I know you are all very disappointed in me, and probably don't even look at this space anymore, except casually, out of habit, and then only for a few seconds. But I've been BUSY -- hip-deep in papers for grad school. Now I am only knee deep. Here's a poem.

The Aggressive Squirrels of Roosevelt Island

we wear special lenses to see what lurks underneath the oak leaves

we have pulled our hair back tightly with leather bands -- they can nest anywhere

we are here to capture the reason

we have tweezers, chloroform
glass jars the size of a head
a gold pen for notation
a green one for classification

we watch our ankles

we keep our bags closed at all times

we do not sit underneath the inviting trees to rest

we use hip waders or heavy rubber boots and socks infused
with a tincture of iodine

we do not touch peanut butter for at least a week before entering the island

at dusk, we try to remember Sheila, who was
dragged down a hole

we plunge forward, keeping our purpose always foremost in our minds

when in doubt, we jump into the river

we remember, as we sink, that the tails only look soft
and if they pause to lift an offering from our palm
the gentle brush of their tiny nails only lasts for a moment

we convince ourselves that moment is not sweet

without hesitation they will gnaw us anew
fill our skull with walnuts
toss our toe bones back and forth with their teeth

their infants are the size of our thumbs and not quite as soft
as our down comforter on the other island, the one we’re starting to forget

we have left behind our candy, our lavender deoderant
and the ones too weak too run

according to our guide books, one bite does not cause much scarring

we are not much afraid
we have practiced by running short distances very fast

if you would like to know about the movie

I did
come in late
but it seemed like I missed the ending
instead of the beginning

there was no clear hero
but there was a man fixing his car
he was by the side of the road
in a desert-like place (New Mexico)

when I went to get popcorn
he ended up by the beach on a bicycle
the love interest was a either a dog
or a girl they both had the same
color hair and wore a dark necklace

sometimes she would walk across
the screen and the man wouldn’t
look up but she might have
been the angry girl sitting in the front row

I’m pretty sure the dog was a lab
we saw many shots of him sleeping
in the back seat of the car
since it was so hot his tongue hung out

once he appeared to be barking at the waves
but no sound came out of his
mouth

the man fixing his car wore heavy gloves
and had a smudge of grease along
one cheek

sometimes he would look up
at the sun and wipe his wet bangs
from his forehead with the back of his wrist

when this happened a guitar would play

Hot Chocolypto

It's getting cold in here.

Still Life With Dark Cloud

I am so sad. There is a big mound of sad right here in the middle of the room, on top of my pile of collapsing cardboard furniture. It's a big heaping smelly bunch of sad. Every five minutes it whirls around a bit, shifts colors, and gets bigger. Soon there won't be any room for me in this room of sad. Every time the sad gets bigger, it gets heavier. The floor is starting to creak. It's an old, worn out plastic floor, not meant for more than two people to stand on at the same time. This sad is bigger than the both of us. When the floor breaks, it will take me down with it, into the sad. Some people say the sad is dark and black, but it's really grey with flashes of pink and green. When it puffs itself up, you can see many things inside. The things look like they're fun -- there's laughing and poking and painting of cheeks with butterflies -- but they're really quite, quite sad. As it emanates the odor of spilled perfume and old wet towels, the sad pulls me in. It has a magnetic force, it leaves dusty black tracks, it makes me sneeze. It's an armless ventriloquist and a rusty cotton-candy machine. It's popcorn dropped in the grass and stepped on. It's a pair leather ballet shoes soaking in a tub of scummed up rainwater. It's paralyzed lips with the will to kiss. It's teeth falling out when you bite into chocolate cake. It's tripping in front of a bus and getting only half run over. It's the dream of being in your underwear in front of your modern history class and waking up to realize that your class was over years ago and you missed the final. You failed, you never went back. You never bothered until it was too late.

Trying to work on some film related poems:

Ode to Mia
For Mia Kirshner

your long dark hair
with waves glinting
like broken glass embedded in a knee

you always play the crazy ones

you are short childlike
you bought coffee once standing in line
ahead of me
your skin was bad you didn’t look around much
perhaps you noticed I was staring

this was before the crow

when you are a lesbian you are mean

often you wear corsets eye shadow
and are sacrificed

your eyes change color but they always
remind me of a wolf or something
swimming very fast underwater

your neck is so long ethereal
yellow seems made for
knives or hands

sometimes you fall in love
with a bird

sometimes you beg sometimes you
refuse to beg

we want to toss you towards the sky
catch you as your hair flares out
a dark exclamation

you wear a schoolgirl’s uniform
you strip it off men try to
touch places they shouldn’t
women try to part your thighs

sometimes you draw on your
breasts with magic marker

sometimes you are the victim
and they don’t find you
until much too late
--------------

Comments are appreciated, y'all.

Swirly!

awk! I feel so awful when I'm too busy to write. So I made some time. Right here: time!

Trouble with Meat

bella spends two hours at the dinner table

chewing, chewing
…….--- it won’t go down

…….-- a beige paste
she can’t swallow …….-- she can
…… feel tendons …… strings …… rubber cement
…….-- inside it

when her mother looks at her own empty plate
and sighs

…….----- bella takes thumb and forefinger
pull out the mass ……- soft as flesh ……. pink and brown
…….-- it might have tentacles
…….------- the texture like cardboard and sand paper

her mother won’t
……. leave her chair…….-- till bella's through

she doesn’t…….-- understand
…….-- i can’t

her own meatloaf …….-- limp asparagus
limpid pool of butter …….-- finished
as fast as she could shovel
her eyes on bella …….-- bright …….-- foreign
like some strange plant

bella hears her friends outside
Lisa and Gordie discussing a new style of four square
…….----- then the red ball bounces……. with that hollow

…….-------appetizing ping