Mysteries of the Asylum

our home suffers from a lack of flowers though 
houseplants spring from the dank 
corners of the living room     grow large 
waxy leaves in the shape of boats or
hands  and the view is astounding in those
rooms made of windows    sometimes  when 
.
we argue about  for example  the car or
my virginity  the sky  suddenly opens
us up with its humming red molecules
of oxygen  purple clouds and gold make-believe 
hills until we forget our words  just shake 
our heads and leave through opposing 
.
doors   it is damp and oppressive with light   none 
of my crayon horse portraits stay taped 
to the kitchen wall    by morning  they have slid 
down to the tile floor and curled up like dying 
slugs            when it rains the roof
.
thrums like a hollow shoe box    no one ever
brings home yellow roses to pause 
in a blue vase       sometimes we sit outside on the hill
above the house (where we buried our pets) and chew
grass and sometimes we hit each other on the head
and wander into the forest          sometimes we kiss
.
and make up but still no flowers   no one sleeps 
much we worry we will miss something important  
one Sunday    a small mountain lion leaps 
onto our roof    we call  all our friends and 
whisper      by Christmas he is
 .
gone but sometimes we see tracks 
in the vegetable garden next
to the stunted squash 

Come to the Seminar I put together. It's great! Spirit Fingers are great!

Interested in Getting Published?

Come to the Women's Studio Center tonight (9/23) at 7:15 to learn all about it.


GETTING PUBLISHED

How do you approach a publisher?
What should a cover letter look like?
What makes your work stand out and catch
the eye of a publisher or agent? This evening
seminar will address that and more.

Shelly Reed, Presenter

Shelly Reed is the editor of Spire Magazine as well as the Executive Director of Spire Literary Organization for Disadvantaged Youth. She has run numerous poetry and fiction contests.


Fee: $15.00 General/$10.00 Women's Studio Center members

Address:
Women's Studio Center
21-25 44 Avenue
Long Island City, NY

Take the 7 train to the 45 Road Station, three stops into Queens from Manhattan.

Questions? Call 718-361-5649 or go to www.womenstudiocenter.org

I got this notice today from publisher who had expressed some interest in a book length project:

Some snappy writing here, but this is rather rough for us. We deal with tough subjects often but they're generally attached to issues, this is personal, sexual, and rough -- not our interest.


And, in other news, Robots!

Danger, Will Robinson

few people know
 I'm a robot

that when I snag my skin
on the hinge of a closing door
I bleed something black and thick
not blood    exactly

that if you flip the rusty clasp
under my arm   you'll find
a pile of TVs all on and blinking
  under my ribs 

all tuned to the mysterious hunched apple
of your mouth   your skin the brown
of something feral and quick under the ground

that if you lift the hair away from my nape
with the back of your hand
you'll see a small oil slick

and it's like a rainbow    twisted
   moving  

Wow. I have the greatest poets reading this blog. I'm so lucky!

Okay, whoever wants to read the mss. to send a blurb, send your email to inktastesbitter@yahoo.com and I will email you the pdf file.

The mints will come with the hard copy when that is published. Virtual mints are not so tasty.

Rebecca: I loved your book and I want to write a review of it. I'm just trying to find the words.

Addendum:

Some people have asked for more details about the mints. Know this: they are the chalky pastel mints of childhood. They are the mints you grabbed by the handful when you were ten and your parents took you out on that rare restaurant trip to a room full of dark wood, stale smells, and too few windows. They were your reward for keeping quiet when the waiter with the too-large false teeth brought you a diet pepsi instead of a coke. They capped a meal of rich salty foods with always too much garlic. They are shaped like tiny pillows, lined with a chewy strip of minty sugar, and they leave a dust on your palm like the touch of butterfly wings.

Hey, all you lovely friends (grins) who would like a free copy of Salt Daughter when it comes out in exchange for writing a blurb/review for the back of the book? My publisher asked me to do this -- we need about 3 reviews to select from. If you want to do one, I'll send you a PDF file of the manuscript to read.

Should I include tasty mints to add incentive?

Soothing the New Mothers
.
I come door to door
my hair shellacked into blonde wings
selling life insurance and
.
they return to their lazee-boys, their rocking
chairs, their blue barco-loungers and sigh
.
their eyes are huge, all pupil, but they see
nothing, their hair a shock of smoke
floating in all directions
.
their dresses stained,
their bellies puffed, straining against
zippers, buttons
.
they bleed, still, through their pantyhose
and the line of red trickles down into their
sneakers
.
they each wear a butter white cloth
over their right shoulders, for the burping, the tiny
pukes, the endless streams of drool,
the fabric has a peculiar scent,
like urine and dirt and something
spoiling
.
they haven't slept in weeks, they have the expression
of cows after the first shock of a hammer
to the forehead, before the light completely
leaves the brain
.
I offer them a pocketfull of chocolate, then flash
my shiny red high heels, speak of bars tangy with smoke,
low riding jeans, tattoos to the lower back
.
and men, lots of men, lining up, crowding the floor
to speak to them, the young mothers, men of every shape
and color, all of them beautiful and yearning
.
the mothers are lonely, I know this, and when
they start to weep with longing I am ready
I gather a handful of their pliable fingers
and lift them from their chairs
.
wipe their tears and drool
and I close the door, close it softly
behind us, so as not to wake
the baby

Even This Dress Hurts Now

god awfully sore you didn't have to do that to me you know
whatever you asked
I would have done even this dress hurts now last chance

you didn't have to do that to me you know whatever you asked
I would have done
even this dress hurts now candace's mouth was obviously going in all the

god awfully sore you didn't have to
do that to me you know whatever you asked I would have done even
this dress hurts now I know what you mean

even this dress hurts now you sure you don't want me to take
these off as well christi whispered kneeling
up and touching her own jeans

you didn't have to do that to me
you know whatever you asked I would have done
even this dress hurts now how are the arms a little better you

you didn't have to do that to me you
know whatever you asked I would have done even
this dress hurts now I bet it would hurt
if you whacked those now

you didn't have to do that to me you know whatever you asked I would have done
even this dress hurts now press squat down and straddle our faces

you didn't
have to do that to me
you know whatever you asked I would have done
even this dress hurts now anal ring to clamp tightly on the base

you didn't have to do that
to me you know whatever you
asked I would have done even this dress hurts now I fell
to my knees placed my hands on top of

whatever
you asked I
would have done even this dress hurts now please don't
do that to me for the love of jesus I'll do anything
you say

I've been very depressed about the flooding, loss of life, governmental indifference, etc. My coworkers and I started crying today when we discussed in the office. So I wrote a poem. You don't have to comment. I'm just feeling apocalyptic.

Looting

Just give it up, everyone tells me:
But why should I, why does any thing matter still
with everything gone already, everything covered
by this great dark river full of floating things
I don't want to see.
.
You have a gun?
I have a gun.
.
Some things are still there
in the Walmart on the hill;
Ipods, plasma TV's and more
guns.
.
The bread in its plastic
bag is sodden and black.
All of my kitchen and half
the living room have disappeared
as if a teacher's great hand
came down and erased them.
.
The woman in the apartment next door
left three days ago. She taped a sheet
of notebook paper to her door
with a message, now blurred
into splotches shaped into children's handprints.
.
I live alone here
or I do since my husband left
to buy toothpaste on Wednesday.
.
I have always wanted
a ring with a diamond, large,
round and flat, shaped like an eye. I have always
wanted a yellow car, and now that
.
the time has come, now that the river is on fire
and the houses are gone,
why shouldn't I have it?
.
Why can't I have just one thing?

_____________

Here is the blog of someone in the middle of it:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/interdictor/