or the power of 1s

gumption. that's a good word.

the power of 11

I can only write 11 things each month. (see side panel for cosmic reference)

I just received notice I've been published in this year's edition of the NC State's Windhover Literary Arts Magazine. It only took me six years and a few minutes of intense motivation for me to click that 'send' button.
Grab a free copy if you can (it is free).

I also got a song put on their audio CD which I shall go ahead and apologize for because a.) the song was not finished, b.) the song may never be finished, and c.) in retrospect, I should have sent nothing. I was desperate for something concrete beyond the walls of my bedroom. I don't even want to hear it. I may burn it, like in a fire, not on to a CD.

Horrible song, we shall make peace soon enough.


But here is what else found it's way to the Windhover.

-----

Why Rabbits Have Holes

They could not resuscitate Mrs. Peachtree.
“It was too late,” the paramedic said, her face
young, but drawn like the flat shade of a window blind,
her eyes down, never up, and when she walked away
her partner whispered to me that it was her first time.

The steps it took to my house around the block,
the ones I had never bothered to count; the trees,
saplings that were younger than me; the gnomes,
grimacing and waving, frozen elf hats in the headwind,
the back of my unzipped jacket ballooned like a paratrooper’s chute.

I left my window open when I sat down in my room,
And opened my notebook to an empty page;
and I could only think of:

three hundred and thirty two.

------

Denouement

You came back for your toothbrush.
Yesterday afternoon,
I told the kids next door
we were watching television.
The plates and pans you packed rang
like a sea of cymbals but softer than our voices.
Some time after the door closes,
I set the tea and light up.
Old cartoon illusions bloom of fairy godmothers
tapping their wands on our noses.
These deep breaths pollute,
orange and black like winded coals;
like our apologies, curling in the furnace.
I used to admire your gumption,
but now I’m dry, like this cough.
Still, like the volume of this idle tea.
Heavy, like the gelatinous murk; the algae at the bottom
of everything, even well meant loose change.
I am the dimming circumference.
A toke, and the smoke unfurls, vaporous opening arms,
but its charm is lost like a new moon.

You came back,
for your toothbrush.

erosion

Paul dragged an axe and left a canyon.
I have dragged myself and -
time, is a novel idea

when you're running out of it.

---

bottom five things ever

expectations
under the skin itches
alarm clocks/clocks in general
melted ice cream
Paris Hilton

top five things ever

trees
starlight
procreation (the act of, not the consequence of)
breakfast cereal
irony

top five human inventions

in no particular order:

the fountain pen
the acoustic instrument
the shuriken/ninja star
the cartoon/comic
happy endings

versus someone (he who's name cannot be spoken or written or read) else's list:

jet pack
pencil
coffee percolator
tire swing
Molotov cocktail

Today I felt...

taller.

Seriously!