Auto-Collaborations with Myself

THAW

2010-01-30T18:39:00.000-08:00

Animals leave tracks
and snow melts.
I would be frustrated about this
if I were snow.
Or if I were animals.
Always becoming
nothing.

CUL-DE-SAC

2010-01-29T06:31:00.000-08:00

Walking on a dead end street
another country calls the bottom of a bag,
I trespass on lawns
past neighbors’ closed blinds.
A hired guard roams in a Dodge.
I keep my eyes on the ground.

Did the Middle Ages ever exist?
There are still castles
and this is their moat.
Here, nothing intersects.

In this place of bottlenecks,
where there is only one way in or out,
there is isolation, then death.

In this place of suspicion
everyone must believe in something.
I believe in nothing
but strangers.

YARD WORK

2010-01-24T19:23:00.000-08:00

Why write about Yard Work
when there is yard work.
A Bartlett pear tree to plant.

When land becomes Landscape
what happens to the land?

I have never seen a painting of a worm.

This house is a home,
but so what?
At the Horizon
is only horizon.
It lights up twice a day
and is less impressive
than a lamp.

Between the beginning
and end of vision
my son sits
under our new pear tree
and eats dirt.

COMMUTE

2010-01-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

A famous architect just passed me.
He wore a ponytail
and turned the steering wheel
with one hand. Maybe
he was texting with the other.

I once saw a messenger
riding his bike in a snowstorm
talking on his cell in one hand
carrying a cup of coffee in the other.
This was in Boston.

A hail storm happened last night in OKC.
On the sidewalk hail pebbles
and fallen mistletoe berries
are indistinguishable.

Do you think the sunrise knows
the time of day?
Isn’t it always morning where it is?

An enormous flock of crows
once spent the night
in my backyard in Cincinnati.
In the morning the sky was black
for hours as they left.

A bus just passed me.
I am still
waving the passengers goodbye.

I GUESS AT EQUATIONS

2010-01-21T19:04:00.000-08:00

I was a piece of water in a tank.
There was air above me.
I compressed a little and sank.

From the surface someone dropped
an anchor and gave a thumbs up.
The ocean can’t be bigger than this.

What’s the difference
between to and for?
I guess at equations.

When you speak
I can’t remember if you speak
to me or for me.

CARGO

2010-01-20T17:48:00.000-08:00

What is on the train
rolling through my city
so important
the conductor sounds the whistle
every other second
from three to five a.m.?

Is it danger? Contagion?
A treasure?
A child asleep on the tracks?

A father awake in his house.

We carry what we do not own,
Train. Who will hold
us harmless
for damage to property
in our care, custody, and control?

POWER OUTAGE

2010-01-16T06:15:00.001-08:00

We light candles and are thankful
for the gas stove poaching our eggs.
Some in this city think the end of times
is near and head to Wal-Mart
for two-week supplies of necessities,
as if a fortnight were eternity
and salvation came in plastic bags.
We're not so prepared.

There is no life beyond
the permanent power outage,
except for terriers and pidgeons.
Our basement is no cellar.
We anticipate a few good meals
before our food runs out or spoils.

THERE WAS FOG

2010-01-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

There was fog
on the walk to work.
I saw to the end
of the block and back
more than mere outlines
seen beyond the block.
Herringboned patterns in brick,
leaves clogging a drain.
Condensation clinging
to branches' tips.
Fog is only fog
when you insist
on seeing through it.

DOMESTIC SCENE

2010-01-14T17:41:00.000-08:00

It is winter in our new home.
The compost pile I built with scrap wood found in the delapidated
garage is frozen. The vegetables
won't decompose
and I try

to say something cute once
a day to warm us
up. E.g.:
I am a lantern enthralled
with oil.

You remind me the fuel
load in this framed house is high and
there is nothing cute about fire.

Did you know a cyclamen seed
settling in a crack can
heave concrete into the air?

Have you ever seen
an oven mitt afraid
of fire? I have
one on.

CLIMATE CHANGE

2010-01-11T19:56:00.000-08:00

The world had a theory:

it wasn't getting warmer,

people were getting colder.

