Our friend Matt Longabucco is rocking his way through this awesome project where he writes poems about movies. Every movie showing at the Pavilion this year. It's fun to read about the movies I've seen. It's fun to read about the movies I haven't seen.

for GP-F

THE SHEIK OF AMAGANSETT & HIS FIRST MATE SVEN AT REST

When the piracy is done,
we find ourselves at rest,
and none of the low moral condition
of our profession applies to our play.

Oh my Sheik, your orders are my command,
and when our ransacking is done,
the end of this island is our deck,
and a longneck is my sword.

Unlike the Shafer Hall you know and love, the other Shafer Hall stays within himself. Where I so rarely can be found.

Poem #3 to Accompany Stills from the Film Semi-Tough

WHAT THE TEQUILA TOLD US

First it reminded us: with it we shall not reckon.

Then it made us think everything would be OK.

Then it made us feel impossibly awesome.

Then we were 100% sure that what turned out to be the floor of our taxi was the roof.

Then the great hordes found a way to jive, if only for a few seconds.

We thought for a moment about a herd of moose in response to a cavalry.

Then it told us good night.

Poem #2 to Accompany Stills from the Film Semi-Tough

WHERE WE FOUND IT

Just when we had nearly forgotten
what we were looking for of course
was when we found it; we found it
in the pits of our knees and elbows;
it was in the misshapen snarl of our noses
as we sniffed for it.

Now that we have it, we can begin
to wonder what we will do with it;
like youth we will probably waste it;
like instinct or passion or fear
we may feel we have not used it
but have been used by it.

In our high & low search for it
came the most tangible benefits of it:
the stretching of our bones;
the tug of gravity on our bellies.

Poem #1 to Accompany Stills from the Film Semi-Tough

SMILE

What to do when
the marquis is full
of names you have forgotten
or never even remembered?

When the sunlight
of celebrity has you squinting,
thank your dentist --
he has taught you
so many things.

But is there a gift
or a retort finer
than a smile?

YOUTH BECAME

Confident uncertainty
so slowly became confusion;
I don't think we noticed
even while we lengthily
and even eloquently mentioned
it in our poems and songs.

Now our pride is all we have
to keep us going, our finely-tuned
interests in ourselves and each other.

The starlight shines most brightly
inside the club; out underneath
the bridge, the night keeps getting darker.

On 77 South, my brother-in-law
and I navigated from town to town
through the Rio Grande Valley.
The girls in the back with the baby
sang along from Willie Nelson song
to Willie Nelson song, and I wondered
why at night we never stay up
thinking about the things we do right.

But when the sun went down
the back seat went to sleep,
and the front seat did the singing.
By the time we hit Highway 100,
I was thinking about a redhead
from Hereford who I once knew
and wondering what we'd be today.

Tomorrow we'll go fishing;
I'll make invisible homes till sunrise.

Rachael exhaled into a big round symbol
of rebirth, and when our egg skips
across the green grass of the park,
and when evening falls like candy,
and when the blood veins
in our drunken faces start to pop
like cascarones, Spring begins
and our later-ons and remember-whens
become right now.

You were the luckiest
dirty green floor
on Easter Sunday
in the world
when she walked by
on Sunday. Sunday
checked in white
and green, wooden
heels clicking, and
(where is my head?)
at the top of the stairs:
one last party, and
goodnight.

My Love Is Like The Springtime

My love is like a freight train baby.
Ride it so slow.

My love is like a brick wall baby.
Come bang yourself up against it.

My love is like the subway baby.
It don't always run the way it should.

My love is like the springtime baby.
Red flowers poppin' up all over the place.

My love is like the export soda crackers baby.
100% vegetable oil.

My love is like a three-hundred pound heavyweight boxer baby.

It's gettin' all up inside your face.

She asked me if I'd been to war.
"Yes my little drink of water."
I lied -- or told a riddle. My name
is Robertson Robertson, Brigadier
General. She asked me would I
like a drink. "Yes my little drink
of water. I lied before. I've never
been to war." She asked me
if my name is Robertson. "Yes
my little drink of water." Do you
like whiskey. "Yes my little drink
of water." I'm tried and tired
she said, I'm trying to close.
Will you please order already?
"Yes my little drink of water."

Two Important Items of Poetry Administration

This cool new poetry press is kicking off their line with two of my favorite poets in the world. I just pre-ordered both titles at a reduced price. So should you!

Also, check out this profile of your favorite poet on Open Letters!

GOOD MORNING DARLING

Some folks across the street decided
at 1:30 AM to scream bloody murder.

Since then I have contemplated
the nature (qualified)
and the extent (limited)
of my love for my fellow man.

It is fuck-all snowing outside.
Here are some pictures. But
I guess if you are reading this,
you have already seen it.

I happily look forward to tonight
when I will see you again.
If I should fall asleep, please
prop me up with a broom handle,
a glass of tequila in my hand.

THE GREATEST LOVE STORY EVER TOLD

In a recent hayloft on an October afternoon,
a great love story was dictated
from a tattoed arm to a knife
to a massive pork.

At the time, I was determined
not to have a good time, but
as we slid from tenderloin
to shoulder and deep into
sowbelly, I stopped trying
to recall the plot of part two
of the film Short Circuit.

I soon was slaved into captivity
by Bryan's intimate relationship
with our ex-ungulate. Life
and food found me, and I was lost
in a butcher's love for the butched.

In time the sundered sow
would slowly roast into a meal,
but in this moment in the middle
I learned about a man -- Bryan
the butcher, and his passion
twisted my eyes awake
into a moment from which
they remain unclosed.

THE TYLER SAY

The Tyler say: tonight
is to much for me today:
good night afternoon,
good night today,
good night young ladies
& the pork who made us
sway like thieves into
the raspberry yard:
the fire looks so pink today.

WHAT THE TYLER SAY

The Tyler say a Saturday
night in New York is just
a Wednesday night in Brooklyn,
and as the night slides
right past twelve, who are you
to disagree: the Tyler would
say that you are a fine
a friend to find on the curling
surge toward the weekend.

Good night, friend. Tyler say
he'll see you Saturday
for cinnamon, shrimp & raisins.

FRIDAY THIRTEEN

Frightened of Friday
no more, for (from now on)
Friday the thirteenth
will be frightened of us.

WHAT THE COCO KNOWS

Photos don't show what the Coco knows,
and the green grass will not tell a soul.
The glow in the fire lends to us a clue:
where once there was nothing,
here is something warm.

But when the hamhock went begging
was when Coco really started to shine.
From our haylined trench we waited
from dispatch to dispatch from the Coco front.

And Coco's intelligence arrived in code:
this is tasty. This is warm.
This is something else
Coco would like for you to know.

GOOD NIGHT GALS

In the middle of the afternoon,
Amanda and Becky said goodnight,
and while the dogs and farmers
kept watch, the girls slept,
the fire burned, the fat rendered,
and the massive ewe bleated
down the road. Just another night
Upstate, in the middle of the afternoon.