On being sick, fucked up on NyQuil, and feeling like my skull is stuffed with fluffy flannel pants.

Neurons swaddled
each in cotton:
My brain babies.

my space consumes me

rotting chicken soup
mouldering in the fridge.

a cancer
eating
my stomach.

3 more fillings

"Hey look, another cavity!"
It was hiding
behind a tooth.

"Do we have
a *really* big wedge?"
she asked.

"It's really far under the gum!"
The drill won't fit.
They'll have to scrape.

Denstists gather.
Apparently, I have
really interesting cavities.

Thanksgiving, Reno

Sprinting through the basement,
for the bathroom -
day after Thanksgiving.

You'd think the bathroom
of a pharmacy
would be clean.

This old toilet,
choking
on my turds.

Two chinks in the hand,
are worth one in the bush.

Four gooks in the bucket,
Means you got took it.

Six kikes on a pike,
Is shorter than two hikes,

But fifteen wops in a pop,
Is more likeable than bop.

Fournier transformation.

Wetback hack attack.

Go.

Snowed in at Bozeman Airport I (Montana Taxi Driver Wisdom)

1. So, what you're saying is that Chinese and Japanese are different languages?

2.[Upon noticing that I've realized I can't get out of the cab because there are no door handles or locks in the back seat] I'll have to come around and let you out. *grumble* Recommissioned police vehicles...they do this so the convicts can't escape. It comes in handy sometimes. *wheeze*

3. Why would you want to leave Bozeman? Do you have kids or something?

4. Feel that fishtailing? I passed four wrecks on the way out to pick you up. Right up here, there'll be a wrecked jeep...see? Whoo! Feel that?

5. Maybe you should just stay here instead of heading out to the Rat Race [in Ithaca, NY]. You don't have kids, right?

After Paul Erdos

I am a machine
for turning pudding tea
into silence.

This is not a poem.

I just got a reservation at El Bulli for June.
...
Happy Thanksgiving, bandersnatchers.

After reading Coleridge's "Kubla Khan"

I boarded a bus today
For Willikoochie, Georgia.
Not many people know that’s
Where Samuel’s soul sojourns.

I wanted to talk to him,
To ask advice, maybe. You
See, my writing isn’t quite
What I want it to be.

But right away, I was
Distracted. There was a girl
On the bus – not pretty, but
Still distracting. I stared.

I undressed her with my
Eyes. I thought that’s what she meant –
“Please undress me with your eyes.” –
With her cold, scornful glare.

In Willikoochie, she
Did not join me for dinner.
I ate alone, then found Sam.
He was in a bad mood.

“You look Jewish,” he said.
Of course I don’t, but we know
Each other, Sam and I. “So?”
“So, no Jews before nine.”

Sam was just in a mood.
I went back to town until nine.
When I returned, I brought Sam
Some honey-dew and milk.

We talked until ten, and
Sam pretended not to know
What it’s like, not having your
Writing be what you’d want.

Well, fine. “If you don’t want
To talk, let’s just play cards.” “Fine!”
He understood, of course. But
He can’t write anymore.

I left Sam the cards, all
Sticky with honey-dew juice.
He said I could call again
And then called me more names.

On the bus back, the same
Girl was there. But she’d put on
A front-clasp bra that my eyes
Couldn’t unfasten.

21 Instant Messages to Paul Muldoon: 4 (Hey Lady, You Got the Love I Need.)

Dance, dance - but your pal
won't blind his soul with clay. Tough
break, my golem gal.

Some shit about splooging your identity on the world or something like that

Sometimes a thing's so inside you -
when it's taken away, it's like
a big fucking hole in your world
- like a chunk ripped out.
(Once I parked in K-town,
and somebody jacked my
side view mirrors. For two days,
it was like they'd reached in and ripped out chunks of my eyeballs.)
First you keep reaching
for that piece of your soul
and it's not there and it's like
somebody put a brick wall in your brain.
It makes me understand stroke victims
and unwilling amputees.
It doesn't stop freaking you out
that your left hand arm isn't there anymore
or whatever.