Two New Poems

2010-01-11T05:09:00.000-08:00

Two of my poems--"Auto-Collaborations" and "From the Adhesive"--were recently published in Free Verse's special supplement "New Voices of New England." Read them here. Scroll down once you get to the page. I'm just after Rob McDonald and just before John Cotter. That's quite a line-up, folks. Thanks to Chris Tonelli for choosing the poems.

THE WORLD AND US, PART II

2010-01-10T19:04:00.000-08:00

The world came back from the dead to discover
that humans had taken over and ruined everything.
So the world smoked a lot of pot
and wrote limpid little poems about spring
that nobody in the world gave two shits about
but the world wrote them anyway because it made him happy,
and because he was so high all the time
that it always felt like spring,
even when the world had just been dumped on
by twelve inches of snow. The ice trucks came rattling
down the streets of the world, but the world
didn't know it. There it sat, with its Bermuda sandles on,
reclining in its giant beach chair, snow swirling about
its hoary head, and nobody even noticing its decadence.
The newsmen came on and spoke about apocalypse
but the world knew better. He had better know better:
after all, he had been to the abyss and back.
To take a simile from one of the world's best poems,
it had been like swallowing a strychine sandwich
that had been left on the counter for weeks
and then attempting to do jumpingjacks
into socks lined with brass tacks.
But that's the beauty of a simile,
it's always just like or as,
never is. The world didn't really eat that sandwich, fyi.
The poem was loosely based on a real-life incident
involving some rotten tuna salad
and a pair of ill-fitting shoes.

CALL WAITING

2010-01-10T17:38:00.000-08:00

I called my land land
from my cell phone
to hear myself in stereo.
Hello, I said in both ears.
It's me. How are you,
I said. Fine, I said.
The land line beeped
with a call waiting.
I put myself on hold
to answer the other call.
It was my friend in Rome
calling me on Skype.
He had gone there to convalesce
in the warm Mediterranean sun,
and had recently pgraded his account
to call land lines.
I asked how many land lines
he called nowadays,
since everyone was going mobile.
More than you'd think, he said.
I'd think you'd call about three people,
I said. He said, nope. I said,
about five? Wrongo, he said.
Well, how many then, I asked,
but before he could tell me
I remembered about my other line.
Hold on, I said, be right back.
Sorry about that, I said aloud
to myself. But I think I had stayed
on the other line for so long
that I had pissed me off.
I was beginning to apologize
when my cell phone vibrated.
It was another call coming in,
this one from my wife.
Be right back, I said, and clicked
the green phone icon. Hi Honey,
I said. When are you coming home
from work, she said. I don't know,
I said. I'm busy.
My lines have rung all day.
I'll call you back, I said,
and then switched back over
to my first call
where I'd been growing more and more
impatient with myself.
You put me on hold for forever.
No I didn't, I said.
Yes, you did, and you forgot
that I had my friend in Rome
on the other line the whole time,
you big dickhead, I screamed.
I hung up one phone and then the other.
I felt superior, then inferior.

MNEMONIC

2010-01-10T07:19:00.000-08:00

I must remember to turn on the oven
in half an hour, while the bread
is finishing rising, to heat up
the pot that holds the dough.
This poem serves as a reminder.
Instead of jotting on Post-It notes
stuck to the regfrigerator,
I'll post poems to a blog.
The string around my finger.
In the breakfast nook where I type
the penciled bird on the wall is still dead
and there is a German print of pigs:
Marschschwein and Tamworthschwein.
Out the window the neighbor's dog
is pointing at nothing, now barking.
UPDATE: Emily has turned on the oven.

THE END OF THE WORLD

2009-05-18T18:08:00.001-07:00

Somebody asked the world
if it liked clams and linguine.
The world said you ought to reverse it.
Reverse what somebody said.
Make it linguine and clams--
putting clams first is problematic.
Why asked somebody.
Because said the world clams belong to the sauce
but the sauce isn't as important as the type of pasta.
So you prefer linguine to clams.
You could say that.
Could I say that you prefer clams to fusili or rotini.
Yes you could say that.
So you like clams with fusili or rotini.
I do.
And linguine with clams.
Yes.
Do you even like clams?
But the world didn't hear somebody
ask the final question.
The final question the world ever heard
was the one before that.
The world then had a heart attack
and was rushed to the hospital
but perished in the ambulance.
In the interest of full disclosure
I admit that I am that somebody.
For years I have harbored the secret
guilt that I killed the world.
I think about it every time
I eat at the Olive Garden.
The waitresses all know to bring me
endless bowls of the same two dishes.

