Night

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Night

Which particular wind curls through this dream of mountains
and books left opened? One that flicks pages or shreds
leaves while caressing your cheek? Or another, damp
and limp from envy, barely ruffling the night’s
curtain? In your sleep I am none of these,
relegated instead to unseen tremors or
the chill rasp of sparked surprise, a
tune laid across an unmade bed
in spring, its notes cluttering
the score. Or might I be the
stilled motion, eyes closed
and held taut, creased as
if worn by a pocket’s
rub and frequent
unfolding? This
is your clock.
Continue
the lie.

 

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18 thoughts on “Night

  1. That clock reminds me of the good old days when movie theaters all had that soft neon blue clock in the corner over the right exit. Remember those? They were neon (or something similar?), but very soft so they wouldn’t distract from the screen. It is amazing how things like that evoke such powerful nostalgia…

    Liked by 1 person

    • I don’t remember those, but maybe we didn’t have such highfalutin things in Copperas Cove, Texas. Or I wasn’t very observant back then. But yes, the most ordinary things can provoke strong responses. Certain odors do it to me.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Though I am not a car guy, there is something about the color of Steve McQueen’s car (1968 Mustang Fastback) in the movie Bullitt that provokes a strong nostalgia in me for the late 60s/early 70s. That highland green paint job was so typical of what I consider the average car: kind of dull green or blue on pretty much everything, yet they all remind me of “home” somehow. Those crappy looking muted blue Pontiac station wagons with that ugly fake wood paneling… I love it!

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          • That would have been a Woody Coupe? A Chevette Woody Coupe, the car with the most aesthetically ineffective faux wood panelling ever. Our family owned a mid 70s Pinto wagon (yellow with panelling) in the mid 70s and even that looked ‘better’ (not by much!). What did look absolutely great though were the 1945 – 1950 Surf Wagons. When a company did one of them right they looked amazing right out of the factory.

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              • It really depends on the color. The white/paneled Chevette actually didn’t look that bad, but then that odd shaped grill wrecked any aesthetic beauty the rest of the car had. So if you ignored several of the Chevette’s structural aesthetic flaws, you could call it a car that only its “mother” could love, “mothers” in this case being the few that took a particular liking to it for some unexplainable reason. There will always be at least a tiny but loving cult built around the irregular in society: films, certain flavors of beverage/food, and so on. There are even people out there that actually like umeboshi! If a person can be so extremely eccentric as to like umeboshi-s, why not drive a Chevette and eat grape flavored potato chips? (Those were actually a thing put out in Canada for a couple of weeks in the late 70s (1979?) to test the market. I remember them vividly. They were as bad as you can imagine…)

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                • Nothing made the car aesthetically pleasing, and the speedometer only registered up to 80 mph. Of course the car started shaking at 68 mph. Speaking of umeboshi-eaters, I have converted two people in the past few months. They’re both poets, so perhaps that has something to do with their acceptance of the greatest delicacy known to humankind. As for grape-flavored potato chips, ackkkkkkkk!

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              • False. Tales, including ones of yore, come alive in the mouth of the teller, and if they speak to the heart and spirit of what is in all of us, a description of a trip to the grocery store can be a fascinating tale of Being. I REALLY believe that.

                What we ignore as ordinary aspects of our own lives are very often extremely fascinating to others. I can’t even begin to imagine an average day in the life of Robert Okaji the American boy with Japanese and German roots. The racism you must have seen in your life, the stories you must have of just trying to go to the store without bullies calling you names you don’t fully understand. Why would being the son of a Japanese lady be bad? All the things you could tell tales about from the Navy, being mixed “race”, there is not a single tale from world travel that could ace a deeply Existential story as being made an alien in your own land.

                Plus, you are a poet of the highest order. I could be the Pope and you would still be able to describe your latest meal in more profound terms! “Hi, I’m Pope Daniellus The Sixteenth and I am the Representative of Christ on Earth.” “Hi, I am Robert Okaji… what do we say when we eat chicken? That the act of the meal cries out the uncertainty of food, the testimony of breads and circumstance of chewing…”. LOL!

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