LOCATION: Parking lot, intersection of Toole/6th Ave./Alameda (west side, north of the ATT Building)
image poem by Karen Falkenstrom
Red Light Green Light (Draft) 10/19/08
Designated city, designated detour, designed for evacuation
Evacuate, create ghost zone.
Camera woman is to camera,
As Violinist is to violin.
Parking lot with 1967 Mercedes Benz, bike, wagon & cooler.
Note space number.
Blade of light between buildings
Knifes the asphalt.
Parking must be paid in advance
To pay wrong number same as
Tow arrives, moves vehicles
And the 3:21.
Vehicle impounded with chain and drum.
Lot vacated, vacant, vacancy
And the 3:36.
Rhyming with no rhyming words.
Like learning to ride a bike,
From desire, move toward inter-section
“start pedaling with your left foot so the long loader
doesn’t hit your Achilles heal”
Like driving a violin through a parking lot.
Gretel, write, white the path with flour
Conspicuously or pass through, a breeze
And the 3:47
Dancers land in parking squares
Jays, mocking birds, doves.
Wear this one word for me.
Wear this one bird for me.
City of migration
And a violin etching string lines and circles in a lot
Of blue asphalt, ash and fault
Foot falls and fault lines.
Walk the radial arc.
Circle the music.
At the bike of desire
In the radius of desire
Circle, land, circle, land, circle.
Bike, bell, basket, hand-break.
And the 4:02
Box, boxcar and whistle bell, blow horn
Blows over the underpass
City, give up a word.
Speak over the horn section,
A word like ______________.
Enter the violin.
And the 4:24
I don’t belong but __________ belongs.
Three, Four, One and One, Four All (draft)
Below the blue-black tar paste
Earth ground to a fault
Stone quarried at reservation’s edge
Driven through the desert
On desert’s back
Black-top tar face
Tarred and now
Feathered with a crow’s blue-black back
West of here the old fort
Corner stone, a block from Stone
A hold post and military showing
Just below Sentinel Peak
North, tracks and underpass
The blacksmith needs iron
The rails, the horn, the signal arm
South, Victorian architecture
And barrios of adobe bricks
From dirt, manure and rain water
Magical courtyards of mesquite
East, the depot
Yellowed timetables, docking clocks and clock-watchers
Dust settles in the evening light
Light settles in the evening
Tucson domed by a conspicuous wash of cirrus
From the Sistine Chapel
Michelangelo’s blue paint-
Brush cleaned in clear water, swished
Dipped again for blue
For water for water color
images: krista joy niles
city, in which the feet stutter reckless.
city, in which the vertigo is unnamed.
city, in which the throat throws persimmon.
city, in which the sheets are an impediment.
city, in which I trouble you, like rain.
city, in which the surface is disappearing.
city, in which the manhole never leaves you.
city, in which the visible is a treachery.
city, in which her hair breaks, like shame.
city, in which the whitewash is receding.
city, in which the finally falls out.
in which the body is neither promise nor
kindness nor dare. city, in which my back in newly token.
city, in which the broken are uneven.
even and faithfully bound.
for Vicki playing violin
she’s anchoring a swimmer’s song
wet layered play
rapid and round
the ice flow splits
marks time with water
(periphery study in quatrains)
AT & T canyon walls of bisque
shelter granite arches
sidewalk rowhedge disappears into turning traffic
a parking meter steeple chase
oyster shell smooth
canvas for sky
bricks no sun
warehouse and transfer
a grid of glass block
decapitated palm monument
to the east
barnacled shelves of forgotten fronds
grow out of rock
(back to back with TC, improv warm up-DRAFT)
Desire To Intersection
envelope it here
impounded car sounds
sound it out in the mouth—
on the car in your space
your right of way
mapping taxi where skin touches tire.
..::: VIDEO CLIP :::..
