A Parallel Uni-Verse
All that’s amiss, stiff clutch, broken ankle,
inherent brain deficit, no cash to speak of
The truck bouncing down a muddy road
field mustard, raggedy yellow
nasty swerve to the left
I mean the absolute catastrophe

you are, the way rainwater drains
thru that field, pours into the road
cutting a graveled wedge
such that the road drops, clunk
ditch & tunnel bypassed

& where the road’s washed out
the sandy twist of your steering wheel
that squishy feeling
like you’re draining away, bereft,
without compensation—

or as it gathers in ditches, those ditches
cut in, puddle, wash out
altering how—no, make the road
disappear into the landscape
without trace, save
for crumpled beer cans

the story of your life ha

but the force of the rain—
where water sluices thru the road
becomes the road unloosens washes out
(actually it’s an arroyo—
the path water takes
become the most gradual)

can spread a brown foamy wave
down this canyon
bumpity bump
eating the jagged berm
that’s what you need guard against
calculate
threat of lightning

I Ching trigram K’an, passion & danger
& the hexagram doubled K’an, the Abysmal
misfortune at the bottom
misfortune at the top
danger within danger

I mean, this froth you pursue
thoughts bouncing about
without scope, no dimension
the sense of unfolding
the truth of who you are
the balance of forces
split sense of yourself as other
as the person watching
the person watching

on the defensive, okay
the way you slur & slide
splash your way home

specific recognitions locating what else
but when & where this instance of “you” is
establishing here & there
points of insight, boundaries
that’s what you reflect from
cross examine, reflect on
a system of reference
that is self-consciousness
bodily awareness
that’s what constitutes
in a fundamental way
who you are

distinguishes thinker from thought
knows the inside as out
puts you behind the wheel
(rather than under it)

you need to keep the show
going forward, get down the road
the needle bouncing back & forth
relate road truck & mud

negotiate your own difficult terrain
not simply opposed to
you need slow, know different

What you take & what you create
make happen, a murky swirl

I mean, odd isn’t it the dichotomy
between what you perceive & what “you” wants
insinuating itself
inside all your thoughts

consequently dealing with garbage all day!
sexual fantasies, fatigue, skewed reactions
nothing of particular interest
even to you—the level of triviality
almost monstrous at times!

as if whatever motivated you
a paycheck, pain, pretty new friend
there’s no distinguishing—
water outside, water within

as if there were some corrective
& you could attain higher ground
as if desire could determine a life
as if desire weren’t already
determining your life!

you can’t get what you’re not open to give
those are intimately related
& when you start to let go
participate, however poorly
push yourself aside somehow
no point or purpose
the opposite of what motivates you
declare, nothing to declare
& it’s that conflict
you pushing you aside



Bruce Holsapple grew up in Dexter, Maine, and now lives in Magdalena, N.M. His recent book of poems is Wayward Shadow.
Muddy Road
By Bruce Holsapple
A glossy photograph
of two men bent
over working clam flats
as the caption reads
which a friend
questions &

sends from Portland, Maine
The city's gray, high structures
behind them, layered 'twixt
a blue sky above

& a retouched area below
called “Back Bay”
which they are
knee deep in

digging bait/
& that has in fact
been polluted
many years --

but as any politician
knows, you don't send postcards
of people

raking mud for sandworms
& especially not
in a diseased place

so they sell us what we
would --
the impression

as any tourist learns

“Two men working
the clam flats”

Not untrue


Bruce Holsapple grew up in Dexter, Maine, and now lives in Magdalena, N.M. His recent book of poems is Wayward Shadow.
Sense of the Picturesque
By Bruce Holsapple