Monday, April 30, 2007

April, we bid you adieu


Where’s the glitter? Where’s the excitement?
A stroll to clear our minds sounded lame, but
when you dropped me off at the vacant lot,
it became the walk of improbable detail
& I probably shouldn’t be so sad about it.
There’re worse things than having no prom date--
a prison tattoo, for example, or a third nipple.
That’s just a fad. Or a “faze,” as you’d say,
your malaprop of the day, adorable
as ever--I hate you all the more. Wherefore
the moon. The Tears of the Moon belly ring?
The king is dead. Long live the king.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Bonus tracks #5 & #6: Quatrains! Again!

I love timelines, but I hate time,
& people who say You’re so linear &
Touching harms the art.
I just want to feel the lines.


No one has yet satisfactorily defined
the boundary between the flesh & the mind.
If you’re so fucking smart,
why don’t you take a swing, ass-brain?

Almost no one mistakes a bear for a rock


Whatever happened to the baby raccoon
mistaking the moon for her maker’s eye?

I lied: it wasn’t the moon either, just
a shiny lost satellite, neither hers nor mine.

“Wish I might” on that & all you end up w/
is another baby forced to grow up too soon.

You can’t fake love, wisdom, or a sneeze
& expect to please everyone. Curdled light

oozing in thru a broken window is like
an attenuated wind. Only visible.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Honeymoon's over


I’m in love w/ a girl I watched eat an apple core.
Her best pet name for me was “Little Fiddlehead.”
She was the type to play games: reindeer, newlywed,
card & board. She drove a coach & four. In Baltimore
she blew me fourteen kisses, each a pouty semaphore,
unflagging. A locomotive wept in the engine shed,
each night for two weeks. I slept the sleep of a riverbed,
woke up water-logged down by the old New Jersey shore,
alone. She couldn’t take it anymore: I was a ball & chain,
or so she said. She wouldn’t take it back. A heart attack,
Jack--mending under an unfixed leak, a chance of rain,
a chance of pain: a sweet hard smack like sugar cane,
an ache like a cavity down in my soul. My gunnysack
has no counter-attack. Lightning struck my weathervane.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Bonus track #4


You can’t get to the top from the bottom
w/o stepping on some mentors on the way.
The sky beyond the top is powder blue,

the blue of early memories, the baby blue
of blue raspberry Slushees in a glass-bottom-
boat-shaped glass. There’s no graceful way

to fall on your ass, so you have to keep away
from the marbles: the cat’s eye, the big blue
shooter & loathsome aggie, small as a subatom.

Bottom’s up! Bombs away. Thar she blew.

It's a rich man's world


As per always, money money money, money money money. A typical day, a typical cadenza. It was all pretty wrong, but the wrongest thing isn’t always so bad, hm? Look at it w/ some equipoise, why don’t you? The gnomon on the sundial is to the sundial as I am to our social circle. I’m pointing out the swan. That angel’s song means that the end is nigh. On a night like tonight you shouldn’t use words like iota. I ought to reiterate: I am very, very afraid. Don’t go away & don’t get mad. Get even deeper into historically accurate drug scenes. Our whole lives we waited, & now, here’s this suitcase.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Bonus track #3

    “The honeymoon is a relic of marriage by capture...” –Wikipedia

Sudden realization. I stopped breathing
when we reached prairie. Scary how
there’s no real “now” now. Out here,
the haystacks are infinity-shaped &
full of needles. What I’m looking for
might lie buried along the interstate, or
never have existed. When I married
the sea, it asked “Can I touch your hair?”
It was already touching me, everywhere.
Intermittent, erratic, but also erotic--
I was drenched. & I can’t forget
the infinite sky. & I can’t forget why
I came here: I’m starting to forget
why the phrase “making love” makes me
feel so strange, out of phase. Maybe
I’ll finish forgetting, one of these days.

When they do the double dutch, that's them dancing


I froze your tears, & made a dagger
(so I could melt the evidence, make salt)
& stabbed it in my cock, forever
(so you could see it’s not your fault).
It stays there like Excalibur
Hotel & Casino, stuck in 1989.
Are you my Arthur? Say you are.
Or better yet, say you’re my Author.
Take this cool dark steeled blade-
tipped pen; see its calligraphic line.
Steal it, sheathe it in your lake
of ink & king me like a checker.
I’d drown with you to be together--
let’s dive into the deep end, 6’ down.
Must you breathe? ‘Cause I need heaven,
at least seven minutes. How’s that sound?