Jamie A. Lee
LOCATION: City Parking lot @ e. toole & n. 6th avenue
Adela C. Licona
No quiero hablar
Si tengo que hablar
será en español,
el idioma del centro.
El Kress y los camiones
Day laborers and domestics)
Español. Idioma de la gente, la raza,
I left the group
I’m just that way
Pero no perdida
Rain for Rent
Come over here.
I hope Joe sues
you. What are
Y-O-U D-O-N ‘ T
D-O Y-O-U ?
i do not.
i do not understand
Return to the group
Think in English
Speak in English
Right in English
Sweet sounds and sirens
Headers and an A minor
Roller coaster screams
Es la feria
Enter/Park Here/ For Rent
Public space & Private property
Dusk and dirt
dirty girls find home
Not everything doing
I know a street in the city
where blood drops.
Those are cars inside your veins.
They like going fast
and being noticed.
Imagine their light
reaching a distant star
instead of the other way around.
Imagine you are cars
and that there’s more
than one of you,
achieving a purpose
Mis fotos para compartir
Adela C. Licona
Tucson Night Lot West of the Depot
pebbled gray vernacular
in the dirt
rain into rebar haystacks
chain link songs
sign cuts to the blue.
We stood on the brink of it
Picking bowed trash
Semi dusk in sepia
Tying her one-legged
Witness pebble rain
A violin so public —
Traffic is not a body but
You could draw it
An aside arched irreverent
walk and pluck
It’s bumpy arm-in-arm red dot
Wonder twin power activate, culminate, disseminate
Decide what to call it
A public street on its knees
Your car’s horoscope— here
The view from any life
no corset, no opulence
no dusk too slow
no hesitation would be nice
Pennington is the only street
Inspired by stagefright
gelsenium sempervivens 30 c
Ran yellow ran circlet
Ran yesterday by a playful
The lot-book isn’t flown, grown
gathered swung, hung
Spin, climb up and drop it
Rain for rent
US patent #51316175
capacity isn’t (1436) all you know
Headlights are not any kind of dusk
I wanted to be only in an ever folding field
Farewell big brothers and sisters
Angel Youth Choir
Isn’t your palm also a perimeter?
Do not enter 135 authorized transit
1 dollar off not subject to doubling
Kick me back
sitting on the edges
of something I can’t spell
We stood on the brink of
only what we imagined
Do you have the time?
And most mysterious, how to skip on rocks?
Such unrushed insistence
bubble, babble, begin
Intrude— do not under-wonder
riddled and rattled
Whose arabesque leans
loudly on a train
Leaning is listening
lending, bedding, beading, betting, becoming
not cargo but danger
Running, a shoe shows off its red and black corset
Invisible City (10/17/08)
City of sky, colorized
City of eight shades of blue
City of blue corrugated
City of rails
City of rhapsody
City of dissonance
City of pizzicato
City of marbles
City of teenage boys stepping into a white van
City of girls screaming
City of Angel Youth Center
City of flash
City of spheres
City of stripes
City of numbers
City of don’t- touch-the-rebar
City of you-don’t-understand-me
City of human traffic
City of gravel
City of fences
City of silver chain-link
City of orange plastic chain-link
City of woman draped over chain-link
City of do-not-move-tank-with-fluid-in
City of ladders
City of dry spill-guards
City of scars
City of rain-for-rent
Invisible City 1 (Draft)
I sit on the periphery of the space. What was here
before? I wonder. The dancers are running and climbing over
everything. Beneath this gravel, what happened here?
A woman is playing a violin. Martin Luther King building
yellow yellow yellow. The busses across the street are going
going gone. One says, “Grant”, President Grant, Camp Grant,
over 100 dead apache women and children. It took two days
for the city leaders to travel with the mob out there
to exterminate the sleeping women with their bundles of hay
I have no desire to romp around in this dust
The women are clinging to the bright blue trailer.
Random acts start making patterns. Three men in orange coats
and hard hats appear to make sure everything is ok here.
