Saturday, January 21, 2012

Straining Limbs. Learning to walk: life after chap.

I haven't written much I'm proud of lately - but at least I'm back writing. Part of getting over those humps is purging out the gunk. Kinda like a garbage disposal in reverse. And man, my kitchen is messy. Sometimes reading great poetry and prose helps. Sometimes it makes you feel even more like shit.

It's a good thing I'm equipped with my big-girl panties. Time to forge ahead (read: failed intentions and lack of blogging for next 3 months.)

WELL, I do have an older piece up at the wonderfully relevant

By all means, take a gander. Submit. Read. Do thou writerly things.



Seeds in amber
dusty wing-feathers and
wax drippings.

Old house. Old car. Old us.
It’s always you, you, you
isn’t it?
It is, my sweet. Your clothes
are in the closet, the obit
by my bed. 

Every so often, I will fire off one of these. It takes about 5 minutes, and I spend the next hour staring at the screen. Because the voice of professors past haunts me - I don't delete. But these things rather clutter up my files, sitting like clueless little fucking barnacles while I tappity-tap-tap. I'm feeling a bit morose with all the deathly, horribly, boring things in life, like living one paycheck away from the street or lacking health insurance. So I leave it. 'Seeds in amber' is snagging at me with safety pin fingers, and I might go out an play.

Fare thee well, all in Internet Land.


  1. Welcome back. (Nice piece, btw, at currency lit. You use the avant garde lineation to maximum effect. And perfect ending with the tie as noose [implied] metaphor.)

  2. Ah, thank you so much! It's been hard to find a home for that piece.

  3. Hi there Jenny -- did like your piece over at,cy. If it wasn't written for the site, then a very happy happenstance. Loved the feel of the poem -- great interplay on a number of different transactions, and it did conjure up that strange feeling of being unloved in a bank. Bank notes as love letters. Man with tie.