THE WORLD AND US

2009-05-10T19:01:00.000-07:00

The world asked somebody a question the sound of underwear,
like freshly folded underwear.
It was spring and the flowers were out for a walk.
I stood on the flagstone path drinking a tonic.
The world sent an airplane across the sky at the precise moment
somebody started to answer the world.
Everyone watched the plane scribble its white crayon
across the blue paper way up there.
I asked a woman if her name was really Luann.
The world repeated its question, this time the sound of overalls,
overalls caked in mud from fourwheeling at the bog
with the Jeep doors off and the hard top off and the radio loud.
No one really got what the world wanted,
but we admitted it had a good way of speaking.

Me Reading Some Poems

2009-02-26T15:53:00.000-08:00

I couldn't make it to AWP, but I did read with Timothy Gager, Mignon Ariel King, and Laura Cherry at the HallSpace Gallery in Dorchester, MA, on Saturday, February 21, 2009. It was a nice time. Tim was kind enough to record me reading two poems: "Myth" and "Human Nature." I wrote those poems for this blog and this is where they live. In fact, the HallSpace was the only other place besides this blog that they've ever been. They think it's good to be home.

Planned Obsolescence

2009-01-25T17:58:00.001-08:00

Poems are flawed.

They fail because they end.

The perfect poem fails forever.

THIS GUY

2008-10-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

I knew this guy who had a pet dog. Everyone else had zebras that just stood there eating grass, but this one guy had a dog that could do all these tricks. He named his dog Mitch and taught Mitch how to run a blog. Mitch did it pretty well, this guy thought. So he entered Mitch into a few blog races. A blog race is where blogs chase a fake rabbit around a track to see which one crosses the finish line first. Some people think it's cruel, but not this guy. He was totally banking on Mitch winning big. This guy had recently been fooled into a subprime mortgage that he couldn't afford. Each night he listened to Tom Ashbrook of WBUR talk to famous economists who prophesied the end of the world, or at least democratic capitalism. This guy was nervous. He'd stopped bathing. All he did was train Mitch, night and day. I used to go over in the evening and watch Mitch post. This guy knew Mitch would be the answer, and I started to think so, too. I told Jeff and Donna at work about Mitch, and pretty soon the three of us were subscribers to Mitch's RSS feeds. We formed a MySpace group called Believers in Mitch and, just for good measure, posted a few flyers around Allston with a picture of Mitch and Jeff's brother's cell phone number on it. Jeff's brother had loaned it to Jeff before going to prison. The next night we got a call from this guy. Yes, this guy. He said that Mitch had been hit by a car while crossing the street. Apparently Mitch had forgotten to look both ways because he was thinking about his next post. This guy said the first thing he saw after he'd scooped Mitch off the pavement was one of our flyers. He said Mitch would've liked that. This guy said it was crazy but he still believed in Mitch. One day, he said, just you wait.

THE DOG

2008-10-04T16:22:00.001-07:00

He knew he shouldn't urinate inside. He remembered what had happened the last time he couldn't control himself. The man had not been happy. He had raised his voice and forced the dog's nose into the puddle. He locked the dog outside for the night, where the dog could urinate anywhere he wanted. It had been cold and dark and not even the exotic scents of wild animals could make him feel better. He feel asleep curled up in the pool of light seeping through the back door window. In his dream he dug through trash and treed a squirrel; in the morning he dug a hole in the garden and urinated on the same tree from his dream. The yard seemed big, then small. The world was a mystery. When the man appeared and made some kind sounds, the dog felt safe. He went back inside and ate food from his bowl, curled onto his bed, and fell asleep. He dreamt he crawled under the man's covers for a creature that smelled like applewood smoke. He awoke and roamed the rooms in search of the man. He drank some water and thought about dirt. Constantly, the urge to urinate.

