Skirting the edge of meaning

and becoming skirt-mad in the process


avoid alliteration at all cost


a literate response

to existence is the best revenge

co-existing with the unintelligent

coast to coast

and sending off a light-hearted letter to the editor.


I don’t believe in sedatives

I believe in historical crime statistics,

a woman nude in 1920,


and a high noon urinal.


A man was masturbating on an article entitled,

“Investors Gaze Forlornly at Earnings.”


Is nature making inroads on my consciousness.

I hardly ever go to nightclubs

and I’m living with my girlfriend,

it grows on you like a fungus or mutual funds.


Her mottoes at the moment:

Born to be horizontal

Do not disturb

Nudity is not a crime


A woman’s perspective:  it isn’t pretty.


I am feeling like a handicapped animal,

an errant interval,

an enervated criminal,


neglected and erect.


Unconsciously conforming

to the town and country that I live in.


With a palm tree the embodiment

of the blessing of a priest,

the way his hand is passing through the air.




Close Encounters with the Faraway Nearby: Rebecca Solnit

I was sitting at the bar in a room with high wooden ceilings from the 1920s. There was an elk head on the wall and words were coming out of it: “We barely survive catastrophe every day… the collision of two cells from which you began… unthinkable coupling… we live inside each other’s stories.”

It was speaking in a woman’s voice, that of a ventriloquist who can throw her voice into a dead elk as well as living human heads. The room was full of people. She can throw her voice into a book where it remains mute until someone opens the book and hears a rarified stream of consciousness — in this case, The Faraway Nearby (2013). “I digress because everything is connected….” I have a weakness for that sort of thing, or maybe it’s a strength, depending on your point of view. A spider web is very strong, relatively speaking, as it mimics a condition of intricate connections.

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Naked Press: Embrace the Avant-Garde

There was no one sitting in the “poet’s chair” in the poetry room at City Lights, so I did. The room was filling up for Loren Glass, an Associate Professor of English at the University of Iowa. He was there with his new book, COUNTERCULTURE COLOPHON: Grove Press, the Evergreen Review, and the Incorporation of the Avant-Garde.

First of all, what’s a colophon? It is a “finishing stroke, a summit… an inscription placed at the end of a book.” The suggestion here is that Grove Press presided over the end of the avant-garde.

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