The Poetry Project

Two Poems

Lena Rubin

train meditation

something building
xxxthe anxietyx,xwhat causes it?xxxxxmust be minor disturbancexxsquiggly particles
almost clear pieces of DNAxbale of hay for lying onxI start to orbit the institution then realize it
is all a jokexxtheyre kind and friendlyxxand sometimes make mistakesxxI straightened up so that I could receive the letterxxblessed character I felt a searing pain in my right leg and wondered if it was from the toxins in the Hudsonxxxstop approaching it like you’re bragging about itxxotherwise youll miss the whole thingxxxyou can change your behaviors that used to be one of your goalsxxxsome things can stay the samexxxwhen the sun looks a certain way call it godxxxyou can get unafraid to be emotionally into the words youre writingxxxxxxoceanxit feels lesbian in a good way meaning the thing you could never have and feltxxyou werent good enough forxxxglassy Hudson alongside the trainxxxmore itch in right shoulderxxPCBs, phytotoxinsxxxyellow aura around transcendental eye posturexxankle tickle knee ticklexxxelectronic ticketxxactivatexxmy eyes stayed the same, no accidentalxxvein in the forehead as if bisecting the two lobes perfectlyxxbetrayingxxone eye bigger than other or one drooping,xxseekingxxanything from an other disrupts transcendental eye posture so does lookingxxtoo hard at anything or searching for something too adamantly (searching for… anything at all?)xxIt got refreshed by the river near the trainxxmarble ground quarry glass top factory shingle style houses “this shit is nice” quasi urban developmentsxxtoxinxxoil sheencxbrutalist parking garagexxnow leasingcxhints of wispy creative unfunded scientific studies dutch colonizer exurban street sign oh, so this is normal attentionxor like, the thing that the boomers got to have ,xnaturallyx, without doing anything for itcxI hope someone knows what I meancxcity approaching I can feel it in my biceps, elbow creasecx“hi I’d like to book a table for two tomorrow”cxI was explaining the sign of scorpio to my mother earlierxxxas an underground store of cold, dark, deep waterxxxxxsecret wellxxits house is empty in my chart

“I just want an outdoor view please ” / pressure inner right earxxpressure moving thru the ear thru the eardrumxxdoes the earth incline herexxsulfur smellxxtwo clear their throats simultaneouslyxxxline of mist ‘twixt water and groundxxxxxxxxover there in new jersey

cultural institution complexity of the landscape makes me inadvertently twitch my foot, wrap my arms around my shoulders adjust my back against the seat this urban jerking and shifting xxxxx weightiness in arms nowxa single paranoid thought

flatbush forage

i can do my own thing, this way,xxdon’txxworry,xxxthey weren’t mad at you

break the glassy spell, help me,
xxxxxxlight my good luck candle

333, 222, 333, 717, 818,

make it into an oil,
xxxxxxan olive oil,
i’m in gardening class

is there a limit to gold
why the gold
xxxxxxthe golden one

where’s the best place to plant the native plant
and why am I woozyxxi’m a lefty

lefty lefty automaticxxarnica rhizome root runners leaving
from the area where they started three
flowers on the stalk bloom bloom bloom

you learned the languagexxyou learned
it more than once

xxxxxxxxxxxx YOU
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx EXIST

xxxxxxdistorted and half there but
fully there, some inhales can be so heavenly,

solomon seal grows in the shade, both so-called “american”
and european types. why wouldnt you have feelings

for a little plant. oh lena, she said wistfully,
you’re going to become a little plant
when you’re living out there in nature
that’s what happened to me!

be like st john’s wortxxfull sunxxdoesn’t like to be moved
thats how it is, beetles feed on itxx, it makes cows
photosensitive, oh, this is all a piece
of cake.xxxxpick them off and drown
themxxxxand you can continue to harvest

xxxxxxplant my crazy prospects
on rogers ave, red vinegar suspension
of violets, stinging nettle, yarrow,
& mugwort

xxxxxxxxxxxx utlimate wrestling
with god kinda season

Work from Memory Palaces: Visions, Echoes, Forms with Lucy Ives