[wi•ki•tha•ra]

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/11 + 12

2010-11-12T22:54:00.004-06:00

(There were poems here, but they have been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/10

2010-11-10T23:20:00.002-06:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/9

2010-11-09T22:07:00.002-06:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/8

2010-11-09T16:51:00.003-06:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/7

2010-11-07T19:09:00.002-06:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/6

2010-11-06T22:50:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/5

2010-11-05T23:30:00.003-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/4

2010-11-04T22:59:00.001-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/3

2010-11-03T20:19:00.006-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/2

2010-11-02T12:52:00.004-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

November PAD (Poem-a-Day) Challenge - 11/1

2010-11-01T13:15:00.004-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

On Trading Music with my Fiancé

2010-04-11T22:58:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

shell game

2010-04-10T21:46:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

tanka

2010-04-09T23:25:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

On Noticing a Pattern in My Dreams

2010-04-08T23:26:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure why it falls on me to kill
the Cabbage Patch zombie army with Super Soakers

filled with Kentwood water. Or why I'm trapped
in a blurry room, stacking — never eating —
towers of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Why Cher

has a zipper on her bodysuit that runs from wrist
to hip. How that zipper contains such waves of pit hair

& gems. The reason she plucks those gems so carefully,
arranges them on my skin. Why I must shine every flower
on the cover of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

My nights are built on anxiety, I suppose — the knowledge
that I must Do Something, even if I don't understand it.

I'll never know how I knew that my Christmas scooter
would be teal, why I sucker-punched my fiancé over tea.
But I'll understand when a friend says, "I dreamed

I could turn into either a zombie or a werewolf. So,
I fought my enemies as a zombie since zombies can't die,

then turned into a werewolf to heal quickly."
He chocks it up to video-game logic. I say
we have the same dreams with different special effects.

bed to interstate before

2010-04-07T23:36:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

Where's Vegas When You Need It?

2010-04-07T10:36:00.001-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

tumbled from truck

2010-04-05T22:54:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

struts

2010-04-04T23:14:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

& white

2010-04-03T21:20:00.002-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

a rag like The Thinker

2010-04-02T23:13:00.004-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

——when a jawless woman clutches

2010-04-01T23:59:00.001-05:00

(There was a poem here, but it has been hidden. Sorry.)

Threshold

2009-04-12T17:41:00.000-05:00

Here is what I know:
the landlady's windchime hangs
in her yard, rings like dropped dimes.

The half-red cardinal
nests under the poolhouse roof.
I have burned myself cooking.

*

This happens a lot.
What happens outside distracts
me from sad indoor patterns.

How important can
my hot welt be when children
on bikes ride paved horizons?

*

They are content to
stop only when their parents
order it. What happens next?

Perhaps they wait for
images to crest their view.
I waste my eyes searching brinks.

Instruction

2009-04-11T17:20:00.001-05:00

How did you become
Master? The better question:
how did you become Student?

I wanted to learn;
you know something. Well, the same
applies—you teach, I study.

Advice

2009-04-10T22:10:00.000-05:00

You are too morbid.
Where is the joy that lifts eggs
from your palms as you juggle?

The mess they can make
should not change the toss. Their yolks
are runny no matter what.

Memorium

2009-04-09T22:56:00.000-05:00

When a woman dies,
her husband asks for a poem
inscribed to her memory.

I will write for days,
only manage to stutter
her name and favorite color.

Lust

2009-04-08T21:53:00.001-05:00

The act is worthless—
I am better drunk, fallen
across someone else's bed.

At least I can still
whisper, feign work on a play,
give it the date as title.

*

This fire I take
to light my cigarette flares
brighter than my shy fingers.

I cannot write poems
when my hands shake, their joints crack,
the pens they know dry of ink.

*

My master once said:
Fuck all you want, but never
use lovers' tongues to wet nibs.

All the mystery
and grind that words desire
exists in their syllables.

Field Day

2009-04-07T23:58:00.002-05:00

Master reads my poems.
You waste your time with sight. Try
listening to yourself.

How? Walk across dry
grasses. Crush twigs. Steal pinecones.
Whatever breaks your focus.

*

What is satori?
The memory of shoes—your
bare feet smooth against old bark.

My shoes are missing.
I have lost them in a tree
where pinecones grow fat as gourds.

Variations

2009-04-06T20:44:00.002-05:00

The student is shell—
mind coiled within a pearl room.
Somehow, she hears the ocean.

