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flies in milk
to hell with her eyes: my beloved ; more than enough ; two loopholes
Wed, Apr. 9th, 2003 11:00 am

I think this is good. I feel good about this. It's very drafty, but it's making me smile.



If it's dark, then slide with me. A loose red
in the winter, make a mutter, make
a second man. In my dream, I saw you swimming. Ozone
loose in the hair, tangle love where my skin sleeps. I do not
wash away. I do not leave you.


                        Sleep under my lips. Sleep under my words.
This is the language, close against us, running
ink across your hands. Press me to the stones
of the river, and push. Or:


forget me. The heart is the heart, red and unmoving. You can be
the tongue against my skin; you can be the river in my hair. We are
locked and undone; we're clasped and finished. I would hold you.


[edited Thursday to implement the changes I made last night, deleting "Deceive." from being the first sentence of the first line, and changing in the second section "indelible / ink on your hands" to "running / ink across your hands". Yes.]

Current Music: "Every Me and Every You" -- Placebo


Tue, Apr. 1st, 2003 06:15 pm


                for _reema

Unrequited-- let's begin it with a promise. This is a poem
Not worth chaining: we are strewn with purpose, arm across my face, your lips are
Clean and metered. Second measures. Jester of some
Other kingdom; sunshine gin and to die trying. Jester of what is
Under that rock. Make yourself a sum of pieces:
Placed and nettled; drawn-out lying. Let me borrow. Let me
Loosen. Grant hope, dock cloven. We are stretched and unbecoming,
In double time; due wishes. Tap the glass for slowness. Nape of
Neck or knife bent; gun cocked; roses rising. Conversation. (Some other
Grinning, ugly dreamer.) Some rare pleasures.


I want to have written 70 acrostics by the end of the summer. I said a hundred, last night, but having looked at my poetry folder really hard since I've revised that figure for realism.

Current Music: "Nancy Boy" -- Placebo (in my head)


Thu, Mar. 27th, 2003 10:56 pm


                Reginald Shepherd

When I look down, I see the season's blinding flowers,
the usual mesmerizing and repellent artifacts:
the frat boy who turns too sharply from my stare,
a cardinal capturing vision in a lilac bush

on my walk home. I'm left to long
even for simple dangers. From the waist up
it's still winter, I left world behind
a long time ago; waist down it's catching

up, a woodpecker out my window is mining grubs
from some nameless tree squirrels scramble over.
When I turn back it's gone, I hadn't realized
this had gone so far. (Everywhere I look

it's suddenly spring. No one asked
if I would like to open drastically. Look up.
It's gone.) Everywhere fruits dangle
I can't taste, their branches insurmountable,

my tongue burnt by frost. White boys, white flowers,
and foul-mouthed jays, days made of sky-blue bordeoms
and everything is seen much too clearly:
the utterance itself is adoration, kissing

stolid air. I hate every lovely thing about them.

rustmuse, if you don't like this one, you are crazy.

Current Music: "You Don't Care About Us" -- Placebo


Sun, Mar. 16th, 2003 10:59 pm

Á snuipt aeoofft a see phûini.


Se païdui?

Current Music: "Stnrm wAmning" -- l9rnsx.


Sat, Feb. 22nd, 2003 11:25 pm

100 Years Ago in Forward Magazine.

Give me pants or give me death! Harry Gorman,
a woman who lived for 20 years disguised as a man,
ran away from the hospital to which she had been
confined after her secret was discovered. Gorman,
who was well known and very active in political
circles in Buffalo, was even married a few years ago.
Last winter, Gorman slipped on some ice and was
brought to the hospital, where it was discovered that
Mr. Harry Gorman was really a Mrs. When the hospital
was ready to release her, she said that if she couldn't
wear men's clothing, she would throw herself over
Niagara Falls. When her disappearance was detected
yesterday, it was also noticed that a man's suit had
also gone missing.

Current Music: "Dig Ophelia" -- Rasputina