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Bonus track #2: Backwards Day #3


The future is now? You mean now now?
I love you, but ouch. A punch in the arm,
a swift kick in the pants--I can’t say I like
your idea of catching up. My life is still a sore
subject, so how about we drop it. Will I ever
stop getting carded or start liking it? Why must
the desire for a) dessert & b) a higher power
be childish or childlike? What keeps me up
at night: the fact that aliens do exist, but they
don’t care for us as we care for them. Feign
surprise? I’m actually surprised. I’ve been
getting asked that question about 100x a day.
I don’t keep up w/ cinema; even suspended
over a canyon, I can’t suspend my disbelief.
They said “Don’t look down.” I looked down.
Cold water. Bright. Satisfying. I get freaked out
when it seems like there are too many horizons,
railroad tracks & an approaching vanishing point.
This is where our ancestors went to die. Some
view. Newsflash: status jockeys don’t ride
horses, & anyway, you’re more of an anti-
social climber. Trade you my color dreams
for your black & white? Your tendency
toward abstraction for my fear of heights.
The blood pounded in my ears. I just pounded
two beers. My tour guide said nobody loves
a tourist, not even other tourists--obviously,
I had a lot to learn, so I grounded myself.
When Mom said she’d feed my pet rock until
I got back from summer camp--was that a joke?
What did Granny mean when she said I’d be
the evil one if I had a twin? If I were a statue,
I’d look like me, w/ a heart of stone & a spooky
set of eyes. I can get mad. & even sadder.
I used to think gray hair smelled like smoke.

There are some things you can't hide


Neither of us is infinite--is that okay?
I’ve got hypertension, bad eyesight

& a crabwalk but on the brighter side--
or maybe it’s annoying?--I’ve got telepathy.

Is your “work name” Bruce? B/c I see
like a bat, man--w/ sonar, not sight;

I “see” right thru your disguise, esp-
ecially your phony lack of sympathy.

If your nose itches, it means you’ll kiss
your 1st wife for the 1st time at the site

of the 1st phone call ever misdialed.
Every prediction is a call for empathy.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Bonus track #1: Mike Young #2


There’s an injured marsupial in front of my tire.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

Technically, it’s still spring.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

Stop honking. I’m trying to think.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

I’m not going to court you, on the tennis court or otherwise.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

This room is full of bookish & thoughtful brunettes.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

You’re a good-looking crowd--where are you from?
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

The letter marked CONFIDENTIAL has your name on it.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

As of today, there are no more fish in the sea.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

Do you feel fragile in the morning hours?
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

I’m going to unstuff those deer mounts of yours.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

How can you tell it’s a girl?
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

It’s just a popularity contest is something the unpopular say.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

“French fries aplenty” is just the beginning.
Would you be interested in a happy ending?

After Mike Young


I’m one of the millions who bought the single.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

In the absence of hard news, they tell stories to compel you.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

Those billboards in the Southwest announcing “The Thing!”
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

You’re creeping me out & I’m avoiding you.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

On car trips we make up sad little games.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

You will get your humble, jocular comeuppance.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

You will know me by the impossible tracks.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

A lightbulb sits on the kernel of the precipice.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

I brace myself but never hear the crash.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

The sunrise is the bright sherbet orange of despair.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

The dirt here wants to be famous.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

The next town on the map is World of Hurt.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

Remember when you finger-drew a heart on my hand.
It’s out there, you just can’t see it.

