maestro in recline

sonder

sharp snowflakes cut
like throwing stars
in the sliver of sight
between cap and scarf

my stiff mitts mash
the frosted handle
of the back door
not opening ugh
but don’t bang cuz
no one’s home eff
it it’s happened before

i lean in and blow
dragon breath
to melt my way inside
in the back entrance
near the heat vents
blasting like Saturn Vs

i drop the bookbag
from my scimitar spine
unnoose the scarf
toe a boot free

pogo to tug off the other
then doff my parka armor
my tube socks sag
and flannel sleeves drag down
snow nugget crusty

wet and steaming i freeze
in the next room some slow ninja shadows
are gliding across the shag
i special-op the corner to discover the source
and woah dad very close
is a soft astronaut in Lay-z-boy repose
with goofy fat headphones
Pac-man-ing his hair claw-craning his ears
a coiled cable oily black tethers him to the dumb don’t-touch Pioneer

he’s facing away
deaf to knowing i’m there
and as he lies in his easy chair

his arms from fully splayed
to high in his private air
trace the paths
of monarchs in flight
of sideways eights
of stock spikes
of electrons in the northern lights

icicle still i watch
shins wet now ankles now squishy socks
then all of a sudden his arms drop
my eyes dart to see

the needle’s stopped above the LP
and it’s too late he’s heard some sound
like a doofus i got frickin’ caught

still still as a sunlight troll
as a carbonite Solo as a pet rock
a jillion seconds but then
his arms rise again
and now in one hand
he’s got a wand a sword a cross a baton
between empty fingers and thumb
his hands float higher
then he

conjures an opus
knights the notes
sounds the holy
conducts a choir

the master… the hero… the… maestro
of something pretty fucking great

I back up, slowly,
silently put my stuff back on.

Return to the cold,
snowflakes now falling
like notes in a song.

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NOTES:
This is set 75 from “The Window” textual-photo series. All images un-staged, single location, taken over hours, days, months, years.

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BONUS PHOTO:

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Poem, unbroken:

maestro in recline

sharp snowflakes cut
like throwing stars
in the sliver of sight
between cap and scarf

my stiff mitts mash
the frosted handle
of the back door
not opening ugh
but don’t bang cuz
no one’s home eff
it it’s happened before

i lean in and blow
dragon breath
to melt my way inside
in the back entrance
near the heat vents
blasting like Saturn Vs

i drop the bookbag
from my scimitar spine
unnoose the scarf
toe a boot free

pogo to tug off the other
then doff my parka armor
my tube socks sag
and flannel sleeves drag down
snow nugget crusty

wet and steaming i freeze
in the next room some slow ninja shadows
are gliding across the shag
i special-op the corner to discover the source
and woah dad very close
is a soft astronaut in Lay-z-boy repose
with goofy fat headphones
Pac-man-ing his hair claw-craning his ears
a coiled cable oily black
tethers him to the dumb don’t-touch Pioneer

he’s facing away
deaf to knowing i’m there
and as he lies in his easy chair
his arms from fully splayed
to high in his private air
trace the paths

of monarchs in flight
of sideways eights
of stock spikes
of electrons in the northern lights

icicle still i watch
shins wet now ankles now squishy socks
then all of a sudden his arms drop
my eyes dart to see the needle’s stopped above the LP
and it’s too late he’s heard some sound
like a doofus i got frickin’ caught

still still
as a sunlight troll
as a carbonite Solo
as a pet rock
a jillion seconds but then his arms rise again
and now in one hand he’s got a wand, a sword, a cross, a baton
between empty fingers and thumb
his hands float higher
then he

conjures an opus
knights the notes
sounds the holy
conducts a choir

the master… the hero… the… maestro
of something pretty fucking great

I back up, slowly,
silently put my stuff back on.
Return to the cold,
snowflakes now falling
like notes in a song.

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Previous Posts:

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K.I.A. art site: paintings, sculpture, installations, prints: www.nu4ya.com