In submission news, inspired the gifted poet and blogger, Patty, who is having a book published by Finishing Line, I submitted a last minute entry to the Finishing Line Press chapbook contest -- with a last minute title, Honey & Vinegar, which I guess is okay... since the poems are mostly about sweet or sour love, but still, I feel it's a little simplistic. For the first time, I really went through the manuscript and weeded out all poems that were stylistically different, even if they were thematically appropriate. And then I took out all the "fucks," "cunts" and "cocks" because they tend to really stick out in a manscript which is mostly PG. In other words, I self-censored to please the MAN. (and the tiny black-clad anarchist in me died a little more)

Don't Forget!

I'm reading at the Bowery Poetry Club, as part of a fundraiser for Spire Magazine. This Monday, June 27. It starts at 5:30 but I'll probably be going on about 6:15. If you come to the reading and mention dead_kitty to me, you'll get a Free copy of my chapbook, Safe Word, since I'm getting rid of old copies and going to make a new edition. Directions below:

The Bowery Poetry Club | 308 Bowery, New York, NY 10012 | Foot of First Street between Houston & Bleecker
across the street from CBGB | F/V train to Second Ave | 6 train to Bleecker | 212-614-0505

Hey, I've been part of this organization for five years, almost since it first started, and it finally happened. As the director of writing division is on an extended leave of absence, the board has nominated me to be the acting head. I know most of you have probably never heard of this place,but the Women's Studio Center has about 300 members from all over the city, and an operating budget of about 100,000. I am now responsible for arranging all the readings, grants, development, events and trainings, as well as editing the new on-line journal.

It's funny; a year ago I started coveting the position but I thought I would never in a million years get it. And now I have it. Temporarily, at least. Jesus.

I'm a bit overwhelmed. Anyone have any experience running a free-standing non-profit art center?

Hey, I just found the blog of some cool guys who visited NYC from one of those nameless mid-west states (I think it starts with a W) a couple weeks ago. They were staying with Brendan, who edits Lungfull!, the magazine I'm interning at. It's strange to see all these photos on their blog of places and people I've just met/been.

Word has it that they will be returning to NYC shortly, and will mostly definitely conquer this steam-rollin' Armageddon also know as the big city.

And they're poets.

In more throwing-vegetable type news, I'm doing another reading!

This time it's at the Bowery Poetry Club, as part of a fundraiser for Spire Magazine. This Monday, June 27. It starts at 5:30 but I'll probably be going on about 6:15. If you come to the reading and mention my blog to me, you'll get a Free copy of my chapbook, Safe Word, since I'm getting rid of old copies and going to make a new edition. Directions below:

The Bowery Poetry Club | 308 Bowery, New York, NY 10012 | Foot of First Street between Houston & Bleecker
across the street from CBGB | F/V train to Second Ave | 6 train to Bleecker | 212-614-0505

An update on Things...

I've revamped Things You Can Do with a Sharpened Pencil, changed the cover back to the funky original, re-ordered the poems and made it more readable (one poem per page, how about that?). To go see the whole thing, go here, and below's the fresh new, old cover;

Hey, look!
I have a book of some of my slutty poetry, for sale!

With poems like this (partial view):

Slut

my mother asked you about your trip to Germany
while I sucked you off my bedroom door half-open

I got lost on the way back to your house
too many similar trees

I left you at the airport because I forgot you were
coming I was in bed with someone new

you had no underarm hair and your sweat
tasted like ivy you were pale I touched
each of your ribs with my palms
crawling upward

you tried to shave my legs in the shower
and ended up cutting yourself

You made me come in the middle of a field
I shrieked when the fireflies flew into my hair
you said shut up ...

Just so we're clear here: you cannot reproduce any of my poetry on your website, blog, etc., without my permission. If you do get my permission, you will have to include my name when you publish my piece. You know who you are, Vache.

Yay! It's been a long time since I got one of these, like I did today:

Christine,

We are quite pleased to be publishing your poem "Qualities of Sugar"
in the next issue of Block magazine. The issue should hit the streets
June 26th and will be available on the website the week prior.

Best,
Nadxi Mannello

Open Mag Editor
Block Magazine
openmag@blockmagazine.com
------

Oh, what am I bitching about? Wasn't I just bragging about having my chapbook accepted? But that was two WEEKS ago!

I'm struggling with my mission/ proposed project statement for the residencies I'm applying for. Poems about animals and food -- uh, what is, things that you eat, or that eat you?!!

I just discovered "podcasting", a new form of media on the "internets", and my favorite is Foxxx in the city. Ragan Fox's wonderful podcast today mentions a rather inarticulate email I sent him yesterday. And he insults me and my people!

I'm so flattered!

The Cannibals


Someone is bleeding, we see the spots
on the carpet, check yourself, check

yourself for cuts, we murmur, mill
about, slowly raising our palms,

inspecting our elbows and buttocks,
the French maid enters the great

hall and we tell her of our concern,
someone is bleeding, we say, look

the spots are fresh, she is silent,
unamused, removes the stale

croissants with a flourish, check
yourself, someone calls after her,

then great chocolate labs stream
through the French doors, we try

to grab their collars as they dash past,
their paws, their eyes need inspecting,

they could be bleeding, it happens all
the time to dogs you know, large insensate

beasts, but they elude us, rapid and soft
as a brown river of sparrows, the hall

fills with thumping echoes for a moment
after they pass, someone is bleeding,

someone says, but it is time for lunch
and we all return to what we were doing

before someone was bleeding: chess,
model boats, detailed sketches

of imaginary cathedrals.

I've been kinda blocked lately, since I switched jobs. I usually wrote on my hour and half commute at my previous position -- but now it's only half an hour! (the horror) I'm going to have to start new habits.

The periods are stanza breaks, otherwise it formats strangely.

Sophomore

              the second week of October    
          insects are still
flinging themselves into the street lamps
          from the balcony   the shadows of bats
are so many errant handkerchiefs      at night
there’s no wind
...

you have a nickname for me by then 
something that makes me sound soft
          and easily tamed
...

         the stars on the balcony suck at our skin
as I suck on your fingers kneeling 
by your chair    you read by 
        the light of citronella candles
...

          and sometimes while you study for 
       chem finals or write thank you notes
your window closed     the lights just twitching on
           against the darkening mauve sky
you remember I’m here    your green
eyes    needles pinning a sleeping butterfly
           you reach a palm right here
on the side of my neck as if to steady me
...

I run my lips over your hair at the crown  
       I feel a pain in my stomach       
               a pit  of sweetness and I think
this is love   this sickness   this is what 
          it feels like  
wrapped around each other 
                          in your twin bed           
             knotted ropes

Okay. (deep breath)

(drumroll)

My chapbook submission, The Salt Daughter, was accepted for publication.

Little Poem Press. Finally, some place I don't have to pay to publish me!

(wow)