Dreamt you a garbage can

all sticky with melted elastic

parsing out inedibles clung to scrapped bills and flyers for lawn care

--And what indispensable lawns we have

green and green and green crisps chopped short

fragrant squirrels hopped up on birth control

pulling out their tail fur

hiding in blackberry brambles along the river

and I too, a garbage can or

a band of patina metal on the alley fence

Sweet now plastic ring little bathroom trash can

waxed q-tips

and tissue dabbed with pink lipstick lip prints

I could build a grand shack with all my toilet paper rolls

Dreamt you in a house of angled rooms with loose-hinged doors

you barked at the windows like a sideshow talker

--for one thin dime, one tenth of a dollar, you too can look out a window

You crawled along the inside surfaces

-- box and tomb you thrashed with your throat and lungs

all pungent inside your moist mausoleum

Clean and smooth concrete

--house:

body thread parse

clear-cut consumption

Dreamt you were poisoning pigeons in the park

They fly round benches one wing limp

And walk into one and other foaming at the beaks

Kids collect them in buckets

Dig mass graves and give those birds sand box burials

Storyboard

(Sshh

Just ingest

And again slip

In jest)

Hush strapping infants

Dear Grandpa’s picture on the wall:

There is a man who hangs his skin on the towel rack.

He is skinless. Infectious. He leaves ooze marks on the couch

And on hand-rails.

There is a forest. There are many slits of light to follow. He finds

A deep pit of water, earth and leaves. There is a man in a heavy coat

Sinking in this pit. The skinless man pulls the heavy-coated sinking man

Out. The skinless man blends into the tree bark and is not seen by the Heavy-coated man.

The heavy-coated man believes the hand of G-d had lifted him from death.

She, defined,

Yes

Grandma

Once toasted an entire loaf of bread

I hide a tape recorder in my pocket

Sshh

One day

I will listen

To them

Maybe they will explain the nature of ashes

Or a single ash

Or something about hiding under bodies to escape

No, that was neither of you

But something lingers on the edge of my memory concerning bodies

This is a story of ingested, digested and raging memory, not mine, but upon request is somehow vaporized or theologized or charred into existence (again) by my thoughts/words:

Schein

The yellow of the paper was not the yellow of the star.

More, a nearly ripened lemon

without the deep-chest-scent a ripened lemon

emits when held firmly in a fist.

If the paper was held firmly in hand

it simply wrinkled and creased along the German words.

Once creased it could be flattened by pressing

it and spreading it delicately across a thin thigh.

Are these good papers? Will they save us? They are yellow. They are paper. Yes, they are yellow papers. With words written. Yes, yellow paper with words written. Can we use them to knock down the wood planks standing vertical to the sky? No, they are not meant to knock them down. They want them back. Yes, with names. Names? Yes, write down names. Which names? The names you have. I have no more names. They took them into heat and into dirt.

Why does she laugh? Who? The woman, in line with a yellow paper. She laughs because she has a yellow paper; she has many names but not enough paper to write them on, her paper is not creased. You said she had many names. There is not enough paper for all her names and plenty of heat and dirt.

Do you have a name for me? Yes. What is the name? Vilna.

Hush little brackets

Hush

Par

review dear,

sending u

unfortunately needs time

the placing elsewhere

Sincerely,

Consider regret

sight is never in the present

all symbol is still image

p.s. yes yes that was the title

stop

small

small

and sides open

from one side to the other sleep on bone this is when muscle will not

make a difference the space is not

the sagging around the eggs can be sewn and fertilized outside

these eggs are rough without the correct information everything is birds

huh G-d (wink)

all the pills all the pills to count and count and check-check-check

i can’t remember when there were not all these shapes sizes colors and counting

always making sure

i forget

someday there will be nothing left to use

no more tiny slippers dancing

in the old aprt living room could could make the counting cease

i can’t stand this I business

stop

hush little dead bird in the picture your head so blurred and you

speak no accidents and your feet claws are curled under you little

bird not a sparrow yellow below please remain seated as the next

picture develops into the ocean night switch that back jail stories

stop

if the images are blurred go on if not stop and retrace the steps move the curtain so the ocean can escape do you remember about the birds and all the dead pictures oh yes the dead pictures remember there is one yet to be taken if the ice hasn’t taken it away it is a form is it not oh yes it is say do you remember that song that one with the sound oh yes indeed that was a good one this does not work why not it is confusing all the sides are open if it is all open how do the pills stay in good question there are tubes to insulate the

needed

stop

this side is sticky and silk this is about the color of them

watch out for they can change easily hush bird

stop

remember to take your pills

stop

just say it

i forget sometimes and then to count and bottles

role under furniture and i spend sleep time to find them so

the count is right

if you forget you will regret it later yes oh yes was that a

question yes ok then yes

themselves yes in there reflection they attached the hush bird beats

itself to victory and death and proud that the other hurt

as well if you

place it in the wrong direction before then

one has to pick the everything out of it lint and dirt

and the floaters small thing get

by though hence the counting ah yes the counting

stop-cease-desist.

Shut Up.

Among other quirks, when Naomi Tarle is not adding to her ever-growing instant camera stash, she collects and creates poetry on old manual typewriters. She has had a few poems published, here and then there, but infrequently submits, since she despises the waste of materials that are used to send such lovely rejections. She will forever question the validity of wallpaper and the decision to cancel Futurama. Oh, and she likes cheese.