Monday, April 23, 2007

You shall inherit my wind


It’s wise to wear your best iron mask while
waiting for your better half to ask you to
the dance. You can’t hand your doppelganger
a bouquet of flowers. There was no Happy
Hour at Agincourt, when the French were
overwhelmed. My mother used to say you
can’t get ice cream w/ your slice of life.
Do you too believe everything you hear? Fear,
you know, is the coin of the realm. I really
do really like you! I remember when you tried
to make your royal pain available to me. You
failed. Then we wrote the same thing on
our blogs, about how Twister used to be known
as “sex in a box.” We might be astral twins,
Spastic. Your slang has to be hardboiled if
you want to be a good journalist. The only law
is: the law is elastic. By day, you pose as
a flaneur; by night, you’re sitting on the floor,
cutting the eyes out of all the photos. Guess
what--you won another popularity contest,
b/c you’re so full of yourself & so cocksure.
Did we both have the same dream? Hand
in hand, prancing down pavement encrusted
w/ pavĂ© diamonds. I’m not a prince anymore
& I’ve finally given up on girls named Chiara
wearing tiaras. Magical things happen here,
in this wooded land. Whatever I find hidden in my
hoodie, I chuck off the balcony. I didn’t savor
your report--it had the academic crunch of high-
school French. Don’t make fun but: I thought
of fish: on the last sheet in the ream: one
word: fin. It’s hard being king. Sometimes I
get smashed like a finger in the door. Like
you wouldn’t believe. All this has been yours
since the day you were born & even before.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Quatrains! Quatrains! Quatrains! (Well, really just two.)

Tell me “Nice hustle” & slap me on the behind--
a piece of my ass for a piece of your mind.
I just can’t keep chasing after every little prize
I spy w/ my little disco-ball eyes.


You can never have too much fulsome excess,
especially playing International Daisy Chain.
They said it would be like recess for adults.
It’s all fun & games until somebody gets pregnant.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

We dub ya "Dubya"


So if sardony is the new irony
what’s the new sardony? Pardon me, but
WTF is ITN & WTF even is “sardony”?
Why TF are we using “W” to mean “what”?

A tiny child, blue-eyed, w/ a tiny mohawk
is the cutest thing I can imagine
most people can imagine. If one stocks
his/her bar w/ enough sloe gin,

one might begin to ask the right questions
w/ the right number of syllables--
then again, numbers are the bastions
of those whose hours are billable.

Abbreviations, BTW,
self-defeat when one letter is double-u.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Good luck trying to get my poem


The fringe of the fringe is really just the rug.

I always wanted to be one of those quirky people
who wear hats w/ the tag still hanging off.

I always thought of Mercator maps as boring
until I found out they’re controversial--
turns out, geography’s not universal

& the world’s not flat. A small-town girl
& her trusty cat know that Here be monsters,
X marks the spot, & You are here
sometimes appear on the dim mall kiosk

in place of Out to lunch or Back in five.
If this were a zombie movie, the last
out of the pool would be the last to survive.
To be the last man or woman alive would
rule, for about five. Then suck a bunch.

Faux wood paneling hugs the room;
I feel jealous. Who’s hugging me? Nobody
smart, that’s for sure. Nobody reads enough
of my diary to understand the irony.

No one uses the term “likey-dikey”
or knows who played the original Mikey.
Ordinarily, the extraordinary structure

of my sentences is overlooked & over-
fed, while I’m overworked & under-slept.

It’s hard & cold down here, under the bed.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Grindhouse: The Poem


What the axe fails to sever, we never forget
to blow away forever. Ready, aim, fire
& they drop like birds from a wire. Time

to clean up the mess now, high time
to ask ourselves, Why so violent? Unforget
the past & you’ll remember: the great fire

& the manner in which we acquired these fier-
y one-track minds. Those were good times
when anything we wanted, we were sure to get.

Forget about the fire & it burns you in time.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Happy VD


I told everyone how your semen stings
like a bee--a study in honesty if ever-
yone believes me. Ends justify means
& I’ve wanted to end you ever since
I found out what “midden” means
& since you were so mean to me
unbidden in my comment box;
I’d hoped for “foxy” not “trashy”--
so what if my ass shows in these jeans?
A pox on your scenesterism. & your penis.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Slight, tragic & short-lived


“Poetic” does not have to mean “confusing,”
but it somehow always does. Anon, anon
& on & on ‘til the break of dawn, get down
from your pedestals & podia & start musing
on the scrapheap of sad & beautiful wrecks
in your unfinished drafts folder. It’s fodder
for soothing the sad & amusing the beautiful
w/ an alas here, a forsooth there, & everywhere
a hey nonny nonny no. Poems get you laid
in your wildest dreams, & pubs get you paid
in unicorns & moonbeams. In Plato’s Republic
questions were encouraged. So, I ask you,
thrice removed from the truth & the king,
what are you writing/who are you imitating?

Monday, April 16, 2007

Do we look fat in this?


