Also, the blog has changed its look, in honor of Mayport, my new chapbook of Navy Base poems. Click on the little "Buy Me" button and you can have a twenty-poem sojourn through my depressive childhood all to yourself!
The literati are like nostrils or ears.
They are filled with hairs
And sometimes with little
Diamonds, a mark
Preposterous proportions abound.
They can't help it.
You shouldn't stare. Think of your own nose.
Nobody would put your ears in a museum.
Uniqueness is not, exactly, an aesthetic value,
Not even in the ones
Conditions of Work
Better than TV
All Bets Are Off
And All the Pine Trees Say, "I Love You."
After the Fall
I'm Not Imagining You Naked
Fist Full of Draculas
The Blue Ox
* This blog will get an updated, silver-and-gunk look for the release of Mayport, my new chapbook of Navy Base poems. I'll have a little Paypal linky soon.
* I bought a bottle of passionfruit-apple-carrot juice today. I'm not sure, but I think it may be the nastiest crap in the whole wide world. It reeks of health.
*Still got a reading/chapbook release party this Friday. Come and listen to me fight for attention over the noise of the bar crowd. I'll have a microphone, though. Festivities begin at 8, at Drink Me, on 6th between Avenues B & C, and readings start at 9.
At the corporate luncheon, your love
For pork roast outweighs your need
For market share. You pile eight courses
Onto one plate, you take only the walnuts
From the Waldorf Salad. The speaker discusses
Companywide frugality policies while you indulge
The inescapable complicity that is the deviled eggs.
"The ATM ate my bank card today," says the voice
From the podium, while you shuffle off for seconds
And stand before the sneeze guard, contemplating
Six different kinds of macaroni. The other middle
Managers and investment hacks and quasi-tycoons
Remain tucked politely into their tables. "I suffer,"
You think, "from an objection to the times, and no
Amount of sales indicators will ever repair the wound."
You were not meant for the dry convulsions of so-called
Civilization, but to feed, as now, with lusty vision,
To abduct and ravish secretaries, and crash the mail
Cart into Steve, your rival for division chief, for
You know that life is not all figures or accountings.
A monster that churns the competition, yes, a maw
that grinds with swift heedlessness, that needs no proxy
statements: yeah, that's life. And as you clutch
an onion roll in a pair of plastic tongs, it wills you:
Survive. Survive. Survive.