Howandizindizindize - Neil Kozlowicz

Howandizindizindize No. 1

You’ve looked here. You’re hooked there. As it goes

longshoremen and the radio plays incessantly a tune

like an alligator, the skin a rhino and a pair of

tube socks. It’s a better year, seemingly full

of anecdotes, that is, stories told amongst friends

and--. You’ve looked here. You’re hooked, constantly

repeating small movements, a hair from a dromedary

clings to your vest. It is all you have to remember

the hours in the sun. You’ve never been to Sudan,

taken a day to polish the collection of redwood

planks, the loose fitting hammer heads and bruises.

It’s easy to hum a song, sink into the bottom of

the pool, float off in the wind, a rip-tide

a talent for falling apart before you’ve put

anything together. Bleed, too, you’re hooked, looking

back, treason to the birth, a born winner and

looking down, good for something, maybe to rub sides

with the automatic weapons or prove yourself by

tragic consequence, by playing marbles, muttering to no

one, left beside the road forever in a trough

a furrow, one among many as waves in black

and white a discovered rhythm Howandizindizindize

Howindizindizindize plastered across the living room

ear to ear and slowly gone left to circle

peace by momentary blur piece by born to whatever we are.

Howandizindizindize No. 2

For a television series they call it jumping

the shark. That moment when Happy Days

violated its conceit and, Howandizindizindize,

cool exceeded its bounds. The party is breaking

up and I need to sleep. Howandizindizindize

there is no hope for you, blanket neck and a

tired lasso, we’ve expected this for some time

all of us on the cement stairs, better than you

for knowing our place as you flail your ideas

around looking for a chance at impartiality

running home as fast as you can it’s a wonder

you didn’t get kicked aside or trampled. But

you watched as the fight started in the bathroom

moved outside and into the street it went on

forever and you watched quietly cheering for

someone who hardly knew you you watched

planning to be noticed, near the alley now

two thousand miles from where you were meant

to grow up every ounce of you lies on that

street every escape, all the streetlights

garage bands and despair disguised as

dignity holds on like music in minor keys

playing endlessly, respectfully negligent of

time and distance, maybe turn the station

maybe listen closer, maybe say

it’s alright, you did the best you could.

Howandizindizindize No. 3

Multiply by three the actual number of sounds

you cannot hear. Rake flames, coals, and fire into

the breeze near the ocean and think you’ll

be there forever, gone now, drying in the desert

for a time. Howandizindizindize. You’ll come to

realize, standing beside yourself, touching the ground

red clay and stone. It rings a certain

falseness, a tone familiar. Howandizindizindize, a

method of lying maybe, stories you tell if you

could tell a story. One asks for specifics

for a reason for the Howandizindizindize

for blast furnace, the loop track, darkness

and the highways around D.C. circling for hours

getting no closer, there right now in a Ford

pickup, riding in the back under the canopy

across the country to protest, to carry a

banner, scream Howandizindizindize, stand

up for anything other than yourself.

The rain came heavy with the thunder and

the lightning, a blue pallor, the dust and

high wind bending palms while the cactus

did not flinch. Monsoon season, waiting for

the wash to run, looking along the street

into the hills and hoping for inspiration, anything

that says now, Howandizindizindize, or never.

 

Neil wields an MFA in creative writing from the University of Minnesota. You may have seen his poems in Nimrod International Journal of Poetry and Prose, Sierra Nevada College Review, Northwest Review, Iodine Poetry Journal, Oregon East, Epicenter, Diner, or Concrete Wolf or his book reviews in Rain Taxi Review of Books. He lives with his amazing wife and two beautiful daughters in the land of 10,000 lakes.