May 2008
6 posts
A Relic
The monarch, stuck to my car battery, detaches intact, wings folded down in paper-mâché flight. Just that side is ruined, burned black where the fingers— like veins in a leaf— touched the electric box. I show it to my sister, holding the petrified- pollinator up like half a flower. Then I rest it on the corner of my desk and examine the slated wings, stitched with dust, and...
Set Your Auras to Psychopathic (it's Friday)
Demolicion by Los Saicos
Donald H. Rumsfeld, Poet
Via Slate: poems taken from the exact words of Donald Rumsfeld on official transcripts of the Defense Department. A CONFESSION Once in a while, I’m standing here, doing something. And I think, “What in the world am I doing here?” It’s a big surprise. HAPPENINGS You’re going to be told lots of things. You get told things every day that don’t happen. It...
CUT AND PASTE ENDINGS
… like the creatures of thermal vents at the bottom of the sea, independent, finally, of weather and light. … myself in the living room, open windows like skirts. … only my fist to guide me.