response poems or something

reading three tragedies by lorca

the photographs alexander sent me from kenya are chasing their own folds + light leaks + i think of ways to justify vulnerability and hope that i can write something more about the kitchen floor sliding my waist out of your hands with a nervous smile when you stumble into the kitchen and say EVERYBODY GIVE ME YOUR KEYS + i still wake to a morning breathing hard and fast into me as if i needed life support + i still wake and see something is wrong or missing or both



---


if you write a poem and email it to me, i will write a response poem and email it to you,
unless my brain and/or hands aren't working at that time

i always feel the need to be a part of some project but i also leave too many things half-folded and unfinished

which seems to be a motif

worst case scenario survival card game

i think i have poems that will appear in 'la fovea' soon, which is a very confusing and "neat" project where poets choose poets

thank you, matthew savoca, for choosing me

* * *

here are some things i am thinking about

alexander j. allison, letter-writing
sweaters, i'd like more sweaters
'the heart is deceitful above all things', which i finished reading
giraffes-- have i ever seen one in person
"i will need a new notebook soon"

will someone tell me a story now, thanks

it was monday and i accidentally harassed burger king employees

on sunday i went to burger king to get the new cupcake milkshake
a voice said, "sorry, we're out of sprinkles"
i felt a little disappointed
and stared at my feet on the way home and then felt better

last night i went back with my mom
she asked for a cupcake milkshake
the voice said, "sorry, we're out of sprinkles" again
for some reason, i pretended to cry

"i know it's not your fault," i said into the speaker
i was about to laugh but it sounded like i was crying.
when i read poems aloud i sound like i'm going to cry. frank o'hara made me cry once. i am not afraid to admit it

"you didn't have sprinkles yesterday, either."
seconds later, the voice said "sorry ma'am, we just found some sprinkles."
i was not prepared for this. i thought we were going to drive away.
i hid under a black coat the rest of the way through the driveway and tried to look through a hole in the coat at the burger king employees and kept thinking, "my face is red,"

* * *

je t'aime john wayne

has anyone seen 'breathless' by jean-luc godard?

watching this makes me want to wear stripes

5:45

amy feels like a smoker today, like most days, although she's not

currently reading

i will review both of these books later. i like that they are small. in fact i think they are the same size. i like carrying these books

here's something i wrote the other day in the library



to write this poem

i googled “what animal does Luke Skywalker cut open”

so I could write something about how when I sink my feet

into your couch cushions

i feel untouchable

like my toes will never return

I learned that the animal is called “Tauntaun”

but it wasn’t Luke that cut it open

it was Han Solo

and I only feel untouchable

when my memory isn’t failing

and when i’m not gasping

in the middle of the library

once I remember what the “Wampa” is


*if you don't feel like crying tonight, do not google 'wampa'*

new poems published in doubleshiny

doubleshiny is an exciting new online journal

you can read four poems there by me

i'm tired
of things

i am a shy person

an eighty year old woman dressed all in white
running frantically after her son (who was pushing
the groceries-- he yelled at her) hurry up, you're
going to miss the bus! i asked her if she wanted a ride

she only called me an angel and kept running