W i l l S t a n i e r —

Astral Sonnet

after John Keats

Would if I could constant moviegoer,
homesteader bright star, mortgage of the spheres
or musical chairs, your seat in the nosebleeds.
Like nature’s pedant, a pendant for the ever-watchful.
Hermit crabs of patient gardens, surly mountaineers
in icicle showers. Sorrowful happy-hours spent
without reason, without care. Agreements for
subtle sublets and other clandestine documents.
What more do you see? Lonely lone-star hanging,
an ornament aloft, or shimmering hang-nail.
Awake, I’m dumbstruck like a belfry at midday.
Asleep, I’m a primitive private eye. Here,
stedfast, quickly approaching this smaller death.
Thinking (excitedly), there’s no way not to be us.

Midcoast

Cobalt blue, for you, visioning.
As you go vision around the house
visiting places you’re gonna be or rather, make.
“Republic of Space” I heard today on the radio
broadcasted through space as I washed the dishes.
It’s 2025 in Star Trek in 1993 which is actually
backwards in time, or not.
Good thing I bought Goo-Gone for the red wax
we spilled on the floor.
Cleaning products are getting very futuristic.
Meanwhile, the future is getting very old.
“They don’t make ‘em like they used to,”
I seriously think often.
Violet hunting heart-shaped petals in the yard.
Fewer maybe than last year
you picked to make a sugar—the violets, I mean.
Blended up into a confection: syrup, cake,
and whipping cream. The same thing
we ate last night after dinner with friends.
You’re a real Lady Macbeth giving me the orders.
Always us scheming, crafting happily our plans.
Like driving up the East Coast to harvest Rosa rugosa.
Cold, driving rain in Maine, state park on the beach.
Marching together in file, scrambling up rocky cliffs.
Coin operated binoculars,
then we saw a Viking ship.

Weird Stoppers

He puts the put in Putzmeister.
Ham and Eggs growing all over the yard.
I like to ask people their sign, the sign-asker said.
It’s a one-sided conversation and I’m trying to have fun.
Bisbee is the passcode baby.
Life costs $60 an hour; I spend 30 every time I visit.
Nightmare democracy underwritten by yo-pros,
bespoke auto defaults, not personal but personable;
it’s not yours because it’s everyone’s.
The royal we definite non-you.
Non-lawyer spokespersons telling it like it is.
Non-positive results garner future
positive money, no product just pedigree,
and a lot of guys with car dealership names.
If it’s not Fred’s it’s not downtown.
Sunshine all the time at the South Pole of the Moon.
J. zhuzhed up her hair and called it a day,
both of us asking what’s for girl dinner?
I’d like to be the world’s housewife, I really would.

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