Barbara Joan Tiger Bass

she explores dignity’s
dimensions
bends metal
with her mind

this motivational surge
compelled by conviction
not truth
is interrupted by “DROID” alerts

she ponders the plodding
accuracy of artisans
[if the railing turns a corner
inaccurate measurements
can occur]
so many studs to consider

she finally sees the difference
between brain machinations
and anvil
parallel fires

as she descends
into her sanctuary
full of unread Taoist tomes
decades of paper to shred

stock travel in trucks
edible leaves out of reach

in this car, self portraits
accumulate in virtual piles

some friends do not reply
but share salient articles

daily vocabulary appears
plenary, in single incidents

the feel of dreams, deep
in hypothalmic juice

the sink is polished,
mayonnaise away, order reigns

We weren’t serious but had to be electrically adept, get the attic door painted, and re-grout the bathroom. My affective filter registered low so it was time to choose a Life Stage Management plan. Nano was the new mini and we couldn’t honestly hang that blue fruit basket in the kitchen without impinging our view into the desiccated front yard. We were roaming around with head lice in an identity piece connected to suffragettes. There was the hope of a reflective partner, someone with a well developed angular gyrus , able to utilize a stepping stone approach. Once we’d covered the basics of organization-navigation and located application pointers in the dock, we were ready to unlock each others’ passwords. We found what we wanted by rotating our desktops then put the house icon on top.

we echo like se awful
remake poorly filtered

cross our arms and look
down on the trendy

grimace of the ten
year old as he confronts

his empty wishing well
full of cell phone fantasy

and late night swims
hidden in the dark

a place our aging
hearts rarely venture

that death place
that earliest fall

his thumb joints
will wear thin
and capitals
disintegrate
the espresso
pulled long
run cold

even with the ringer
off I hear the Droid
buzz sense my sons’ calls
one wants to drop-by
the younger needs his compression shorts

long distance friends insist
their way past my determined
persona past my candle-lit
intention into various conversations

e-mails bing on the multi-window screen
Attend! Attend! they command beyond
power of choice while Facebook lures
demonic detachment to scroll past everyone
else’s breast cancer, freedom, publication
exhaustion and articles pop-up to Exclaim!
Proclaim! Declaim! while meager efforts to refrain
from merging with virtual traffic
take all the energy I can muster

my husband, ensconced in legalese does not
even know I’ve texted my loneliness from
the dry autumn trail where ghosts do Tai Chi
and dog walkers attempt to communicate
as I pass by in search of a more expansive view
one where the tops of trees and blue sky outweigh
the risk of wanting or needing to cry

smart boards lit with variables
that slip from one side of the equation
to the other, sans warning

the redolence of spike lavender
tangerine, rosemary oils dripped
onto the diffuser and plugged-in

effervescence reminiscent of outdoors
within reach, the way fingerless gloves
ameliorate the ride to school

tiny buddha statuaries held
captive in tiny ziplock bags
our personal trigger fingers, turgid

neurogenic memories disrupt
dinner table conflict as the latest
admonishment puts everyone en garde

historic slurps or the grate-and-isolate
of echolalia prove some point while
we collect unconscious vestiges

wax encrusted candelabras and myriad
lamentations, the claw marks of a gassed
generation, the prostate of a survivor

haunted, we cannot fathom our distinct
despair until after the downward spiral
in pink flannel pj’s to purple velvet solace

in the blue-light-blink of wireless speakers
the sympathetic nervous system’s disorderly
conduct, our contiguous traumas unravel

a dimmed amber light beckons the comfort
zone of sorrow, the welcome back of a Yoda
bandaid perched like hope on Pandora’s wrist

after a psychic download
that vituperative attempt
to undermine autonomy
the gravel-voiced men
shrug-off misogyny

her hybrid escape idles
the dead stream
and her trusty droid
recites its name
into the ambient void

up an open stairway
a tuxedo cat mewls

the eccentric intellectuals
dissect a translated walk-about
can the song-lines of an Israeli mother
magic realism intact
tortured lover in tow
reflect a whole gender
on the constant brink
or is this another pilgrimage
into imaginary remains
uncertain

within 24 hours
a new Non-Fiction takes over

a deflated I love you balloon
leans into oncoming traffic

speed limit sign flashes: 39,
35, 40, 32 and cars slow

fuel efficient engine purrs
to the Grateful Dead

gliding, almost autonomous
into afternoon