The cameras are flashing and dusk is officially here
A dancer leans over a fence, her leg extending toward the north.
Three big black water tanks with signs: Rain for rent.
Art or commerce? A bus pulls out of the terminal with its lights on.
I’m sitting in a lot with my butt on gravel, writing.
Wendy Burke is cute. She’s walking and writing, too.
A white pickup cuts through the lot on the outskirts of our space.
Maybe the Apache rode their horses through here or perhaps
they were on foot, thirsty with little clothing
The big blue rain tank, we keep moving toward blue
Big Brothers Big Sisters Angel Youth Center
Weird little downtown. Picked up my cousin Linda
and her husband at the train station last year. A plane
is getting lower and lower, its lights flashing. Coming
in from the west. And then a noisy freight train rumbles
by: Union Pacific. The Hotel Congress at the corner in orange letters.
Rent me. Rain for Sale. Rent me. Rain for Sale.
Don’t Touch the Rebar
crew exits Lloyd
Neon “T” moon rises from the high school.
Bus #21 to GRANT
whistles from Toole Ave.
Lee Ann’s dress unwraps an October breeze.
Sunset’s mourning retreats.
Makes for her red Volvo.
Karen kicks a can, can, can.
Vicki fingers a violin string,
case winged open in the lot,
bows a riff of Mountain style
melancholy, tiptoes a few steps, repeats the riff.
Violin case, a pair of women’s thighs in the gravel lot
beside a backpack,
Shrapnel of dancers
moves toward the tracks.
Car horns, a whole horn section, cars, trains the 6:12, the 6:41,
and the Tucson High band begins.
2001: A Space Odyssey
breaks over the invisible space.
The Union Pacific, a whole union,
enters the maiden landscape
Across the case the music is louder
above images: krista joy niles
INVISIBLE CITY 1: DEPOT LOT
not everyone at once, but if not now then when?
dancers run, writers wait
how do I bounce, bounce away
— & hear music at the top of the yellow staircase
kickin’ it up, dusty town, the dust
same side of the tracks here—
train my grandparents took, newlyweds, 1926 or 7
(her letters of pure joy to her parents)
oil stains I came here to write
old as dirt
the troubled left leg sinks its heel into 8 inches of chunk gravel
the chalky powdery kind— illiterate chalk though, not a word in it
sorrow or indifference of stained rock— or scorn or shame—
another music, then a whistle, plucked fiddle
music of spokes of the chain link, rocks clack & rubbing rocks
makes the sound of the place itself, she plays it, makes its music
what was here before? ghost buildings, ghost places
not always desiccated
the earth here holds steady, barely breathing
this ground’s been through so much & asks for nothing—
groove channels of truck tracks double tires
suggest a fissure, aqueduct
ancient canal works, sacred water bathing temple
now scummed with old drops
scarred/adorned with wire rippings
parking the forklift, what barefoot
double-tire dump truck would course through this chunk gravel?
mass departures now, the trucks a choreography
exit stage right if the viewer is the street
man in a hard hat— not separate—
ambulating to the workday’s finish line
the best time of the week, Friday 6 p.m.
down(turn)time downtown, “magic hour”
bus roar, pickups head for home
I’m writing!! to the red/orange light of B’s camera—
play that note again for autumn, tomato soup tone in dusk
this ground loves the touch of our steps
the nearness of hands—
my spine & crunch of rock—
vibrato here, the growing dark
what was this place? all trace of any structure obliterated, save for
curbs, power poles of wood— so it harkens to another time
stray patch of linty grass, no flower, dog, nor tree
good breeze, men cough, smokers’ cough or chalk dust cough
on the way to hopefully a prepared meal & deep repose
if I can beat this train
not currently a dancer was a dancer
not dancing into the space to read it, merely going there
setting out first with my right foot always
do not enter confined space
..::: VIDEO CLIP :::..
Here is my first snippet from DAY ONE! Thanks! What fun!