And then you get used it it and you develop
this new life,
and it starts to get very satisfying
as your work your way around your obstruction
and develop new habits and routines
and ways of conducting your ass around town
and it starts to get really interesting and finally
you don't feel like there's shit missing anymore,
you like your new self, and your new life,
your new soul-balance,
and then when somebody offers that piece back,
which you've still been telling yourself that you want back,
suddenly, you're a little nauseous, and you're like,
"Holy shit, I don't think I want it back anymore."

Anyway, what I'm saying is that
they finally called and said my
laptop's done and I can
have it back anytime now.

21 Instant Messages to Paul Muldoon: 3 (Fantasizing about how great an island getaway would be right now.)

Rum in D'yer Mak'er
while I'm humming along to
Zeppelin's "Heartbreaker."

I haven't Sarah's scruples.

Wha-? What’s that?
In the kitchen … Ach!
That’s the rat poison.
I thought we were done with that.
Well, let’s see what’s up. Not that
I ever caught the rodents at meal time
With any regularity, you understand,
But let’s try to see what’s up.

Oh, good lord! You’re not
A rodent, but a roach. And
You seem pretty comfortable
In my kitchen this late at night.
Well, I’m sorry Mr. Roach, but
If I can hear you walking
From the other room, if you’re
Going to be moving around
My rat poison because it’s in
Your way, well then, you’re
A little too big for your breeches.
Not tomorrow, but tonight, you
Mr. Roach, are going on
The Avermectin B1 diet.
I’m going to the store.
I’ll be back within the hour.

Well, they said these were for
The big roaches, but the holes
In these things are the size of my pinky.
And you’re more like
Three pinkies together.
How’s that gonna work?

Come out, come out Mr. Roach.
Doesn’t this smell good? Yum, yum.
That’s right. Eat up.
Oh, and I just got you new treats.
But fine, try to eat the old stuff.
That’s fine too. I’m not hurt.
You sure eat loud. Goodness.
Is this going to keep me up too?
Try to keep it down.
I’m sleeping over there –
See my pillows on the floor –
Just ten feet away.
Shh.
It’s late.

21 Instant Messages to Paul Muldoon: 2

In my pupil a
tiny mirrored student, cute
as a pupilla.

21 Instant Messages to Paul Muldoon: 1

Ink from a pen drops
clear through my glass of water.
Then the bleeding stops.

On Van Gogh's "Mulberry Tree"

This is the one that must be perceived orally.
A friend years ago told me about this friend of hers
who got thrown out of a museum for licking a painting.
And yeah, we can't have them all digested by art
freak saliva, I'm not saying let him lick it -
but I love him and I can't get down with anyone
who doesn't feel bolder for his dignity.
I wouldn't do it and anyway The Mulberry Tree
is covered with glass, but I can only see it
with the tip of my tongue, from the muddy yellow blob
tinged with blue at the center, to the lightning tentacle
branches and the flat scrapes of cerulean
that make up the sky in the upper right corner.

On Cagnacci's "Martha Rebuking Mary Magdalene for her Vanity"

It's unnatural not to desire
those silk shoes, indigo blue
and so delicate they're translucent,
laced with gold, with toes
like swans' bills. Who looks at this painting
and wants the moral lesson
the naked disciple's receiving?
You should see how those shoes match her dress
(put off on the floor, presumably
confiscated by that stupid angel).

Knowledge of the Serpent

Said Adam to Eve, "So.... like Eden?"
(the first ever too cheesy lead-in)
"Oh Adam, you coot,
take a bite of my fruit;
and then we shall get down to breedin'."

At the dentist's

Six cavities to fill;
boy, I really
love my iPod!

I have a symphony
and a drill
in my head.

Pedagogical bliss, pt. II

All this haikuing
is making my paper comments
weird.

pedagogical bliss

“I will not learn,” the student said to me.
You’d better, ‘cause what you know now
Won’t even earn a D.

But you assign the grades, just pass me ‘k?
How ‘bout instead you think, and work,
And earn a passing grade?

I told you once already that I think
Your subject’s dumb. Let’s not pretend
I’ll change my mind, you son …

No, stop. Right there. You really think I care?
I care exactly twice as much
As you. So I’ll be fair.

How ‘bout for extra credit, you compute
For me. No calculators, please,
Halve zero, then square-root.

You know I can’t work fractions. Fuck you, jerk!
I’m going to the dean; your goose
Is cooked. Ah. I love my work.