The results of the Name That Flavor contest
are in, but I’m not going to share them until
we figure it out ourselves. What in the hell
could sell a name like Summer Pony or
Glasgow Coma Scale? I ate a full pail
of Crow & I don’t know about you, but
I hate ice cream. If I had it to do all over,
Americone Dream would be just a dream
deferred. & Tequila Mochabird, in a word,
would be unheard (of). Listen, Jerry,
there is such a thing as too much muchness.
This intellectual gamesmanship & vertical
scaling is worse than Gone Whaling, worse
than Aging Hippie. All the usual blather
about fat content & mouth feel now feels
like clever manipulation by Unilever
or whoever owns us since we last sold out.
Don’t shout at me about idealism, Jair--
have you even tried Cockblocker’s Paradise?
Season after season of busting our blockbusting
balls is no reason not to just throw it all
into the industrial freezer, dead & wheezing
like us two Bartles & Jaymesian old geezers.
People-pleasing’s a mug’s game & it bugs me
that my job entails playing it, & dealing out
desserts like so many drugs makes us thugs.
One bite of Kind Bud Krunch could land you
w/ a case of munchies strong enough to make
the pint self-defeating. Anonymous overeating
leads to bigger bodies which leads to more heat;
All about entropy’s not much of a slogan. I’m
leaving Vermont, becoming Quebecois--au revoir,
Americone, w/ your Pee Wee Hermans & Hulk
Hogans. The border skulks like a teen in the distance,
& you know how teens like their ice cream:
sweet like their hearts, cold like their schemes.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

April has ides!


Titles make me shake my head. This is me,
forcing the landscape to oscillate. It goes
through the string of the tin can phone that we
invented as kids, so goddamn long ago.

This is what we spoke about: bespoke suits,
missing spokes, Bicycle cards, & what we called
token jokes. In the sidewalk, tree roots,
unbeknownst to us, were creeping up like skewbald

ponies & the shadows were deepening.
We were getting older, the fun was over.
Mr. this & Mrs. that started happening,
my Fido, your Rover. A box of Russell Stover

& a two-leafed-clover. Our luck ran out;
we’re the last of the full-time roustabouts.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Ides of April Eve: 14 days, 14 lines


I’ve drawn up a list of best practices
for those whose MO’s are smart-not-careful,
according to these complicated matrices
where x = sharp & y = killful,

carved into my desktop w/ a single scissor.
Ordering ornamental trees online
is another way to kill time, if your job is miser-
y incarnate. Rain clouds in the east incline

as though to crush me. That means spring
represents the sublime, sprung from a trap
like the ghost of a rabbit, the meadowy king
of things that multiply. Small birds flap

around in the sky, ultimately meaningless.
There’s nothing left to address/confess.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Out of its wooden brain grotesque ideas


Merchandise dies, but a jingle
lasts forever. Trust me, I intern in
advertising. Fantastic? Pssh. More like ass-
tastic. If this place was classy it wouldn’t
need a sign that said so. I’ve never seen
anyone read a magazine like that: sassy,
sassy, sassy. You don’t know much about
adventuring if you don’t know reaching
Land’s End means more than a slog through
a catalog. Is that the oven timer or the smoke
detector? How can we get started on the Next
Big Power Play if we waste the day playing
Iron Chef again? We’re all out of garlic, though
a stake through the heart would settle the score.
I remember your plan for more s’mores than before.
How can I work w/ people who believe someone
actually lives at the “home of the perfect
steak”? Since I appointed you Master of the
Imperceptible even the details of the details have
details. Nanodetails, hence: a font that drips
blood. Our campaign posters are taking
over our homes, streets, & places of business.
Irreconcilable differences are why we started
this club. Unlike you I’d never be mistaken
for a high school student from Spokane.
I get no kick from champagne, I’ve got no
patience for constant references to your
“urge to herbal.” I don't want to be
buried under a rhododendron planted
in loving memory of Mother. I’d finally
smothered the flames on my pant leg,
but then you set fire to my favorite
song. That wasn’t the sign we agreed on:
three sharp snaps in a Z formation.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Don't imitate; immolate


