Barely Buttoned

Drew Robison

BARE LY
BUTTO N ED
summer time poems
bison D r e w ro

by

DR

Barely But toned

Drew Robison

summertime poems

barely buttoned.

Copyright 2012 by Drew Robison. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever wihout written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, address drew robison 3450 Auchentoroly Terrace. Baltimore, MD. 21217. drewoncesaid.wordpress.com

isbn: xxx--x-xxxxxx-xx-x

library of congress cataloging -in-publication data

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depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer. Albert CAmus

In the

rew Robison is Baltimores legally blind poet, and his most recent collection of poetry Barely Buttoned chronicles a few formative years of staring into the sun. Some of these works are fresh from the notebook page; others have seen many revisions. Many thanks to the readers and poets who have guided these poems to shore.

W ith S pecial thankS

Emily Kevin Meg Gabe Cailin

to

CONTENTS
The Weather Man On the Beach Hope Springs Smokers, Cease Fire Dedication for a Moonbounce 60-Second Life Not for Want Prince of Summer 1 2 4 5 6 8 9 10

F or S ummer

Barely Butt ned

The Weather Man

One must have a mind of summer to regard the humidity and the heat and the heavy-body covered by the sun; and have been hot an awful long time to touch the cool water muddy with leaves, the canteens dipped in the huge lake of the July moon; and not once feel any suffering in the wind-song, in the grass-song, which is the song of the water, sent from that same wind that sends those same awful clouds to the weather man, who swims in the heat, and, slowly evaporating, beholds the nowhere of everyone.

inspired by the poem

the snow man by wallace stevens

On the Beach
itchy unrest? a sunburnt soul? seek reprieve in the evening shoals and step as lightly as a gull, when youre living on the beach. from the heat of day, a night of cold would bewitch you to behold, for centuries are hidden in the darkness where silently a story unfolds. for secrets, cast away from home leave daylight lies alone, for friends, they pocket as they please, when sharing the shadow of the trees. while nature designs to hide the light and designates nocturnal life, the night offers rest. seek to be peaceful or else live to die with both claws raised to sky like a crustacean at sunrise from the depths of how far and wide.

patient dusk outwaits the pain, as our sun follows the flight of the majestic crane, first heaven then the sinking to our concept of nowhere, the place where thoughts vanish, touching the void which empty shadows retain.

Hope Springs
The last day I saw her was like most days, broiled and buggy, sweat was running down my bag by the time I got to Bickmans creek, where the air was cool and I could wipe my brow. There I found Ellie fighting the water, her Sunday whites were soaked. She got to looking real sorry at me, and then she made a wicker sound. She snapped her hair like a whip, shooting I-dont-care eyes across the creek: Joshua, I know ya aint leavin. Well I knew she was lying at me, and I mean what did a baby sister know? Her chores were un-dusting Mas floors. I meant to leave her and Hope Springs alone. I told Ellie to go away with flies in my voice. Two words she said back to me, reminding me to frown go home.

Smokers, Cease Fire

and wake up Monday morning ACK ACK from the warmth of last nights pillows burned into makeshift clothes, which we wore, the screaming inside our flesh for days. heavy in head and so we try to fall asleep, and try to fall asleep, and try to, yet still the same sensation of fire returns and again suddenly youre there. Im disarmed and fascinated, yet frightened of the way my skin feels after your wintry fingertips cause me to melt into a puddle of oos and aas and freckles my eyes water someone in my head tries to warn me by flashing leopard skin patterns, but I follow my nose to an ecstatic pitch of dj vu that lasts until next Monday.

Dedication for a Moonbounce

This inflatable castle in the heart of the summer festival is dedicated to the living joy of Doctor Bill, who was born smiling, loved, lost her to Edgar, survived Hells Kitchen, married her sister Flossie, bought a Rutherford house, established a practice on Main Street and returning restless, wrote poetry for people who called themselves patients, treated the thing itself, lived two full lifetimes as existence rushed by in full blossom and autumns decay, struggled to scribble it down between appointments, between prescriptions, despite the doctors badge he wore, found the time for fun with words, fun in yelping tantrums and in breaking the rules, fun in the thought material of America which is not taught in a classroom,
6

fun in small individual nervousness, and in daring to touch the one who resists all touch, despite the office hours, two sons, the weariness and stacks of recent criticism, despite desire and Pounds madness. He labored in this tiny town with his name to plant a garden of familiar objects, broke through a centurys alienation, revived Americas first words, reached the limits of a lunar orbit and If you can find nothing in his joy but disinterest, please fuck off.

inspired by the poem dedication for a by william carlos williams

plot of ground

60-Second Life
You lived a good 60-second life. Sure, you missed out on a few things. Maybe the things you desired were always Just out of reach. Maybe you were indecisive. Nothing to grieve about though. Love played an important role in your life. You would walk 500 miles and You would walk 500 more. You never had much money. But maybe you didnt care about it anyway. Sometimes you were a rather awkward person. Strange maybe, but likeable. Your hobbies were a great way to relieve The stress of everyday. You spent solid time on them, But not too much.

Not for Want

there is little left here to inspire new ideas in the shoeless generation who play in their pockets and rattle gold coins without a mind for want but with a bored soul they say to each other, i want that one. no, maybe that one. have you seen them? they take a slice of bread ignore it for days and then throw it away. this has happened so much. there is little left here.

Prince of Summer
the guys barefoot on atlantic ave barely buttoned shirttail sailing in the breeze whose salty french-fried scent never changes with the current so recognizable to inhale you cannot separate sea from skin or the sight of the guy on his knees reaching into a sewer drain to retrieve a skinny can a lemon-lime four loko dripping neon grit back down into the grate he drops it and begins again

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Set in the Dante family by Giovanni Mardersteig and Ron Carpenter. Titles set in Avenir Next by Adrian Frutiger and Akira Kobayashi. Letterpress printed from photopolymer plates and lead type. Delaminated by hand. Brought to you by your friends at The Press. December 2012.

o ther W orkS

by the

a uthor

His Majestys Going Away Tea Party Cat and Mouse

DR

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