The green champagne bottle

The green champagne bottle
on the side of the road
reminded me of being young.

We used to play in the old junkyards
behind the barn,
collecting the pretty blue bottles,
the miniature bottles,
and the large rusty cans
and scraps of metal
which we couldn’t determine
a past identity for.

We stocked a boulder fortress
on the frontier of our exploration
with such goods,
and wondered how people could have
thrown them out in the first place,
since they were still interesting
and useful.


-Jim DuBois
Nov 3, 2003

The Economy of Memory

I'm watching a sea of static on TV
    late at night

I'm talking to my girlfriend on the phone

I'm writing a poem
    and finishing it later

I'm living in a tent behind Hampshire College

I'm going nowhere

I'm standing on the balcony of F2,
    going nowhere

I'm living on Bridge Street in Northampton

I'm thinking about thinking

I'm thinking about memory

I'm taking off my shirt

I'm looking at the clock

I'm wondering how it will end
    and when it began

I'm floating, a tiny black-eyed fetus
    in amniotic fluid

I'm making notes for a future poem

I'm learning to write the alphabet
    by tracing sandpaper letters

I'm writing a story for the first time
    in my life

I am six

I am twenty-five

I am thirty-four

I'm telling her about myself

I'm using her attention
    to search through my memory,
    to reconstruct myself
    from different angles

I'm telling you about telling her

I'm remembering remembering



-Jim DuBois
Dec 13, 2003

Artifacts of my Intelligence

Artifacts of my intelligence
Artifacts of my imagination
Artifacts of my existence,
    like a poem or a painting

Artifacts of my consciousness
Artifacts of my memory
Artifacts of my mind,
    like a signature or a sentence

leftover creations,
manipulated playthings,
static reminders
of a fluid mind
-- they can't be me --
I just leave behind things
which illuminate a tiny fraction
of my complexity,
that might give you that clue
you've been looking for for so long
that shows you are not alone
-- someone, some other mind,
    is out there,
        thinking,
            doing,
                creating.


-Jim DuBois
March 29, 2009

Overlooked

I hear there is more
    old growth forest left in Massachusetts
    than they thought.

In narrow bands,
    too high for logging,
    too low to clear for skiing,
        they stand in the mountains
            like they always have
                because no one had a use
                    for the place they lived.

And I want to look
    behind a person’s eyes,
        to the ruined landscape,
                to the left-over places
                of their minds
            just to see what
                is still growing there,
                    undisturbed
                        by the turbulence
                            of oppression.

Those places that went un-noticed
    by society,
    the places they forgot were there.


-Jim DuBois
January 20, 1999

(Discarded Left-over Abandoned Forgotten)Edges + Lost Places

                             vacant upstairs apartment
I broke into the

And crept out onto the roof

I kept thinking of
            the cracks in the sidewalk
            the grass growing in the alley
            the vines on the fence
                  between the parking lots

The forgotten places where
      two things border one another

The discarded, left-over space between
      one clear definition and another

Cracks
            Borders
                        Edges

The places people rarely look into
            like beneath the sofa cushions where the change collects

or
      the strip of trees beside the highway where I
found the skull of a dog
and undergrowth so thick
      you couldn’t walk through it


-Jim DuBois
July 20, 1998

Frontiers and Membranes

The river meets the bank –
      the garbage,
      the old bricks on the beach
      the dead fish

Discarded signs of life
      washed up
      in a useless
      forgotten place

Nobody knows,
      Nobody cares,
            Nobody goes there,
                  down where the
                  bushes are scratchy,
                  down among
                  the poison ivy
                  where the aluminum can
                  and broken Styrofoam chunks
                        are resting

And what about the bugs
      we don’t even know exist?
What about the bacteria
      that live in colonies
      on our skin?
What about maggots and dung beetles?

Their whole existence is on the
      edge of another life,
      between the lines of someone else’s
            plans

The things we were done with
      the places we couldn’t use


-Jim DuBois
Oct 1, 1998

I've Lost Track of Time

I've lost track of time
I've lost track of day and night
I've come to the edge of town
to sit and think
and apparently write some poems

I've lost track of what little ambition I had
I've lost track of my desire
I'm enjoying the sun and day downtown


-Jim DuBois
March 14, 2009