Sunday, May 4, 2014

The Opposite of Lucky Is Wrong

Yesterday, first the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival in West Friendship - look for the Border Collie herding sheep and for Hillbilly Jeff's Kettle Corn - and then Maryland back roads and then a five mile circuit hike in Little Bennett: we decided to continue filling in the map instead of going to Sugarloaf, there are just two of the twenty-two miles left to go. Back outside today. For links and clusterfuck engagement I refer you back to yesterday's post (this is, after all, Lazyass Weekend Blegging for Futile Weekend Blegging in Dead Blegsylvania), but because I love you (and because I am an attention slut) have two fresh songs and a fresh poem.


Rodney Jones

From the first, I was too reluctant, achieving by dribs and drabs,   
Happy to linger in shallows while others jackknifed from cliffs, wrong
To exact perfection from a sad piece or add notes to a proven tune;   
But ever the classicist:
                                     in swimming lessons, slowest to learn;
In fights, tentative, preferring the hammerlock to the jab and hook; cautious
In the earliest romances, choking in the clutch, fumbling the caress; or shy
Among the crew-cut Cupids bristling at the armory’s weekend dances;   
But shifty in every game, keeping it close. Always holding still   
And adjuring others to go slow
                                              until we leapt forward that night out of control
And pinned to the seats of Tyler Wilson’s outlandishly unstock Ford   
While, from the opposite side of the valley, scalding in each curve, came the black din
And brunt of Sonny Walker’s highjacker Chevrolet, everyone screaming   
And bearing down to be first across the bridge at Hurricane Creek.

Many trophies show us frozen: a leg poised for the hurdle, an arm cocked for the unanswerable spike.
What I remember through the windshield’s splintering lens is time, a mailbox
Rushing by, the letters TURRENTINE,
                                                      then darkness rolling inside;
Though memory, at best, retrieves maybe six percent in studio light,   
So even now I think we might have turned:
                                                               smart with his hands,
There is a kind of savior who blusters through the South, good with animals and machines,
Who surely somehow would have found a gap, through an open gate   
Into a marshy cornfield

                                    or up a logging road into a hillside wood.   
At any rate, there is just a little while, shy of any bridge, just as judgment
Balances its two blind alternatives and a third accelerates head-on.   
I’ve made a careful study: things that can only be accomplished in deep space,
In another language, in far history, at an almost incalculable speed. Courage is not included, or much foolishness.
They spin the purest glass, they split the atom, they speak with God.

They make a sort of Teflon hip and attach it with metal screws,   
Only the threads upbone keep stripping
                                                          so they have to operate
Again and again, and what she’s accomplished is more of a gait, really,
Than a walk, so when she moves toward me, across any room,   
I think too much of my own will
                                                implicated in that dragging brace.   
Each step is obviously trained, and the whole earned motion full   
Of muscle, plastic, and bone
                                           is coordinated by nerves even the   
Strictest dance does not require. She has said there is no fault,   
But even in such talk,
                                  grace occurs as an accident someone caused.   
If what I require is a thing too certain, braided from probabilities,
There is another thing
                                  articulated in the scars that saved her face—   
And no right now in that night we were shaken and rolled like dice, no right to
Say this guilt to be alive is love, or the opposite of lucky is wrong.


  1. Did you know that your background gif spikes my laptop's cpu usage and causes it to slow down?

    1. Do you mean more than usual, a recent occurrence? Most likely it's blogs dying and the dead feeds slowing stuff up. It's been a couple of months since I checked for those, will try to get to it this coming week. Otherwise, my apologies, but I've got this shitty blog tuned like I want, I haven't the desire much less the ambition to redesign it again for the time being.

  2. It's not the links, because the CPU usage persists after the page is loaded. (Bouncing between 50% and 70%.)

    The result is typing and scrolling slow down and become very jerky in all my tabs, until I kill this one.

    1. it's my slow sing i n g .. if .. . with low , to j. scat '

  3. Mine slows down too, but only until the GIANT videos load and the the wonderful blue static loads. Small price to pay for such as this.

    1. jim, you made me lau gh, with.. said , that was what i meant by .. his scat .. .