Whoah. (sigh) I can't believe I finished all my papers. I'm free, free, free! It's a weird feeling.

So, I finally got my act together and put together a decent chapbook of my experimental poetry. I feel like mostly I'm known for my narrative confessional work, but I do a lot of experimental stuff too. It's just harder to get people to respond to it.

I submitted it to the Pavement Saw contest, just seconds before the deadline. I called it "Build Your Own Alphabet." What do you think?

Here's one of the poems from it. I wrote this 6 years ago, but I radically rewrote it last week.

The Wooden Blocks of Boise

……. Get permission promptly.
You will master your theory if you
build your own alphabet.

…--…. (tiny yellow fingers in a nun’s palm)
…----…. squeezed

…--…. splinters……. knees ……. bitten sleeves

ABH……. THR……. QRS……. UVP
…-----…. TRY NOT TO SHRIEK
…-----…. we are deaf now

if special business is not available,
make up difficult terms that occur with great frequency

machines to manufacture phrases that are peculiar to you
are underneath your ……. leaf-eating bed

very little study should be done

Remember our undivided attention
will be placed on your shoulders.

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.