        Post headline
for coverage of a Brazilian field hockey rivalry.
Echoes Past the Tank Windows, a hard-boiled Coney Island
        Aquarium mystery.

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Slow Cruise Damper

Where I saw you before exactly is in Wang An-Shih’s
“heaven’s-loom-of-origins-unfolding” Tao thought experiment
        (David Hinton translation),
an act with hurricane’s force—only not that violent,
requiring speed and fat. Now wait and make much
of squat bronze lamps with empire shades, oyster patterned.
Mmm they feel good, worthy of time.
Down a back hall up the dark stairwell
my daily pills are laid out in seven labeled opaque
plastic compartments. Snap open “Monday.”
Nothing here for pain, pleasure, or hallucinations.
Swallow these tablets for raised potential. See more
moonlit stream currents gather and disperse all night.

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