P has a poem about apples soaked in vinegar and the page is saturated with sour stink. Lifting the bowl to his mouth. Spain and a woman.
I can’t find his book on my bookshelves and I don’t think I lent it to anyone and it has one of my favorite inscriptions in it. I can’t think where its gone.
Last night, I asked him if he’s still dreaming poems. He said he lost the zip drive with his manuscript on it, but mostly, he has hard copies. Retyping them is a bore, he said.
I googled his name plus “apple vinegar” and his poem doesn’t show up. Eileen Tabios’ blog/journal of poetry reviews shows up. A review of Pinoy Poetics edited by Nick Carbo.
A is terribly pregnant like candy. She was the liveliest of the readers with her lathered poem. Besides her and K and C and T, the rest of the poets were dried, white dust. I am prejudiced against white poets and poets who mumble into their books when they read and read too long.
K recited like a mystic with the lantern and the cup. He wore a dapper plaid coat that was his grandfather’s and said, later, if his house was burning and he could only save one thing, he’d have a hard time choosing between his coat or laptop.
I like to think I have just as much fashion aplomb as the gay boys but maybe this is not true. I burned all my files to a CD and gave it to cdp to keep in his apartment. Apartments are catching fire all over New York City.
I think I have a crush on C. She wore glossy lip gloss and wrapped a pink scarf around her neck three times and read a poem about a bartender with soft hands. I wondered whether she’d have sex with a queer girl with minor fashion aplomb.
M sent an essay by Herbito Yepes who says: “The president is behaving similarly to poets I know. / I am now doing what Bush does much better than me. / No wonder why poets decide to become poets. They become Bush. / There’s only one step from the blank page to the White House. I’m in it. / I am Bush.”
I only paid half my taxes but the other half is still funding. One night’s pay for a guard at Guantanimo. I am Bush.
I hate the boy on American Idol who is a soldier. Why isn’t he in combat? I am Bush.
there are questions that float around, but how did we speak of "go home!" to embattle the masses with these fears of pain or pegging. the pigeon hole dance we avoid the natural, or the typography.
could possible these color. take away the chill of that humid, stifling air?
are the stools for sitting or standing on customers or clerks maybe first come first serve maybe I should ask permission I’m afraid in reading about asterisks for half an hour it has become clear to all parties I’m not going to buy anything I can find in a library * * a girl with long legs takes a stool because she is long- legged and american I don’t think they think about things like this $24.95 is too much to pay for a book I read P****’s B/W photos but not his poems really the whole point I’m afraid on my way out 2 japanese girls speak mandarin * to each other surprising because I always thought I could tell the difference
6 comments:
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Thurs. March 1st.
Still, the things he tells me
lies
Now, let's all try to reach for that book on the table at the same time
Most of the universe doesn't even exist;
gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooogle
listen, i'm not the girl who misses much.
a brain may vibrate
,,
Poblog
P has a poem about apples soaked in vinegar and the page is saturated with sour stink. Lifting the bowl to his mouth. Spain and a woman.
I can’t find his book on my bookshelves and I don’t think I lent it to anyone and it has one of my favorite inscriptions in it. I can’t think where its gone.
Last night, I asked him if he’s still dreaming poems. He said he lost the zip drive with his manuscript on it, but mostly, he has hard copies. Retyping them is a bore, he said.
I googled his name plus “apple vinegar” and his poem doesn’t show up. Eileen Tabios’ blog/journal of poetry reviews shows up. A review of Pinoy Poetics edited by Nick Carbo.
A is terribly pregnant like candy. She was the liveliest of the readers with her lathered poem. Besides her and K and C and T, the rest of the poets were dried, white dust. I am prejudiced against white poets and poets who mumble into their books when they read and read too long.
K recited like a mystic with the lantern and the cup. He wore a dapper plaid coat that was his grandfather’s and said, later, if his house was burning and he could only save one thing, he’d have a hard time choosing between his coat or laptop.
I like to think I have just as much fashion aplomb as the gay boys but maybe this is not true. I burned all my files to a CD and gave it to cdp to keep in his apartment. Apartments are catching fire all over New York City.
I think I have a crush on C. She wore glossy lip gloss and wrapped a pink scarf around her neck three times and read a poem about a bartender with soft hands. I wondered whether she’d have sex with a queer girl with minor fashion aplomb.
M sent an essay by Herbito Yepes who says: “The president is behaving similarly to poets I know. / I am now doing what Bush does much better than me. / No wonder why poets decide to become poets. They become Bush. / There’s only one step from the blank page to the White House. I’m in it. / I am Bush.”
I only paid half my taxes but the other half is still funding. One night’s pay for a guard at Guantanimo. I am Bush.
I hate the boy on American Idol who is a soldier. Why isn’t he in combat? I am Bush.
Is Audre Lorde Bush?
I’ll take the cup. I do want to be held.
We Bruno the dog
(be little yourself with a little
am little self little am I)
this earliest we
there are questions that float around,
but how did we speak of
"go home!"
to embattle the masses
with these fears of pain
or pegging.
the pigeon hole dance
we avoid the natural,
or the typography.
could possible these color.
take away the chill of that humid, stifling air?
these are not suprises.
these are not unimagined.
yet, why do we always feel the electric
pushing
through the depth of pushing.
today is 6:00-6:44 P.M.
thursday
are
the stools
for sitting
or
standing
on
customers
or clerks
maybe
first come
first serve
maybe
I should ask
permission
I’m afraid
in reading
about asterisks
for
half an hour
it has
become clear
to all parties
I’m not
going to
buy
anything
I can find
in a library
*
*
a girl
with long legs
takes a stool
because
she is long-
legged
and american
I don’t think
they think
about things
like this
$24.95
is too much
to pay
for a book
I read
P****’s B/W photos
but not
his poems
really
the whole point
I’m afraid
on my way
out
2 japanese girls
speak mandarin
*
to each other
surprising because
I always thought
I could
tell
the difference
You write very well.
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