February 2012
17 posts
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o yeah and as always: sorry for lack of posts; but rest assured, I’ve been putting in WORK
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polite acknowledgment
hey so, here’s that thing I was talkin’ about (not-)winning—honorable mention is cool I guess but honor don’t pay my bills—still it didn’t cost me anything* and I got a cool picture of myself out of it so… thanks, universe!!
oh yeah and I get to read my poem in front of ppl in a couple weeks (on pi day!! which is probably the only thing insuring I won’t...
Eating Poetry: Ginsberg →
eating-poetry:
No blame. Anyone who wrote Howl and Kaddish earned the right to make any possible mistake for the rest of his life. I just wish I hadn’t made this mistake with him. It was during the Vietnam war and he was giving a great protest reading in Washington Square Park and nobody wanted to leave. So Ginsberg got the idea, “I’m going to shout ‘the war is over’ as loud as I can,”...
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“ORANGES AND BLUES” (unused song lyric)
oranges and blues oranges and blues I’m up in my room with oranges and blues
everyone’s gone no answer from you so I sit up in my room with an orange and the blues
and then the oranges are gone… but I’ve still got the blues
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de-enunciation
(ah screw it, here’s one of the new ones I wrote on valentine’s day—hope u liiiike it)
* * * * *
I learned to wait, at first for you, and then for something else
how / now / can (or all of the above) I love you, if I make myself
so low, like clay pressed flat into an ashtray, built to hold whatever burns,
feel my heat escape into the concrete floor, along with my concern—for
I am...
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!!!
(GOOD NEWS EVERYONE: I spent yesterday in a pleasant haze that I believe is called “being in love with yourself”; it only got better once I received an email telling me that I’m a winner in the poetry competition I submitted to! apart from that, I got a shitload of writing done yesterday, some of which will probably turn out to be worth posting here; for now, though, I’m...
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blood letter #1
(BACKSTORY: one morning in early 2009, as I made my near-daily pilgrimage to the coffee shop, I found myself really really wanting to hear Neil Young’s “New Mama”; but I didn’t have the CD in my car, so I called in to my beloved local college radio station to request it. it was a good 20 minutes or so before the DJ got around to playing it, by which time I had almost...
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selected facebook ads
(BACKSTORY: I wrote these between february and august 2009. as the title suggests, all lines were culled from facebook advertisements. at the time, facebook believed that I was 90 years old, because I had lied to it about my birthday; this is probably the reason why so many of the ads were about impending death.
previously published in the UNC-Asheville lit mag, or so I’m told—I don’t...
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now lemme take a trip...
honoring my decision to abandon poetry (for now, at least!) by reposting some old favs over the week to come. HOPE U LIKE EM!
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no u
looking back without a glass the picture isn’t any clearer, any less confusing than its usual reversal
—just a little less of air and space between your face and what it sees
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oriony
outside my house no idiot I know which way the wind blows
in winter, I turn up my collar, walk on and ignore it
at other times reverse it (for the sake of symmetry, and keeping up appearance)
o my god(s), exertion, will to knowledge, its communication
today, for instance, reading milton, (near book four’s end, when He pulls out His scales)
I felt him judge and find me wanting: sadly,...
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an open (and impossible) request
… namely, a view of myself through the eyes of others
mostly just curious what impressions/images/opinions/??? ppl retain from any songs or poems of mine they may have liked, or not liked, or been annoyed by, or whatever
(thanks in advance!)
so uh…
TELL ME WHAT U THINK OF ME?
btw
first lines remind me, via a chain of highly-personal* and impossible-to-explain** associations, of this song I wrote last year. it’s for/about david foster wallace, although I never told anyone that before……..
* (… nah)
** (not really, just long and boring)
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honestly?
my love, you had a simple heart I stole parts from, to build my own
you taught me how to feel at home with love, with one another,
laid out in the open, growing sunburns, in the fading indian summer
nothing calls me back to now;
but all your shapes imprinted deep upon the furrows of my mind
like wrinkles in my trousers as I sleep, cradled in the old limbs of the hammock and the spring,
like...
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“short song about the entrance to...