MOUSTACHE

2008-10-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Back handlebar, in passing.
Three parts flour, two parts water.
Roux, nay, roue.
Plaster of Paris, TX.
A limp upper lip in lamb's wool.
Impeach fuzz.
Steaks.

AS TIME GOES BY

2008-09-27T16:50:00.000-07:00

My letter didn't leave the depot.
The depot left my letter.

I didn't write the letter.
The letter didn't write me.

It said what I thought it did.
It didn't say something else.

Casablanca is dead in me.
I'm not going to die in Casablanca.

Speculum Stultorum

2008-09-10T15:51:00.000-07:00

Speculum Stultorum.

AUTOGRAFFITI

2008-08-28T07:37:00.000-07:00

I ask myself questions
and answer off-message.
I close my eyes
to watch for floaters
and see history.
I take myself to dinner,
offer to pay the bill,
and politely refuse.

Still Life

2008-08-26T15:09:00.001-07:00

Light stone, a stack
of books, dust.
Bubblewrapped antlers.
A tumbler without ice.

I tire of tables.

At the grocery store
I will buy perishable goods
and connect with humanity.

Human Nature

2008-08-26T07:45:00.000-07:00

Someone had been walking through my garden, and I'd started to resent it. I put up a sign that said, Please Walk Elsewhere, but by morning someone had put up a countersign that said, Please Plant Elsewhere. We'd reached an impasse. A few weeks later, another sign appeared: Why Not Just Switch Places? That night I covered the sidewalk in potting soil, transfered my plants and shrubs, and paved over what used to be my flowerbed. I woke up to discover that someone had walked through my new garden.

The Future

2008-08-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

Humans have devolved in the past two centuries. First, with everything so loud all the time, we lost our hearing. To communicate with each other, we came to rely on handheld devices, but the effort overstimulated our thumbs. Since no one could think of a solution, we grew giant thumbs we dragged along the ground until we became too tired to gesture or send text messages to anyone. Someone a while back experimented with "smart" sidewalks made of touch screens, but our feet kept getting in the way. So we stopped walking. We can't hear, we can't communicate. Everything is silent and still. For some unexplained reason, I was immune to these mutations. I am the last person on earth with normal thumbs and ears. I blog into the void.

Insomniagriculture

2008-08-17T23:14:00.001-07:00

I met a farmer at the grocery store. He told me he was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough whereby plants would stay up all night so the rest of us wouldn't have to. I said that was fine with me, as long as the vegetables didn't suffer. He assured me that they couldn't feel a thing, that "lettuce isn't sentient."

"No," I said. "What I meant was, vegetables can stay up as late as they want as long as they won't wilt or rot." He replied that wilting and rotting is not in his lettuce's genetic agenda, and mentioned something about "the biological will to crispness."

"Like survival of the crispest?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. We agreed that a "sad vegetable" is a wilted one, not a dejected or depressed one.

I was glad to have cleared that up. Vegetables, for most of my life, have been mysteries, but I felt better knowing they were happy. By "happy," I mean "healthy" and "hearty." Relieved of the burden of being alert, I spent the rest of the summer in a permanent vegetative state.

Myth

2008-08-16T14:46:00.000-07:00

I had a myth that started to break down, even when I splashed water on it and let it take naps in the afternoon. Nothing worked--the myth that had served me for so long was dying. So I walked along the highway to Target to find a new myth to suit my tastes. It took me awhile to get there because there wasn't a sidewalk and the brush was very high. Drivers honked their car horns to cheer me on and made hand gestures in support of my quest. I took heart. Once at Target, I asked a salesperson where the myths were; she said Aisle 8, near small appliances. What a variety of affordable myths Target had! I spent an hour examining each one. Finally, the saleperson told me it was time to go, that the store was closing and I'd have to make a decision. It was a tough call, and I'd come so far, but a rumble in my stomach told me that, more than a new myth, I needed the toaster oven on sale for $19.99. I walked through the electric sliding doors and into the black night, content with my decision. I didn't care that I couldn't see three feet in front of me: in the morning I would eat a hot and wholesome meal, prepared in my brand new appliance. Tecnhology gives my life meaning.

Moustache: Ironic or Iconic?

