Tim Shaner

from Material Confessions

Sixth Material Confession


Indian take out
In the fridge
In white cartons

I think, movie

Though better not microwave
Them in that as they
                come w/ wire

Chicken Korma and Chicken
Sagwala and Chicken Vindaloo

We ordered it with Vegetable Pakora
And Plain Nan

It cost us thirty-five dollars roughly
Plus gas

I saw it when I fetched the half
And half

In the bowl a banana
Somewhere in the mix

Beside the Frigidaire

I’ll likely not eat as it’s
                gone soft
                and no doubt

The mango’s set to go

But the oranges are
Imploding on themselves

Must make banana bread

But got no pecans

And the walnuts in the bag
Well old by now and
                likely bitter

And so like the banana
And maybe the take out
I’ll probably
                chuck it

I threw out a chicken breast
The other day

The next morning the kitchen
Stunk big time

There’s one in the fridge right now
I better tend to

I also fetched a rotting green substance
In plastic bag
                                from the bin

It was either Italian parsley or

T’was squishy

I’m not sure whether to ditch
The moussaka I made the other day

Is it safe
             to eat                    it’s delicious

Just like that batch of milk
                recalled for possible

I had already drunk it
                and so drank it

All of which made me wonder later
In the day, when my stomach went sour,
                                Whether it was the milk or the coffee
                                Or the IPA’s I slugged last night

There was an onion involved in there
I never used as well as the slices
Of left over eggplant

I threw them out

The coffee T made this morning
Was stale by the time I got up

I threw it out

And made a new pot

I’m going to marinade the breast
In olive oil and lemon

But the thyme is dead
For lack of water

I forgot to plant it before
Going on vacation

The oranges are still juicy
Inside no doubt and so
I could make some juice

But I own
No juicer

We have a blender
And a food processor

We have a snow cone

We ditched the pasta

The blender’s
My grandfather’s

Who died at

from Neolamprologus Brevis, Shelldweller


I just had to. It’s like the computer has downloaded me into its bio
Metric causeway. A stuffed gull tilts its head, eye’s you. The watch
Still wears its price tag, yet the second hand’s shot! It’s all happening
Too fast! yet ‘it’s hard to say whether anything’s moving’ or, here’s a clock

That wiggles. Its ‘click’ is digitally enhancing my hairline. In place of cries, the                                     
The newborn sighs; best spank it. Not unlike Bartleby’s not. The teamwork
Sucked tonight; fans slouching back to their crummy jobs, factories of lore.
Right about now is when I tend to here, an echocardiogram. Some variant

On a line, any adds a kind of cohesion yet belatedly post-avant play to
What might otherwise unravel entirely of its own blobby centrifugal
Force-work, if you will. I took notes during the event in order to prevent

The inevitable. The first attempt at making something of it failed, naturally,
So I bludgeoned it with blog-o-sphere. It’s like history, sneezing hard
Or, your cell phone has made a livingroom of my commonwealth

from Interstitials or, Slack Time

financial mercantilism
taut tense and terrific
chives in whooping cream

—to have that place
where one
might wander for a sincere stretch
the constant noise n sight of cars

it’s the alternator, stoopid

turn left into oncoming killer traffic
the car’s honk bends as it speeds

 When they fund the military they’re funding t
[over bridge / over dale]
                         he AUC

in the left lane
for the car ahead
to turn, swerve
                                            in front
                                            of blaring
                                            gold SUV

we have flags
leave me alone

virological dot . . . begin evasive elliptical maneuvers . . . do you know where your dots are tonight . . . urgent: connect the dotage

the third dot signifies                    
                                                                wimp factor

place elsewhere
                                [at register / in the racks]

innocent spore: really, what harm
has it ever done

           acute strains. . . [of] . . . global goodwill
               flourishes . . . [of] . . . firm evidence
a fantasy wish-list . . . [of] . . . greater flexibility

shirt 10-12 medium
dress 10 medium
pants 12 medium

all dogs must be hand controlled

good                      morning

   we don’t need a key

“‘A good poet doesn’t select his materials.
what is there to select? IT is.’”
                                                                [down the aisle / in the air]

delaware park at its lincoln pkwy n rumsey rd

the low reaching canopy of leaves creates a door
like affectation
the gravely trail into dark trunks
“of maples and men”
                       in                                                        shade
clank n ping of “hammer on steel”
of workers erecting willie’s                                         stage

the Buffalo Parks Dept.
gathers its leaves in a roaming truck

 “‘one of the things that make a plant GO’”

the ribbed pattern
of a tractor wheel
in the mud below
a blue pesticidal

$18.03 on gas

clumps of stench
float on the eastern tip of Hoyt lake
across from “Forest Lawn Cemetery”
                [under shower / clipping toes]                  

“what music this is”

it’s not that poetry is rejected
by the laboring society
it’s that poetry rejects
     the laboring society

Marcy Casino
Rose Garden
Shakespeare Hill
Hoyt Lake
   [under scalpal
        in the gas]
Kathleen Fraser

“‘To book as in to foal. To son.
Those wobbly legs’” (16).