Hello. There. Been quiet for a while. (I will get to the tag quite soon, I promise.)

But life is good. I just had a great reading at my school, I sold 5 books, and everybody was wonderfully kind and laughed at the right spots. Plus, my tattoo got some shading! Finally! Next stop, color!



And a poemer!

A fresh one, from today! I love exclamations. I really do.

Love Song with Ambivalence

if only the alarm clock would stop working
if only these sheets were a different shade of green
if only you would fix your rotten bicuspid
if only the bread I bought yesterday were not moldy already
if only you could wash your hands more often
if only my breasts were of equal size
if only your penis smelled like violets

Yay!! (cartwheel, cartwheel)

MiPoesias just accepted my chapbook, Children Having Trouble with Meat!

I'm so amazed. Just very amazed. And then some more amazement, over here.

(It was the only one picked out of hundred -- I'm one percent!)

Early Milestones

A peanut shoved itself up my nose.

I went blind in one eye.

The cat scratched me when I chewed her tail.

My patent leather shoes got pee on them.

My father fell down the stairs.

I stuck my tongue in a socket.

I got lost in the attic.

My father told me I pushed him down the stairs.

Blue flames crawled out of the top of the black and white TV.

Grandmother came to visit and stayed in the room at the top of the stairs.

My brother peed on my teddy bear.

I stuck a fork in a socket.

Barbie’s toes got chewed off.

My mother made me give up my teddy bear.

The cat vomited butter all over the kitchen.

I tripped and lost my Christmas hat.

The pony moved slowly, warm against my bare legs,
led by a girl who watched my eyes and smiled.

Finally, a poem!

I've been doing the poem a day thing, but I haven't wanted to publish my drafts.

In This Dream, The Sky Signifies Memory

I’m standing in my blue flannel nightgown
at the window. The tops of the California oaks
shimmer below me in the wind. I’m walking barefoot
down the center of a gravel road -- I’m sweating
and my nightgown pinches at the armpits, the neck.

I am getting a baby out of a drawer. The baby
is the color of fog: he is sleeping or dead.
He is too heavy to carry, so I leave him
by the side of the road. I am spitting out persimmon
seeds into the cup beside the TV.

I am climbing a ladder over a hedge made of old
keyboards and kites. I am waking up; I am not
wanting to wake up. Someone is calling my cat.
My cat purrs and spits into my eye. She has
gathered tigers around me. I put on my pointed
leather slippers and climb on to the back
the biggest one. We go searching for my baby.
The sky is the color of water, falling.