She follows water's
voice. Is this home, she asks. No,
it is just your open fist.

*

The shell is student—
pearl room coiled within mind.
Somehow, the ocean hears her.

Water follows her
home. Is this voice, it asks. No,
just me opening my fist.

Foolish

2009-04-05T13:23:00.005-05:00

Spring arrives like fall:
small birds light in clipped branches,
loosen the sky to wedges.

I try to write this
as Master tells an old joke.
The punchline is open fist.

*

Are you sure that's it—
open fist? Or open first?
Does it matter if you laugh?

Do not grip your words
so tight as to strangle them
of their possibilities.

Identity

2009-04-04T12:42:00.001-05:00

Master is nameless,
sexless, defined by title.
I have a name that I hate.

You are more than name.
You are the paths that rains trail—
the measure of their tumble.

Dreams

2009-04-03T12:02:00.002-05:00

I dream of old lovers—
men and women, their elbows
dust against lichen rock beds.

It is the color
that bothers me. I do not
understand what makes such green.

*

Master, I blame it
on bad wine, too many nights
spent meditating on death.

So easy to push
a dream from the mind, dismiss
its essential weight with sense.

*

It means nothing, though.
Poet, it means everything.
What are you if not reader?

Dreams are the old script,
interpretation, why moons
fatten and slim every night.

Meaning

2009-04-02T16:29:00.000-05:00

Master, I am no
master. No good at answers,
and no better with questions.

Do you think me wise
because I speak? Your silence
is better than dialogue.

*

What is mastery?
It is the chance to call
like things also, too, as well.

Do also, too, and
as well have the same meaning?
To know is called mastery.

Proposal

2009-04-01T16:18:00.000-05:00

The master asks: Why
write love poems? I say: language
is the body lovers know.

You know that lone form
lacks sinews to arch or snap.
I have no better answer.

*

Look to the water:
the white pool, leaf-clogged; three frogs
circling. What is the question?

No, or maybe yes—
leaf yields. Yes, or maybe no—
water, frogs, all things echo.

*

I do not write love.
The master says: One cannot
elude what the language seeks.

The no becomes yes.
Yes grasps maybe and never.
The pool levels, clears in heat.

( from Bone Folder :: 5 )

2006-10-03T02:03:00.000-05:00

spellwork

“Mastery consists not in abnormal dreams, visions
and fantastic imaginings or living [...]
Transmutation, not presumptuous denial, is the
weapon of the Master.”
                       —The Kybalion



 ::

 quarter-rain.       water measure.
  numerology of sky.

  ::

  clouds third-gray.       sugar skulls piled
   on día de los muertos.

::

our skin bread.       sweet with egg. sun
 marigold. la calaca

   ::

   with your femur        saffron light
    wrapped in pollen-muscle.

 ::

 this spell. pearl       of water. grind.
  coat. num63r5 letter-painted.

  ::

  equations       on copal smoke.
   three makes triangle. four. this

::

stool held still.       add for seven.
 houses. bridges. twin-span built

   ::

   in angles. solve       for best result.
    regression of y on x

 ::

 where y chimes       before yourself.
  x is any value left.

  ::

  probably       science becomes
   probability science.

::

construction.       grammar-glamour.
 clavicle incantation.

   ::

   answers. black       math. underground
    mictecacihuatl sings.

 ::

 magician.       come whet your bones.
  this is what you learned by hand.

  ::

  seek circles       in brackish black
   or deserts where cacti bloom

::

like besoms.       brush sand spiral.
 siphon season into grass.

   ::

   walk without       ceremony
    to cities past cities.

 ::

 arid air        your pantheon.
  wait for los angelitos

  ::

  to rise. beg       coin from your purse.
   you won’t need it. offer. melt.

::

traffic in       corn. brown sugar.
 lick flour from every loaf.

   ::

   eat what you       can drink. sweat.
    leave no crumbs behind.

 ::

 sew your arms       to poppets.
  sell them in back-alleys till

  ::

  your knees give.       surrender
   feet. breasts. tourist eyes shaded

::

by straw hats.      rosario.
 let your name be thunderhead.

   ::

   rise full. break       your throat shouting
    inequalities. subtract.

 ::

 shotgun dark       between your cheeks.
  forget why you came here. grow

   ::

   common as       dandelion
    while your sphenoid fades in streets

::

as men’s hands       spread open in
 mariposa cups to catch.