There’s a fine line between theft & homage,
but then again, plagiarism’s hot right now
& not all that illegal. I left my morals & mores
at the grad school door: Talent Borrows, Genius
, said the “welcome” mat. I was afraid of that.
That & a tattered dictionary, bound in duct tape.
You can learn a lot from old film stills
about sizzle & flash & clumsy lovers,
being in the right place at the right time, & so on.
My thesis advisor said not to come full circle, but
was humming “The Circle of Life” at the time.
The best advice? To avoid the device. Has any butler
figured out how to commit the perfect crime yet?
I can’t say I’m quick, but I can say I’m crafty.
When should I add the shark attack? What’s plot but a
cheap ruse. A shark only attacks when a shark has
nothing to lose. I quoted the shit out of your metaphor.
A personality transfusion is really just booze &
a hack job is better than no job. I feel like I am
the story, hurtling to an inglorious end.
It’s dead now, so I can’t give it back.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Catholic school sucks


Her fingernail clippings do not resemble crescent
moons. She spends the evening alone in her room,
soaking her one-page 101 essay in CK One
in case her teacher doesn’t get it from the thesis alone:
Everyone’s the same, OK? (Weird & alone.)
Failing is average, so all those F’s should be C’s.
Maybe it is just a numbers game. Don’t blame
the full moon for her weird behavior, or
her sleepy scholarship. If she can’t pass college,
she’s totally “f[…]ed”--the academic bleep.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The moment at which pastiche appears


There’s something about an Ice Blue Aqua Velva man. I missed the ‘50s, until the ‘70s rolled around. Wow, what a difference a decade makes. Right on red? More like left entirely to my own devices. Cowboy hats & assless chaps: oh my. This is me chasing my American Dream. This is me chasing a dollar bill straight into the gutter. Sometimes it seems the only answer is no. Other times I give myself up utterly to this weekend-warrior crap. If I sound naive, then sue me--they said that in the ‘80s.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Heads, I win. Tails, you lose.


The very best stories are always apocryphal
or at least full of lies. Or better yet, two

lies & a truth, all indistinguishable
from little puffy clouds. That white one

over there looks like the shroud of Turin.
Or a b-day cake. Guess who just turned two?:

my pure, unadulterated hatred
of the way everybody says babies are so won-

derful. Love is not really stronger than death,
just more duplicitous. Prettier, too,

but beauty eventually goes the way of youth
& that situation is never win/won.

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Warning: May shock & offend


In my first/worst 9/11 dream
copyrights were violated. On my shirt

in mirror writing, “STILL TOO SOON”
in glow-in-the-dark puff paint lit up the room,

but everyone ignored my warnings &
every time I turned around, you ducked,

which made me want to hit you. Cause & effect!
Fountain of youth vs. fountain of death:

whatever I dream-defenestrate next--
the loudspeakers? the promises?--better

not doubt it’ll turn into an owl.
Literature & all stuff disturbs me now.

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Don’t call it a comeback: I never left


Nobody tried to bring moxie back
until now—vigor, skill, know-how
(not to mention stick-to-it-iveness)
make the short-list of traits I seek out
in my victims. Sorry, dark thoughts
creep in when I’m listing, considering
fashion. Names will never harm me
I tell myself. But they still haunt me.

Friday, April 6, 2007

If there's nothing missing in my life, then why do these tears come at night?


If I ever make it to the end,
I’ll toss a penny over & make a wish.
I don’t believe in that, but maybe I will then.

All my best plans wrap up: “What then?”
There’s something sad in every happy end-
ing. A death wish is a normal wish

for the girl who’s done everything. I wish
I could fill the blanks of every if-then
scenario w/ surprise. But life, friends,

upends all wishes & dies--see you then.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Gonna make you sweat till you bleed


Everything went from great, to eh, & then to crap
when you called my novel a novella. “I smell a rat,”
you said. Do rats have a smell? How do you know?
Your taste & your social graces need some revising,
so you might need to take some necessary steps:
the “Fox Trot,” the “Robot,” & the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”
for a start . . . asshole. It takes two to tango, i.e.,
haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called compromise?
I can never admit that I’ve got the hots for you,
but you’d see if you’d just look into my flaming eyes.

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Whatever happened to the old wave?


