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RT @dadaism #amwriting

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How much do book editors earn? Peacock Love. (aww…)

Scene from the Clinic

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No way to know why she's here, but scars and scabs can hold more information than a file or chart.

Cymbals

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On stage, students from the junior college join children from the community to speak and sing in American-French accents. They are timid, heart-broken, in love, rebellious, faithful, resigned to their fates—and all in the matter of a few short hours.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 8

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I saw it all, in a flash. Holy shit! I thought. This is good. I have to sit down and begin writing. This is serious. Dead serious! I would rather be doing this than eating, or fucking, or anything. It was exhilarating. If I could only keep this up, who

Ophelia

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Her ghost/kept coming back/to Hamlet

May the Glad Inherit

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All creatures know death at their very core, a tacit default--

Dead Woman's Shoes

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Loving you, I always knew, was a job I’d only get via a dead woman’s shoes. There you were, the recipient of pot roasts, fresh bread, at a loss amongst neighbourhood widows and divorcees. A tide of them rolled over you in calico blouses, cut off jeans

Bondage, to the rivers that bind

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Waft­ing wisps of fond­ness twin­kling in time with fairy lights point­ing out lawns in cities

Unseenly

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Over the years, his face began to alter

Mnemonics

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I write to make visible my small/ assertions against impermanence.

MY WAR

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In May of 1982, my daughter and I planned a trip…

Istanbul

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They are plastering on lipstick in pay-to-enter toilets around the corner from the mosques, where old men sit on back streets selling toilet seats, spices by the shovel, flashlights, and Audrey Hepburn t-shirts

3 Poems

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We have always been a trashy species./ We study ourselves by examining/ garbage-- a pile of mussel shells here,

Any poem is possible

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I wrangle word juice from the Oxford American, sighing at photographs of blues musicians with solemn lakes for eyes.

Verboten

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Scales were installed on station platforms. Those who were overweight were turned away

Annals of the Naked Rowdies #22

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As they left, Roddy kicked over a statue of a blindfold and half-naked goddess of justice. "I piss on you Justice!" he yelled. The bailiff pushed him out the door as he continued his rant, inaudible.

Some People

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But those burning red numbers persist in my mind and I can't rest 'till they're gone They always come back Like the cat in that childhood song.

Three Second Rule

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“Can I feel it?” he reached his hands out immediately, expecting I’d say yes. I am the type to always say yes, right? “Sure.” I confirmed, swallowing back my fear of his touch. He didn’t seem himself, like this. I led his hands to my hips and let them

Driving Old

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I drive old now

Keep it, Curt

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Just move out.

The Serious Writer Tracks His Stats

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The officers carried him away in cuffs as he yelled "I NEED STATS! PLEASE! JUST GIVE ME THE STATS!"

Ten Little Indians

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One day we went for a hike. We climbed a small mountain. It’s called Mission Peak. We got about halfway up a steep trail, decided that was far enough. We embraced. She said “I love you,” and I said, “I love you, too.”

The Signal

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I take the plastic off of the last videotape and stick it in the VCR. I make sure the channel is on 6. Still a commercial. I get my notebook, turn it to the next page and write today's date on top. I get ready. I don't really like the back and forth banter the other news…

Subservient

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There's still a swatch of jelly on his lower lip. Did you notice? That's not the way it's done, even on the tractor.

from MLKNG SCKLS

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94% Battery Power Remaining Last night I dreamt about a mutt whose tail never learned how to wag, and under a sun that gagged us with heat, the mutt sat stoned with its mouth belching cones of pot smoke. Sometimes the smoke shone orange – sometim

The Red Suitcase: (Conclusion)

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—You must be joking, he laughed.

Marjan’s Tooth

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When my feet touched the ground on the tarmac at Bagram I cannot begin to describe the feeling I had. It was as if God had spoken to me directly, whispering in the cold mountain air: “Son of Marjan, I welcome you.” The feeling took hold and overcame m

Having Read the Poems of Matt Dennison

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Having read the poetry of Dennison I hereby give up writing.

Twin Lakes of Whiskey

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not that we ever had before

Heart of Gold

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"Cooperation and sharing could eliminate poverty."