The Bottle
I am a bottle, so shake
me up. Or don't shake
me up. Do whatever
you want; either way,
I'll like it. If you shou
ld shake me up, the
bubbles will start for
ming, slowly at first,
then coming up to po
p the place above my n
eck and I could burst. I co
uld blow up, explode, spill ever
ything inside, sputter out all the i
nward items I hide. Things safe w
ithin me. They could flow, flood
out till I'm empty then you can de
cide if you want to recycle me. Pr
obably not. Maybe. Oh, I hope so.
Think green. Think of a better wor
ld. A better one. For you. For me.
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Café Brûlot
It is not from the mind alone—
the chemical impulses
washed by the heavy,
monotonous
rain of symbolism
(society and all its mass
manufactured
archetypes [infr astructure
for the thought]) —
that I know anything,
but by the moral implication that seeps
forth; seeding into my judgment;
rooting in my amygdalae;
branching in arborescent,
pinnate sensations;
blooming where life
begins to find me.
Where sound turns
to color, and color
turns to touch, and
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Lullaby
In sleep, you keep lingering on
Blooming with the blossoming dawn-
My penetrating piece of mind
Pretending this time, fate is kind.
So now we go, let loose, sow seeds,
Plant in mother Earth what she needs;
Stewing synapses, boiling blood
Because we're playing in the mud.
Pockets of perfume in the air.
I act like I've been unaware,
But the scent sends itself to me.
Surrender my senses to thee.
My chances… They haven't been blown.
Together, we are now alone.
A breeze to please, breathe in, release.
Tension teases us toward peace.
There's something attractive in
The fire catching in your skin.
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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This Universe
This universe is mine, so leave it alone.
Let it be an island drifting in the neutrino
Populated, dark anti-matter empty sea.
Let me create what I will and all I want,
Sketching myself in the contour drawn among
The blooming nebulas and fading dwarf stars.
Then I can hope that electromagnetic
Fields will pull you in; gravity defiant,
You will attract the orbit of constellations
Which line and light my nightly bound hemispheres—
My celestial globes of expanding thought—
And realign the muted stellar twinkles
In my eye.
This universe is mine,
But I'm willing to share.
We could be intertwined
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Sky Soup
The birds
Cutthrough
The blue—
Thick, azure porridge
Of the astral plane.
Steam building,
Billowing in
Cumulonimbus clouds
Blowing in thhhhecool front.
The aluminum wings
Of an airplane
Tear a ____
Through it allllllllllllllllll,
` The stew drains simmering—
A whirlpool bent around the jagged edge
Of the sunbeams emanating
From the soup
We call a sky,
It all mixes
With alphabet letters
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Phainesthai
What otherworldly innocence
could fecundate the thoughts
of the mind in the cloud,
So tethered to this world
by a wrapping of tangled
fiber optic wires, humming
The interchangeable vibrations
of sight and sensation as they
blink out into the vanishing gray?
What aphoristic brevity
could challenge the wit
and diminish maieutic
Impulses, withering them
in the unconscious acts of
ever-steady electronic meditation?
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Disney Girls
Pancaked make-up, getting lucked-up
In the back of a white,
Tinted window limousine.
The camera flashes, her fake eyelashes
Curl like rolled ribbons
That curve in the scissors.
Her pretty smile, lingers for a while
Until she's backstage
And the publicity isn't there
(Anymore
‘Oh, reality, it's not for me'
A fake British accent goes a long way
For the modern American girl,
Have an air of aristocracy,
Give the people something to dream about,
To believe in, (wish
To idolize, (upon
To love, (a
To worship (star
Let the comets cross through the sky,
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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Modern Vertigo
Standing uncentered
At a canted angle-
Slanted in my frame of mind.
I can see a clear destination ahead.
All that empty, white space-
A long shot extended to the edges,
The scenery bleeding out before my eyes.
I'm boxed-in by all the possibilities.
Opportunity, sprawling and vast,
Compresses me in depressive formats,
Feeling out of focus-
A disjunctive cut blurring in and out-
As my reticle zooms
In choppy shots.
The sleek, stark status quo
Keeps me claustrophobic
As time and expectation come ever closer.
Almost simultaneously,
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Swans
Two swans sit alone on a lake
Looking so peaceful,
Poised on the tranquil waters.
The air around them is calm,
A gentle breeze wafting,
Gliding through their white feathers.
They are caressed by the pine scents
And the delicate balance
Of their surroundings.
The sky above is blue,
Almost cloudless and clear,
But a few pillows float overhead.
The trees stand tall beside the lake,
Watching the swans
Swim on the surface.
They swim majestically,
Beautifully,
In the recreational park.
Under their webbed feet,
Abandoned garbage sifts—
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Fearful Syzygy
I turned my head,
and you turned yours,
and together
we fastened a
temporary string
around each other's hearts,
and I know I could
feel the weight of
our distances tugging
at vacant space
inside my chest,
imprinting
the severing circle
of a tightened grip.
I know you could feel it too.
I know because I saw you,
jostled out of the moment,
out of the bollix of traffic;
you and I a conduit for a lapse
in thought,
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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