martes, noviembre 27, 2007

A Ruefle and Yepez Delight

People out there,

Do you know that "mouse potato" has made it to dictionaries? From the OED the entry for mouse potato reads, "a person who spends large amounts of leisure time using a computer, esp. surfing the Internet."

Regardless, please watch two videos. A Mary Ruefle reading, and a Heriperto Yepez video.


Mary Ruefle 2002 Reading

martes, noviembre 06, 2007

Guy Poems

Coffee, the roto-rooter motivator,
has a fee. I published first poem
of a bathroom stall, hid some more.

Someone once yelled out these
are like "guy poems"

sábado, octubre 27, 2007

Organ as Toad

can you raise me two

and a butterfly-shaped groan
for a no, your it

cunning dot another dot
(maybe in a domino)

easy does everything
ruckus cus cus cus

miércoles, octubre 17, 2007



Nothing to press, not a one
to press a field of treated trees. Twitching like a woman
afraid to twitch, I’ve seen enough
of lesser wigs, those bee-stung faces

afoot in the field. A man in rags (no rage)
hands me a poster: in high blue heels
a corpse. Possibly, it was just that—
chatting with a group. The pressure of liveliness,
an overkill.

miércoles, agosto 22, 2007

U in the UK?

If I lived in the UK I'd submit to the #6 edition to Dusie.

lunes, julio 30, 2007


Damn, what a nice-looking Jacket (July 2007)! 90 pages on humor in poetry, Fraser on "Placing silence" and more.

lunes, julio 09, 2007

Cat Power

Thank you to any of you who turned me on to Cat Power. How I was oblivious for so long! I am certainly a fan now. I just saw her last night in concert, and she lived up to the great performances I'd heard about. (I wish I could go to the Pitchfork Festival? Enjoy, to those who do!)

This link tells you that she was the first woman to win "The Shortlist Prize." Sweet.

domingo, junio 10, 2007

Regular Lovers

The dancing scene in the French film Regular Lovers is great!

sábado, junio 09, 2007

A Polyurethane Heart

Hello to you. Soon I will go pedaling a first book of poems. If hope the sweetest chapbook publisher will gobble up Dead-Eye Spring, which has seen a lot of recent revisions. To those of you who know this poem, I confess to you that I fiddle for so long. Wish me the best. Likely I can wish you luck too as you pedal poems.

When you write poems, my life is better. Yesterday I said this corniness but meant it. And pedal bone is the principal bone in the hoof of a horse. Coffin bone is the other term. ("And" can be such fakery. And, in the presence of horse people I hesitate to write about horses; sugar lick or pedal bone.)

I have a new tortoise, so look for tortoise posts. I have found myself in the middle of a chapbook? called A Polyurethane Heart. I'm sure it will change. Yahoo! I want its simple exclamation back. To crave simplicity is a complicated matter; that's for scholars.

Here is one poem from "A Polyurethane Heart." Forget that. Here are 5 new new poems.

A Polyurethane Heart

Come up, no air, sorry. Such intolerable
stridor. Whether striking someone
or an apologetic wink, I can practice grace
but barbarity jettisons it. Don’t you want
to kiss a sexy lover, hold up placards
of emotions (remorse, briars, relentless,
get-off, wavelength, bad headshot, effort,
and fall-out). I happened to look when a kid
pushed a smaller kid off the teeter totter.
Thrown off my emoting polyurethane,
I could remember

the first time I saw an animal tied up
in an awful yelping or prancing in a yard
way, if I tried. She may've lunged at me
for saying it, that memories arise from effort,
cold to the touch, a dark temperature. Never
discuss the repercussions of a school paper’s
sentence like “In the times of ancient grease
a strigil was used, perfect too for shaving
strigose skin.” The information was there
but so what. I put my coat on backwards,
mocking a crowd, wiggling tragically cute,
thinking I was that. To make another corpse
scrape in the coating required your hand.

A cat, one man on the gurney, other
people, suffer heart palpitations. I rode
closer in on the heart, with a protective
covering for my eyes. Please don’t say
a number of years before later or before
as in “twenty years later” or “twenty years
before.” I’ll throttle the resins, coatings,
insulations, adhesives, foams, and fibers
or throw spiders at your slack jaw.
on top.