At Home

Some friends and family think I lead a spartan’s life. Among ascetics, I’m a weird sort. Sure I eat and even bake cakes, but I’ll pass on the movie, again, and what’s wrong with a diet of cereal and chips? Who needs a bed? Washing ziplock bags is as routine as brushing my teeth. No, I can’t watch that show, I’m short on my daily 12 hours of masochism. I can remember times I’ve stayed over with friends and woken up to music. It’s too much to play CDs or the radio on my own (outside the car and my jogs), but once and a while, hearing music fill a space is nice. I’m a 5’2” petite Asian female, rough-shaven bachelor, yo. I get my ambience at the homes of friends and family.

At this suburban hermitage, my mom
Looks after her cats
“Hi Undy, hi Undy,
what, Kathy’s taken your chair?
don’t know about going in that room?
then come along, follow mama,
Kathy doesn't seem to care”
Baby talk can leave you feeling fuzzy
It domesticates

An exchange of bodily fluid unintended.
Overturning all contents of my sleep-starved mind,
Thumbing the edge of two Trojan wrappers,
The legs of another intertwined.

The tannins of my life uncasked and poured.
In the opening the cork has gone, and I wonder,
Though the toast was a minor treat,
Will the aftertaste be of rancid vinegar?

Consider this position, so primitively appointed,
A father is a soldier not.
Those measuring valor prefer easy cases.
I profer, "Death By Protracted Consumption (Nosefulls of Snot)".

Punishment for desertion, however, is just as grim!
The platitudes and cliches
May lack the ring of nationalism,
But you'll be shunned by all if you aren't bound by them.

The wrapper reads 70% effective,
And suddenly I understand!
It means in ten games of Trojan Roulette,
Three will make simple gore out of a man.

And here again, to my surprise,
I find I've leveled my gun.
If only the stochastic spending of my potential,
Weren't so fucking fun.

Ode on coming to suspect that the enormity of your sacrifice is not being appreciated

...

Fuck.

You.

I guess I have to take care of this myself

Laundry machine spider,
I feel for your predicament.
Sorry about the detergent,
by the way, I put it in before
I saw you there. Anyway it was
powdered. I can see by the way
your legs slip on the perforated tub
that you are nervous. Well I have
some extra courage; anyway
it would be too gross to kill you.
Let's do it this way: here's a plate.
I brought it from upstairs just for you.
Just get on it and I'll pull you up but
NOT with my bare hands or you might -
and I realize it's completely unin-
tentional on your part - crawl onto my
hand or jump down my bra, so I'm
just going to put this Garfield mug over
you - no first you have to get on the
plate Laundry Machine Spider, not -
Um. Well look, an actual garden hoe -
it's a little dirty, with dirt, but let's just
see if we can get you on the plate
with a little garden hoe motivation.
It reminds us that in times of need
unsuspected tools present themselves.
Understand that I mean no disrespect
by this prodding. So now - or, maybe
you would like to - yes, I see you
would - like to climb onto the handle
of the garden hoe, and we can just lift
you out like that. Yes, I think we under-
stand each other now, but don't run so
fast toward me, my courage is not limit-
less and I don't want to fuck this up.

Touch (from kathy c/o david)

I'm reading
"there are two senses of 'style'" - bump
this cat needs some attention

on behalf of kathy

who, for some reason, can't log into blogger. what half assed company runs this shit.

Deluded?

"I don't eat mushrooms.
I don't eat mushrooms.
Mushrooms are dirty."

Everyone likes eggs.
If they're chopped fine in an omelette, and the conversation is good,
I think she'll eat the mushrooms.

As I run off to lecture, considering further signs that Montana State U. might not be the best long-term intellectual or professional home for me.

Last night I met
a professor of
billiards.

Morning drive to school

Stiff beard and yarmulke
jogging down Sunset,
towel flapping.

Shouting "Whoah!"
as my turd falls -
hope nobody else is in here.

And absinthe doesn't quite achieve it's proud
legend. And cradles left by church's doors
at night in rain do not fill us with loss.
The N train's still quiet at stops
troubles us, as we hear ourselves so clearly.

looking at the world through dirty glasses

Last afternoon ("last afternoon?") I gave
A sexy European lady Krong Krang.
Krong Krang!
Sweet, fried goodness, with salt, and pepper too.
And she gave me a sweet and salty accented mouthful of Thank you.

