Let's try something new. A poem in process that first appeared here. I suddenly love the word gurgle.


The Neighbor's Dog

It is the ending that makes everything worthwhile.

The yellow bamboo leaves spike without question
less diligently. Dishes exonerate. Intentions
do not pile but spread, stave off less compelling ones.

She frequently looks up the difference between
transitive and intransitive verbs.

Metonyms have left her
stranded. Adjectives heap themselves in succession
in light of the coming holidays. Sugar tells stories

when no one's looking. Someone is always looking.
The neighbor walks the neighbor's dog.

She considers what she can throw away, what
she cannot buy, or whether carried from subject to object.

The writer has no need to ask
what makes her so. Logic is such a foe. And in the end
we all cheer for the woman who burns down the town.

No one would be prepared.

pituitary
gatekeeper

sweat
lodger

phenomenal
light
smoother

come take a look
behind the shed

heaven
swears
in 32 lanuages

does it
in succession
without stones

or stick figures




)(


the kitten had twins

shows up wrestling
with mickey

mouse #1 (said it, I gave
in) you brought a

stuffed one
like turkey
stuffing



)(


don't you just want to scream
Happy Holidays

Rudimentary

Do I post so my "readership" doesn't stray? Do I post because I am compelled? Do I go postal because I don't post? Would past tense be appropriate? In the shower I consider that I am half the blogger I could be, and possibly on the way to a have-been. Ultimately, I'm amused by such simple worries. I've given musings, but not much more. As I figure out the technicalities of posting poems that would maintain line breaks, maybe this could change. Maybe you won't stray.

It is the ending that makes everything worthwhile. The yellow bamboo leaves spike, without question, less diligently. Cookbooks piled on the monitor-on-its-way- out by way of a trip to the basement are frisky. Dishes exonerate. She frequently looks up the difference between transitive and intransitive verbs. Metonyms have left her stranded. Un-called-for hyphens deserve different homes. Live a little

language. Adjective s heap themselves in succession in light of the coming holidays. In a community imagined in a yellow evening you leave without question to go to work. The writer has no need to ask what makes her so. Relieved of reoccurring migraines, she has only the traces such as vomiting. Intentions do not pile,

but spread. Stave off less compelling ones. She will consider what she can throw away, and what she cannot buy. Logic is another foe. And in the end we all cheer for the woman that burns down the town. No one would be prepared. Sugar tells stories when no one's looking. The neighbor walks the neighbor's dog.

Only Mercedes Sosa can make me this happy listening to her album, huhmm, cd "Mercedes Sosa en Argentina," recorded in 1982 at the Buenos Aires Opera Theatre. Inserted in the front of the cd case is my ticket stub from attending her concert in 2002 at the Berklee Performance Center. Gracias a la vida!
I was in the third row with my friend Bhavana who thought that we were getting the tickets at half-price. "Thought" is the operative word.

In case you are more interested: http://www.easybuenosairescity.com/biografias/sosa1.htm