Up to my eyebrows in end-of-semester stuff and other projects. More soon!

Today's post brought to you by the letter W.

'W' Gets Its Own Place in Swedish Language

Winnie must be happy...






Which reminds me of the sign I made for the marches preceding the Iraq Invasion "War starts w/ W and must end now" that nobody seemed to be able to make that much sense of. Note to self: linguistic archness and policital outrage do not necessarily mix. I thought it was clever, though.




(A beardless and paunchless version of myself... That is Bill Corbett's mug in the interstice between the sign and my face.)

042206

No matter who you are
or what you do,

the big black pigeon
will come for you.




(Inspired by a badass pigeon that landed on my air conditioner today. Sort of a poor man's raven...)

Maybe I should just write doggerel for the rest of April...

041906

Blind on the boulevard that points
at the setting sun, barren

silhouettes appoach, noisy
vectors of rush hour. Bound

upstream, light ignites
the screaming rails.

Fatuous spring, running late
unconcerned.

Empty car's bombast, a thudding
door, a long tag along

the fence to Queensboro:
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSME

Brazen S: ride with me
all the way to Union Square.

041506

Note to self:

Next time take month of April off of work.

Trying to regain some semblance of a schedule for the Boog City reviews. If you have a chapbook (or book book for that matter) that you want reviewed in Boog City, send it my way. I am going to try and get the next few months or so planned out so I don't have to keep bugging my gracious reviewers for stuff at the last minute. If you want to write a review, also let me know!

041206

This is for when the last
face sprouts from the aurora
tree, you children out
of time who skate the white
line of the Dead Sea. There
christened by a magnet
in a lead bottle. Say fire
or water. Say broke or
broken. The sheet of time-
past blown far along the floodplain.
The weird children by whom
I'm led, far past the alluvial
forest, past the withered
foundation & the broken churn.
A dome rises from the middle
distance, a door in the rocks
I saw & still see. Never speak
of it; how I was alone.
How those spirits were mine.
I am a spelunker.
There are voices, I don't hear
them. There are figures
in the crux of sight, I cannot
see them. Little by little
the copse of pines is razed,
I will not walk there.
I am tired like a bird.
I eat the word never, walking
until walking becomes me.

041106

Nuttin'.

Sorry.

041006

ANHEDONIA

II.

In a net of antigens, or else
creaky nocturnal versimilitudes
The device had 2 heavy,
slanting wooden sides,
 that invent balmy catchphrases
as dawn stalks, a double-dealer
perhaps 4 by 3 feet each,
pleasantly upholstered
 advancing the docket so religiously
toward whatever peak or trough.
with a thick, soft padding.
They were joined
 It fleets & wavers, the weather
& the signs.  What nudges
by hinges to a long, narrow
bottom board to create
 through the periphery, the smoke-
shaped veils of foundering perception,
a V-shaped, body-sized trough.
There was a complex control box
 the chorus of preceptors & receptors,
mercurial transmitters that flutter the dumb birds
at one end, with heavy-duty tubes
leading off to another device, in a closet.
 of singularity.  If you did not sing
I would not breathe, or be as
An industrial compressor,
the kind they use for filling tires.
 a mummy of glad rags & beatific
compromise.  Still still still
It exerts a firm but comfortable pressure
on the body, from the shoulders to knees.
 like an anatomical model.  A crystal
scion of the heretofore unrectified
Either a steady pressure or a variable one
or a pulsating one as you wish.
 schism.  The lens & the abacus
& the coursing membranes
that inscribe & erase.  That wrap
around a lowing rod.
 

Finished up the prototype My Spaceship today, it should swing into full production soon!