Monthly Archives: February 2011

to the slow back and forth rhythm of tearing flower petals

too scared
or just don’t care
too scared
or just don’t care
too scared
or just don’t care…
(this loops for as long as the amount of flowers you pick up for it.)

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sweet

poetry accepted for publication when i was away in austin.

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bound

i took a walk to the harcourt nature preserve today to fight winter disconnect.  it was warm out but not sunny like i’d hoped.  took the snowy path and looked at the small sticks, broken branches and pine needles that lay like letters down to the preserve.  walked to the bridge and stood there listening.  the water was frozen over, footprints across it so it must have been pretty solid.  i thought about all of the little creatures sleeping underneath, waiting for spring.  i watched the littlest bird singing her heart out at the top of her lungs, three notes at a time.  i watched her dancing frantically between the leafless trees and thought about how small her voice was, top of her lungs, in all that heavy quiet.  then it started to sleet, but softly, like icicle kisses on my face and hands.  i looked around at the trees, and stared for a long time at one to the right of the path up the bridge.  it looked like m’s ‘lonely tree’ on dug road, dead, with thick, peeling layers of old bark.  this one was wrapped in a tangle of long slender arms from the tree beside it, which seemed to be hugging it but in a way that the first tree could barely be seen beyond its embrace.  the first tree was shaped like an enormous tuning fork, and i wondered how it could tune in anything without the filter of all of that growth clinging around it.  at the top of each tower, was a circular hole through which the light from outside filtered in.  if the tree were a person the holes would be in its hands, stretching up toward the sky.  it stopped hailing as i looked at these.  it seems to me that there is no way for this tree to channel the light appropriately unless the tree-that-is-reaching-around-it has good intentions, since it doesn’t seem like she could ever escape its embrace.

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on fire and suitable poetic subjects

http://www.prickofthespindle.com/poetry/4.4/auslander/suitable.htm

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these spaces which are your breathing in before speaking

finally picked up the collapsed clothing rack full of dresses that’s been laying on my floor covered in clothes.  funny how something as simple as establishing order in your bedroom can make you feel saner.  therapist having me write my way through the day and account for all time spent doing/thinking about what.  this is i think changing what i normally do and making me try to find concrete things to do so i can write them.  i don’t know if that’s the point.  but i’ve stressed to her i don’t necessarily want to stop ‘spacing out,’ i.e. thinking horizontally which society does not appreciate so much as the up an down…

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the year i decided to stop speaking

whadda ya see, Audie?  (i don’t know why i called myself Audie)

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the where from which the beloved will come

this will be a good read.  i like you so far, macedonio.  i think maybe we see the world (sans time sans space) sometimes in the same way.

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conductive

today i am awake.

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trains and stations

thinking about trains.  i wonder whatever happened to lars the train-hopper.  i wonder what the train tracks in kingston by my old art show look like right now.  i wonder what would have happened if i’d went on the walk b wanted me to.

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pennies for the unknown

i like this poet.  perhaps i will purchase his house with a dark sky roof.  the last poetry book i purchased i lent to a friend i wanted to share it with who never gave it back and i really hope at least he is reading it because it always made me think of him.

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