but I'm also peering down the barrel
of a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips.
Grabby fingers poised and ready,
picking the small bits of sour
for the grace of twisted mouth.
but my gaze is fixed.
The greasy silver cradles the crunchy glories,
all puffed through with bubbles and twists,
folding over on their own delicious knees,
ecstatic to meet
the grinding altar of my teeth.
My little poem for dVerse's Thursday OpenLinkNight #193! Any poem will do, they say, so here's to potato chips!
I am proud to unveil my new book! It's called Pulp. It's about fruit and sex and you can buy it here.
The day has arrived! My wonderful readers, I know some of you are poets too. As writers, we want to share our creations with the world...but sometimes the world gets sticky fingers. As I am the only practicing lawyer who is simultaneously a performing slam poet that I know, I want to do what I can to help out my community in the ways only I can, and what I can do and want to do is protect your chapbooks from plagiarism!
Visit my newest website for more information on how this all works, you lovely, sensible poets.
30 days has September, April, June, and November. I'm not posting every day this month, but I will be writing every day and sometimes sharing.
One too many layers
two too many accessories
creates a thickness on her,
a scum of cheap calculation;
the sweat of mannequins.
She is RossDressForLess,
she is JCPenny and Marshalls and Target
all exploded and crammed back
together with a fistful of hairspray.
Yes, this girl will get into your RV.
Yes, this girl will date in minutes for dollars
and take out the spite of losing on the camera lens
as if it's his balls.
I've got some poetry videos up on youtube!
One video was taken by the amazing Jill Greenseth, one is from when I was the calibration poet at VanSlam, one from the night I won the Eugene slam, and a few (more on the way) from the night I featured with Johnny No Bueno at Kitchen Sessions in Bellingham, WA.
#5 was lame, so I didn't post it.
My knees and hips curve inward
when I stand up straight;
my body has been trying to hug itself like this
since I was eight years old
but this self-love is slowly crippling me.
I need to re-align myself,
keep standing all twisted out
so I can learn
how to be correct.
3/30 Secured Transactions Poem I
Skim your bank account:
trace the lines of your money.
Mark on the doorjamb
how it has grown!
Hold all your transactions to your breast, rock them
and secure them;
know what is yours
and how to take it.
If you are giving away interests
whisper in their ears as they leave;
tell them that you love them
and hope they come back
sound and whole.
Promise them you will not default.
is a dirty word on their sheets;
tell them you'll be solvent for them.
Tell them even if you end up with
after-acquired interests or proceeds
it won't make you love them any less.
[Also up on facebook in the Portland Poetry Month '12 group. Go check it out, there's some amazing stuff being posted there every day all month!]
This poem is in a form called the ghazal.
The waves smooth down the shell and the stone.
The shell crumbles. The stone remains stone.
You think your vision is clouded?
Close your eyes and see like a stone.
Climb the mountain, but sit at the summit;
invite inside the craggy peace of stone.
We all lose something in the fall; rain must shatter.
Gravity may choose to be kinder to stone.
In the end, water always wins.
Given time, it will crack the most solid stone.
Lover, thanks for letting me know. And it's fine;
your visit was not set in stone.
Please don't assume I'm angry
when my face is slack like stone.
The basics remain the most effective instruments.
No weapon fits in the palm as neatly as a stone.
Does the hermit crab ever wish he could stop all this shell business
and live in a house of stone?
The world will always remember
the day you cast the first stone.
What shooting first and paying second gets you;
a prison of flash-frozen stone.
How extensive are these catacombs?
The deepest heart of the earth is not made of stone.
Trolls rejoice and roast their prey by moonlight.
Sunshine turns them instantly to stone.
History is written by the winners;
the past is not set in stone.
Trees must bend to survive the storm.
For a short time, the storm bows to the stone.