2008-08-14T05:25:00.001-07:00

Caesar

2008-08-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

True story about Caesar. Caesar had a crooked nose. Caesar had one eye bigger than the other. One day Caesar got caught in a monsoon that kept him from seeing a poetry reading he really wanted to see. Caesar's sneakers got soaked all the way through. Caesar cursed while walking through puddles to the besumement of onlookers and gawkers, shocked to see Caesar out in such a storm. Caesar came home and took a shower. Caesar had a salad for dinner.

Hey, Mitsubishi, Look No Further

2008-08-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Mitsubishi is in trouble and needs help. According to an article at the Automotive Business Review, "Mitsubishi has been looking for auto collaborations to support its struggling business."

Now, listen here, Mitsubishi. If you're looking for some auto-collaborations, then I've got a few you might want to check out. There's one online at Thieves Jargon. There are two more coming online at SIR! Magazine. And I got a full-length manuscript I'm shopping around called Auto-Collaborations With Myself. You want to shake up the car industry? Why don't you team up with a fucking poet? That'll mess with everyone's minds. Might be a disaster for your finances, though. In poetry land, a book is successful if it sells 300 copies. So, on second thought, sorry, I'll go on auto-collaborating with myself. Meep Meep!

Mini Knows Chad's The Boss

2008-08-12T10:18:00.000-07:00

People know I got the auto-collaboration market cornered and they are awestruck and afeerd. That's why Mini--yes, Mini, the mighty maker of cars--has shown some common sense when introducing its new Mini Clubman. It's collaborating, sure, but as this article says, it non-auto collaborating.

Bad Poem, Parte Due/Part Deux

2008-08-11T19:35:00.000-07:00

D'INDEPENDENCE

You slept with rapid preparation
for the world in Benkelman, NE,
even as I said, awake! and stuck
fried potatoes in your veins.

The direction of Cokeville was Wyoming.
You drew the rodeo pioneer
in a seat belt on the day
they celebrated our large fatherland.

House mortgages, conversion vans!
The open thing of this road,
the freedom to be taken,
all these stars, and more.

Independence, KS,
was a small house on the meadow.
You were hungry. I didn't stop.
I pretended not to see the lights.

Bad Old Poem, Babelfished From English to Italian to French to English and Edited

2008-08-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

D'INDEPENDENCE

You slept beyond smallest,
restoring food with rapid preparation
for the world in Benkelman, NE,
even if I said, awake!, in Benkelman,
four years following.

Struck in the veins with my fried potatoes
all the direction of Cokeville,
I'm in Wyoming, where you drew twice
with the rodeo pioneer from celebration day
and rolled on the belt of safety
for turning of the colpevolezza
of our large fatherland.

The point of our house mortgages
was to buy this van of conversion!
That and the open thing of this road of all,
the whole freedom to be taken,
all these stars of zillion finally more.

But then conked Independence,
of Kansas, place of small house on the meadow.
Now you have hunger and want to go to house.
What house? I will not stop. We will not stop.
We don't even see any lights.

I'm Not The Only Bearded Chad Reynolds Poet

2008-08-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

Here's another one. Watch him read his poem "The Man with the Mike in his Hand." Behold.

Other Chad Reynoldses

2008-08-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

According to the first page of a Google search for my name, I am 60% of the Chad Reynoldses on the web. Here are some other Chad Reynoldses:

The Hot Rodder Chad Reynolds

The Mt. Union Footballer Chad Reynolds

The AKA Tackleberry Chad Reynolds

Dungeons and Dragons Chad Reynolds

The Fabricator Chad Reynolds

Hyperquake CEO Chad Reynolds

Deltona High Chad Reynolds

Cincinnati Facebook Chad Reynolds

6'8'' Forward Chad Reynolds

Saskatoon Musician Chad Reynolds

Caddie Chad Reynolds

The Bodyguard Chad Reynolds

Assistant Coach Chad Reynolds

Sergeant Chad Reynolds

Sirens!

2008-07-28T05:23:00.000-07:00

"So they sent their ravishing voices out across the air / and the heart inside me throbbed to listen longer."

Lorem ipsum...

2008-07-14T15:48:00.001-07:00

...vim ut utroque mandamus intellegebat, ut eam omittam ancillae sadipscing, per et eius soluta veritus.