Burbank, 7:49 a.m.

I work in Burbank and pass a bunch of the movie studios on my morning drive.

White guys in sweats
cheering - a football game?
No, the writers' strike.

It's Important to Tell Him What Feels Good: Thoughts upon realizing that the way you were raised left you unprepared to sustain healthy relationships.

But what about my
emotional clitoris,
Mom?

Holy Sonnet XIV: The Morning After

Battered my heart,
Three-Person'd God
Could stand to learn
Something of lube.

creation as domination as transubstantiation

A muse approaches.
I seize a squid from the cold ocean brine,
writhing in hand,
your ink is mine, your beak my nib,
your life my will.

And all will suffer for art. Some for their own. Some for other's.

Yeah, sure, his poetry's good;
But how's his ink?

quietly fighting the urge to impale someone with their own rhetoric, or, Making Friends through Video Conference.

try that again,
please, try that again,
and you'll taste how well you last wiped.

Note to self after reading particularly egregious typo in student paper on Murakami's "Year of Spaghetti": Re-emphasize proofreading in class.

The spaghetti seamed
like an escaped
goat.

"To Catch a Predator" circa 1858

"I'll cable" thinks Samuel Morse
"a young blonde... with words... rather coarse".
But since the wire diverts
through Sweden he flirts
with a man of ethnicity Norse.

Inspired by Noodler's The Whiteness of the Whale. Though I haven't seen the actual stuff, I'm attracted by the promise: It's all in the chase.

The ink in
Thi's pen is
like Moby Dick

May I speak for an old friend?

This burger is good.
Juices running over my lips,
Like transparent sexual imagery,
Like a cling-wrap dress they use to wrap the meat.
The world is a meat market, and no one is vegetarian.
Where do they keep the kosher meat?

A knock on my door two years before.
“You wanna hang out, Man?”
They still called me “Man” back then.
“Uh … no.”
Mistake!
“Let me piss first,” I should have said,
“Because I’ve got a big dick,
And it likes to remind me that it’s still there,
It has needs.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Let’s get a steak, some tacos lengua.”

A mistake
Changed my life.
I should have gone
And maybe stayed gone.
Would I notice the difference now?
Do you notice you have balls?
Yes
No
Take it for granted
You always know.
Do I have balls?
Do I have anything else?
Do I need anything else?
Friends with balls.
And a juicy piece of meat.

Reflections on the last day's worth of activity on this site

All my friends
are better poets than me.
Who knew?

Somebody else's haiku

It is autumn
I gaze at the moon
With no child on my knee

-Onitsura (from an R. Blythe book)

Too much flesh
on his face
for his emotions.

Norton Simon museum, grey Sunday afternoon

Museum.
I'm looking at
naked chicks' feet.


This museum
makes me want
to adopt a turtle.


Sorusie -
his violets
look like moon rocks.


Today
Sarah notices
belly buttons.

Apples, carelessly baked.

Machine wash cold.
Love you, too.
Wash with like colors. Tumble dry warm.

Dinner Menu

• cider, slowly mulled with cloves
  
• chicken soup, white broth, raw ginger
  
• apples, carefully baked, vanilla ice cream
  
• haunch of a blonde
  
• oblivion
  

There are only so many politic ways to say 'I don't want to see so much of you anymore.'

Well,
I'm glad you've told me
that that's how you feel.

The party's over.

I'm so thirsty.
70 oz. in 70 seconds.
I'm so stupid.

He's from Tel Aviv.

We thought Israelis
would be cooler -- not
just cooler than midwesterners.

Proximity as the Source of All Suffering

Reading Jane Smiley's The Greenlanders,
I craved sheep's milk cheese and dried mutton
through six hundred pages and two famines.
This morning, fishing in my video game,
pieces of deep-fried bluegill oozed their
luscious grease into napkins
in my imagination.
Laid up with a minor gunshot wound,
Nick Charles in The Thin Man has just ordered
a chopped raw beef sandwich from the deli
downstairs, with lots of onions. God,
they had it so good in New York in 1932.