Gentle. I want to talk into handheld devices
about metallurgy, rust, cheesecloth, poly-
urethane for now, can there be any durables
left, the Merck manual’s heart section,
tiebreakers, bandages, an ice-creamed
cheek, what has snuck in. I twang a lot, pop
the microphone, order carryout
and fuss up my house. Don’t you want me
to rest. It is humorous in the dark. Are you?
Metallurgic, darling?

She's smacked me with a pork loin,
packages of seeds (I couldn’t catch
the names). A shopper walks back
to the bathroom, usually near the meat,
to sit there and miss someone.
The aisles shorten. After punishment
comes one lover who had doodled loops
or danced helluva a lot, had oily or
dry hair, not sure, braids or steady
nightmares, never helped anyone
unpack or feed on swan, except for
“Tuércele el cuello al cisne, " the best
gesture of slashing a past, trimming
hedges. For that we put on frocks.

martes, junio 05, 2007


Prizes for the best plural word for poemish are...

-Repeated lashings from an oversize lord
-A visit from the cheeseclothsmith
-A visit to Turkey Valley gas station store with the big square hole in the wall near the toilet. That one, definitely a suspicious prize.



sweet friend and I rode from Iowa City to Boston yesterday
21 hours straight, damn rain in Ohio/Pennsylvania, an oversize
lord getting off the ramp at "Lord's Valley"
or was it "Paradise Valley"?

see my new turtle Gertrude climbing the glass 

we had given ten dollars to a student 
(what he called himself) driving a "40,000 thousand dollar car"
(how he proved his parents could pay us back double) 
who had ran out of money for gas. Dear Universe, 

May That Lost $10 Given to that Spoiled Rich Kid driving Said Car Return through a Multiplicity of Riches Unbenownst to us.

melissa dancing

melissa dancing

nico dangling on melissa dancing and andy and m
miss you


miércoles, mayo 16, 2007

A job

A job

is like a calendar with with no moo(ns).

(an infection, mutiple choosers)

Whose whoot?
Great-Horned Owl, I believe
you left. Nibble.

Mom (a poet once told me to say mother) says
never get in the middle.

domingo, abril 22, 2007

The Apartment

In two years I haven’t filled the ice cube tray

“Is twelve o’clock tomorrow, alright?”

Sitting on the computer chair I wait for them to leave my apartment

My slowly undoes itself

Possible renters wear shoes, t-shirts, pants

The poet doesn’t remember saying she wanted to write a three-sentence novel

I make a disc of ninety-five photos for a friend who just bailed on our moving plans

Lately I don’t haul ass and I'm tired of being alone

Gurgle is all that occurs to me or, I am lonely as hail

Movers, answer the phone at ten p.m. on a Sunday

Moochers sound better as lickplates

My selfishness extends to licking plates

Can I have a drag?

martes, febrero 20, 2007

"I don’t want to be smart in poems"

"I don’t want to be smart in poems"

Can I kiss you?
Can I kiss the you that or who hasn’t been kissed?
Can I kiss the heat beneath you?
Can I kiss the buzzard of your faults?
Can I kiss the lyrics the singer forgot? I will kiss
Ella and Mack the Knife. Ella calls out her name.
I am making a wreck out of not being small, not a child
suctioned cupped to pity. I am kissing. Cheryl is making bluebirds
tell the truth or tip a bad waiter and dance and dance and dance.
The arms detached. I love that part. The blue basket out of blue.
I will kiss Lou Rawls instead.

lunes, febrero 12, 2007



I have a translation of a poem by Mexican poet Tedi López Mills on the online journal Xchanges.

If you are so inclined, I hope you take a look.

jueves, febrero 01, 2007

The Full Moon, tonight.
Get a checkup.

sábado, enero 06, 2007

La Commune

I'm halfway through Peter Watkins' film "La Commune" about the 1871 brief socialist revolution in Paris. It's worth watching how he blends historical research with a modern media twist. I hate to tell you more than watch it. Here's a link about it.

I suppose this week was french-themed since I also saw Jean Renoir's "The Rules of the Game." Viola.

The next post is unrelated to this one.