ClumsyMonkey.net

broaden your horizons. I am sure your prof will have some connections but go beyond her/him and just get it out there. I love the line wrote with her right the most left-handed girl. it is brilliant.

in progress:

elegy

I.
when summer lay smoldering in beds of grass
and the earth burned our naked feet

days swallowed each other,
the spur of action saved always for
..........later

(this was the lie, in the yard
sweating green into the heavy air

deepfry tan sun
glinting red off your retinas

pressure-cooked skin on
muskoka wood)


II.
the snails we collected by the dusty curb
the flies that hit our burnt faces
the cat that laced its way through fences

long dead (frozen into dirt) (eyes iced shut)
lying with the rest of the past

what little grace remains
in the languid movement
of limp leaves and hot birds
now tempered with loss

and then,
in briefest moment

(your skin occurs to me)

instant closer coming until smell
honey prickle brush soft skim
light sweat white sun seizes
under muscle thin skin
fair honey lustre
into cobalt
clouded
eye

I
back-taken
breath in draw
faint closeness faded.

my very liberal take on the pantoum.


Four Hour Delay

i’m stuck on a train
that removes and returns me
but leaves me no closer
nor further away
just moves me and turns me
and when it ejects me
i’ll be stuck in the rain
waiting for you to get me
and when you reject me
it will be no surprise
cause you never did get me
just strangely amused me
so i won’t be surprised
if you leave me no closer
than this unamused stranger
who’s stuck on a train
that removes and returns him
but leaves him no closer
nor further away
just moves him and turns him
and when it ejects him
he’ll be stuck in the rain
waiting for me to get him
and when i reject him
it will be no surprise
cause i never did get him
just strangely amused him
so he won’t be surprised
if i leave him no closer
than this unamused stranger
stuck with him on the train

that's awesome alex.

that's great!

i likey.

fanks!

bingo

.......two feet
on the sidewalk
.......two feet
from the.................traffic
..............screaming
..............................sounds like
.........shopping channel
smells like ....................luck

take two steps forward
..cry out

.................bingo

she leapt across the little drifts
of snow that sat in concrete cracks
the little drifts in concrete cracks
were melting gratefully

her feet played games around the grass
that hid in wet and muddled clumps
around the grass and muddled clumps
she danced delightedly

oh spring oh spring has let me in
i found myself another love
another love has let me in
and given me away—

It is a shore
who slumps against the air and breathes
our voices out.

We are the dreadful twins of Narcissus.
The waves, too long for human ears, still sing of us
with Buckley’s grace,
with lofty rhyme of Lycidas.

Let us chain the water to the land,
let us drown our names in sound;
our eternal echoes fade with each rebound.

for fun, an abecedarium:

Announcing births,
condoning deaths—
everyone’s fate gets held in
judgment.

<i>Killing
lets my nauseating,
overwhelming
pain
quietly retreat.</i>

Strangle the unwholesome visitors with xenophobia, you zealots.

neato.

a pleasure, as always

the kind of girl who lies in fields
in the brown and brown of early spring

well I mean we are meant to be
alone or whatever, or apart or whatever

the kind of girl who lives like she’s dying
every moment experienced with precision,

alone or whatever, but I never understood
that twenty year silence. what a waste

the kind of girl who lies

of talent. I’d say time but
that’s a waste anyway

incisive and minute,
in fields in the brown

no matter how you slice it

and brown of early spring

Gutterhome

The shortage will be divided among the peasants. –Proverb

I am the glory that drips from bitter mouths
smokes butts from the street
kills strays
rain pounds my flat and painted surface
engenders sporadic stubble
drifts grime
insolent hymns resonate through my waste lands
ciphered with screeching hosannahs
silent cursing
emblazoned with a dead man’s name
I am steaming black sympathy
cold change

behind a lifetime crust of processed cheese
between stains in faded floral print
humming seafoam
worn fur seeps years of sordid stench
exposes overflowing flesh
sprouts scarcity
this runner is cut down foot and knee
bleeds white and octagon red
absorbs lead
and lies motionless in a rotten orange glow
exhaling centuries of gutterhome
into the endless night.

i'm killin' this, you can keep up with it at [url]gutterhome.blogspot.com[/url] if so inclined. thanks for the nice words