When I'm feeling depressed, I try to remember that others' lives are also fraught with strife, often in circumstances far less hygienic than my own.

Marshall, Will, and Holly,
on a routine
Expedition.

Hanging in
my space
like old cow fart.

A depressed person is probably not the best source of ideas regarding how to overcome depression.

Crest Whitestrips.
Only, instead:
for brains.

Revelations on Power and Significance

La la la la,
La la la la,
Elmo's world.
And don't forget it, bitch.

On finding myself tempted to drink whiskey at home for the first time in a long time.

Young child's slow breathing
through a slightly stuffy nose.
It's not drinking alone, right?

Reasons why it may become more appropriate to take dirty diapers out immediately at certain times of year

tree's falling leaves,
cold rain at my closed windows.

The new, improved Clorox Toilet Wand System. (Keep it all together in our designer caddy.)

Because a bathroom can be more
than just
a bathroom.

I thought it was
a crack on a cup
but it was only
my hair.

Case study: Partial explanation for my difficulty adjusting to life in Bozeman, MT since arriving in August.

Magpie
on my windowsill.
Have a Snickers, magpie.

Brief existential crisis after realizing absurdity of negotiation process with editor at a university press.

Violent anal sex
for color plates?
...Seems fair.

Sun Tzu says I'm hopeless.

I was reading Sun Tzu’s Art of War,
In Los Feliz at Skylight Bookstore,
When a gal caught my eye,
But as hard as I tried,
I could not get my jaw off the floor.

Depression, Part III

This fountain pen forum
has too little
traffic.

Depression, Part II

I could do dishes.
That sounds
like fun.

Obsessed student, please leave my office. Your squirming is reminding me of bad MTV videos from my tormented youth.

The fish
from that song by
Faith No More.

It has been an hour, please leave my office hours before I call the TA...

Obsessed student:
I will not share
your Cheetos.

challenge

poem on the subject of this phenomenum.

purpose

yes, it kindof has. The inspiration comes from Bashō's Narrow Road to the Interior, which is essentially a travel log interspersed with haiku. So the intention, such as we have one, is to be a sort of poetry exchange. haiku are nice, but not required. sestinas, limericks and such as all welcome.

Has this replaced the screaming fish?

A tattoo of Iris Murdoch
is almost as wonderful
as Iris Murdoch.

Failed

This one I couldn't get right. Too many elements in one haiku:

Phone ringing!
He can't find the pockets
in his Spiderman costume.


This one is particularly terrible:

Frantic, he
searches for his phone
in his Spiderman costume.



Lecture hall:
He can't find his phone
in his Spiderman costume.


Phone ringing in class!
Where are the pockets
in this Spiderman costume?

Eager to please,
his hair flops
as he lunges.

From a recent visit to some people:

In the toilet -
an unflushed turd.
David's house.

The date pudding
isn't as good as she'd hoped.
Alison's face.

Grotesque smile.
He's so happy that
I'm even talking to him.

I'd thought reading
flashlight reviews was
rock bottom. Nope.

Depression

Spent the morning
reading ink reviews.
Somebody help.

...4...5...6...testing

Philosophy aside my friend,
And joking too – but just for now –
Or maybe not; I can’t resist.
What do you call a legless cow?

That somehow sounds familiar, no?
I know it does, but I don’t care.
I’m so glad that you wrote to me,
I’m singing, jumping in the air.

I’m laughing ‘til it hurts and still
I cannot stop, or breathe, or stand.
I’m trying, really, to make sense
Of what I feel … YOU are the man!

And now that that is out of the way,
I think my verse can start to twist --
My rhyme and reason intertwine --
And still, I hope, give you the gist

Of feelings that I’ve had this week
And last week, and the week before,
When I kept going to your blog,
In hopeful, fruitless search for more

Of you and … Alright, I give up.
I’ve drafted thoughts and feelings now,
And nothing’s good; I’ve learned but this:
I’m just a puppy. Arf! Bow-wow.

You are the man of learning grand,
And I a Pavlovian amateur
I’ll gladly take you any way,
But next time not tetrameter?

testing...1...2...3

I met a man of learning grand
who sang a song of twisting verse,
unsure if what he made could be
considered thought, he thought he had
so proved that he existed not.