Read Shakespeare every day. Pray to the gods of
appetite for sustenance. Grant favours to all who ask.
Obey thy heart, carefully. Stay true. Observe the
clouds as they pass overhead. Let the rains rain
down on thy soul (thy soul is thy body is thy mind
is thy heart). Be strong, be nice. Don’t go out with-
out your hat and sunglasses, or vice versa, your
slickers. ‘It’s the final countdown’ so count down
backwards from one hundred and don’t think of
beer bottles or walls or where you left off last time
or what it’s going to be like once the bus arrives
because then none of this matters anymore and
is lost to infinity, which is whole lot. If you look
back, you’re toast, burnt to a crisp in the spot you
pivoted because you can’t go forward if you’re
looking back unless you’re walking backwards but
then you can’t see where you’re going and you
may stumble and fall and hit your head. You’ll
be prone, face up, watching clouds go by, sun
shining directly in your eyes which if you don’t
close them and stare will make you go blind so
close them, or, rather, don’t look back in the first
place. Or, if you please, stop, turn around, look
for a while, then turn around and proceed. You’ll
have had your look and you may contemplate it
but you’ll be headed forward “with eyes wide
open” (Tempest). Don’t forget your sunglasses
and hat, or, alternatively, your slickers. Wear
good shoewear every day.
Equality of Day
Through the grid, it’s green and blue. Iggy wants
coffee and is making a scene because of far too
much mischief. Toes point skyward but everything
is held down by the ceiling. A whole lot of heat
is trapped up there between the interior and the
exterior. There’s no theme. There are themes
but they emerge over time. You see it’s a process
which may or may not end in products. There’s
much waste. Much, much waste. Some one,
many ones are going down. Some are lost. What
does come forth is so lucky it’s beat the house odds.
The bells are ringing. It’s better than enlightenment.
It’s alive. That’s your name. But you already knew
that. You were already there and none of us
would've been here without you. Equality of awe
in the equality of day.
There’s water in the air that’s blowing around.
The shades are drawn down to temper the light.
Once you draw them down, there’s a strip of
green that marks the room, the room where we
dwell in the evening, all night, and into the morn-
ing. Rooms carry us through. Then we cross their
thresholds to other rooms, passageways, and doors
to the outside. More doors. More passageways.
More rooms. Many rooms. Many, many, rooms.
There’s a place for you that’s been prepared. You
can pick: this one or that one, which one would
you prefer? It’s someone else’s house but we’re
staying here. We’re taking care of their dogs, and
they like it. We could take them to our house, but
it’s just pandemonium.
They jump on our bed
They jump on our bed
They jump on our bed (3x)
It’s better here – see how big it is? Would you
like some dessert? We have cookie or key lime
pie, but the cookie is for you to take with you.
Would you like half a key lime or a whole? They
are very small. Tom and I can split one. See I
already started mine earlier.
Benjamin Bennett-Carpenter, PhD, MA, teaches at a public university in North America and consults/coaches at Sollars & Associates and independently. Bennett-Carpenter is the author of Death in Documentaries (Brill) and Explaining Jesus (Rowman & Littlefield). His poems have appeared in Superpresent, Book of Matches, and the Kitchen Table Quarterly. He co-edits Cruel Garters, a contemporary poetry publication.