I can’t believe you sent me flowers! It’s not even
apology season! When you got that audition w/
the Suicide Girls, did life lose all meaning & reason?
Tube socks are not the same thing as tuberoses!
That’s enough epistemology! What are you wearing
& will you be hiring a cosmetologist? Careful
there, stranger--that’s not my leg! It’s a dangerous
liaison! Liaison dangereuse to you Mademoiselle!
Are you actually French, or did you just travel abroad
aboard the Bon Voyage cruise for reformed voyeuses?
If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a fraud, &
these flowers are as plastic as the day is long!
Are you humming “Hits from the Bong”?! Cypress
Hill is insane in the membrane! Why say cannabis?
B/c I can(nabis)! These pot brownies are fantastic!
Your dad’s recipe? That’s mantastic! If I asked
you to hold me, would you scold me? If I asked,
would you mold me into your solid gold baby?
& throw me in the river? Save me, I’m drowning!
I’m a lover not a swimmer! This clowning can’t
be what they meant by “love”? Rants & raves
leave U a slave 4 trends, but I’m a Slave 4 U!
I’m still using the word “heart” as a verb! Words
sometimes fail me so I have to <3 <3 <3 U!
Why do we do the things we do? Do the dew!
I thought Red Bull really gave you wings, but
maybe that was just a marketing thing? I’m kind of
wishing maybe the wings were you? Being an angel?
I’m like the QUEEN of wishful thinking! Bow
before my majesty, but put on that Bow Wow Wow
tape first! What do you mean, what for? I want candy!

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

I meant the other other


“I” is always its own first & only letter.
The only emails I send to myself have the subject

“Stuff.” Is this a think piece or a puff piece?
If the mountains dominate, do the plains object?

Capitalization has not always been standardized.
It uSed tO LoOk lIke THis. I won’t subject

you to the other horrors of recorded history.
The natural landscape is lurid w/ object-

ionable materials; nothing’s safe & everything’s tasty
& caloric content is a mystery. The subject

of this conversation, if it even has one, is
me--as an object lesson: a lesson in objects.

Monday, April 2, 2007

If you liked my Worm, you should see my Robot


You’re not going to learn this from the AP reading
list. In the future, being tech-savvy won’t make you
a “tool,” & the term smartass is to be preferred
over the archaic smartypants. As long as I’m being
picky, don’t use words like ethos when you
mean authority. Our catchphrase is Conformity
is its own reward
, but we mean conformity
masquerading as nonconformity. You’re just
is a good thing to say to any schmuck
who doesn’t support your lukewarm decision
to move to Charm City. Don’t be alarmed,
but going over your statement of purpose
literally made my head spin. We all know you
invented the steel-toed footnote & we’re all very
interested in your interest in the American Ruralist
movement. I sent everyone in my contact list
that pic of you sitting on the tire swing, wet
& rusting. Don’t waste your whole lunch hour
deliberating over whether purple mascara
would make you look cooler. Is it better
to be respected but feared, or a lovable fool?
Can anyone be aware, as it’s playing out, that
Today is my last last day of school. You know it’s
the New Math when all the story problems
in the book end if this were Opposite Day
instead of Backwards Day
. You seemed to be
losing your hometown pride, so I spray-
painted this mural of your hometown hayride
& your hometown geese. Don’t stand there
looking so appropriated. I’m not your brain--
I’m just your brain mirror. It would be
a nice view if it weren’t for all the trees.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

So long Martin, & thanks for all the bouts


Crystal sky key forever!--the spam I love
is good enough to eat. It’s not 2004
anymore & I’ve got the moves to prove
it--when I do The Worm, it’s gummi/sour.
My ivory tower is higher than your brow
raised over your copy of The Golden Bough.
As far as the what flies? Don’t say crow,
& don’t try to cover it up w/ a cough.
Why does “sacrifice” always involve slaughter?
You can’t make laughter w/ Play-Doh,
& you can’t lead a lamb to the laughter
factory, not on my watch. A ship on a rough
swatch of blue felt can only result from hubris
in art class. Look out for that scrim of debris.

Saturday, March 31, 2007

We are all time's fools


It’s hard to get lost in the woods--
harder, still, to feed your baby deer

when you kind of want to eat her.
If you find a clearing w/ a galaxyview,

best not to lie down there, lest
a local rent-a-horse rests there, too.

Knowing Morse code won’t help:
stars aren’t dots & flashes aren’t dashes.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Descending like a plague of locusts this April

30 collaborations by Elisa Gabbert & Kathleen Rooney. Visit daily, or more . . . IF YOU DARE!