( from Bone Folder :: 4 )

2006-07-21T23:37:00.001-05:00

Relevé

9 am:
                crack
of a lazy dawn

& I am on her land for the first time:
        covenstead:

6-foot privacy fence marking
—— borders ——
                              sacred space as property:

grass growing in slowgreen motion: dull cicada click & hum. Everything pushing up & up
& up.
My name is Lily, I said.
Sarah-Fey looked at my whitesilk hands

         ( still so still ) flat against my sides. Her first words: "I hope you wilt as pretty as you stand." What was I seeking —— toes pointed at each other beneath that frilled sundress —— at her dais?
I was

         ( still so still ) young: a college freshman seeking Goddess in nutmeg's sharp snap: a child convinced of her memory. I thought I dreamed of Her: incense hazing Her face: a crown lifted from Hers & passed on. Priestess sounds a lot like princess to a little girl.

My first witching hour was 9 am: sun angled to my eyes as I turned the soil: light shaping every leaf. This was
                           what the heathens saw:
                           their knowledge.

"But our ways,"

she said, "have no roots in peasant fields. This coven traces its lineage to the noble French houses." Her witches were dames: titles earned by bloodline: the line of blood: the red ribbon drawn taut from grass to court.

To learn the ways of aristocracy, one must first learn how to serve;
& she demanded service, that I touch everything

gloveless.

          I cut my fingers on blackberries; the fruit plumped sweet & dangerous:

"We demand no blood sacrifice. If the land needs blood,
the land will take."

( le sang fait l'herbe se pousser )

Magic is baking: measure, blend, add elements, wait to rise. As a child, my grandmother taught me it was proper to cut one's hand slicing bread —— teach the knife who holds it.

Her sky floated above the true sky. She held it out of reach; no matter how hard I pushed my toes
in earth
& lifted
I would stay flat-
footed
nails cracked & bleeding
under my own weight.

( from Bone Folder :: 3 )

2006-07-13T03:39:00.000-05:00

Stiletto

       If Sarah-Fey were here,
she'd hold me with her left hand, fingers cabling my hair into restraints.
Point to the path worn grey in the grass with her right. "I showed you this road," she'd say.
"Taught you to find it blind.
              I conjured you, so I must bind you."
                            She would have a choice, of course:
loosen her fingers until I ran back to school;
or press her stiletto to my neck & draw down the moon:
                                    that moon three steps to new: ( blessèd be thy lips which utter the sacred names ) curved needle to pierce eyes —— stiletto —— through paper. Signatures. Each linen thread stitching, pulling:
                                          & if we had drawn Diana into us,
felt hound-snouts like wet stones against our knees,
She would lead us both —— blindfolded by lucky-hands —— to

a place where every Ia! Ia! is the dance of lashes against two palms;

a place where every O! is an eye held open by thumb & forefinger.

( from Bone Folder :: 2 )

2006-07-10T02:01:00.000-05:00

athame

where the horizon
                             thick
          -folds

  I am a queen

               of
          pages

( * )
one
              bone

knife
black with use

   smooth
crease      to

                         shinelight

burnish
               gold

        ( * )

touch of dusk
falls

                    in

                     line
to

       vellum

stars          -bound

( from Bone Folder :: 1 )

2006-07-08T02:04:00.000-05:00

La Grande Dame est mort! Vive la Grande Dame!

Her name was Sarah-Fey. In rumors she wore a belt of skulls.

She was a witch of a caliber ( think escalation: .22 to .45; semi-automatic to automatic ) I hope to never encounter again. Other witches blamed sick children on her. Whispers of noses clipped, crypts robbed, a waist circled in heads of state. She heard.

Now there is no one left to speak against,
to call out,
to evoke.

Last night I placed her body —— bone stretched thin as scarves —— into the ground & I am as much la grande dame as she was

la grande dame

sans merci.

No merci beaucoup for ma grande dame, my high priestess. "Witchcraft," said Sarah-Fey, "is its own reward. Anyone who says otherwise has never walked balefire barefoot in Louisiana June."

—————

Coatlique —— mother of 400 southern stars, the moon, the bluebird —— wore a necklace of hands & hearts. Skull as a pendant, dangling between her breasts; daughter's head for a nimbus.

Notice how her child's smile wanes like a thin scar against a sky of freckles.

Myth, like rumor, is a story where everything is true but the details.

Sarah-Fey kept my heart on her buckle, just above her sex & left of her blade. The last time we touched, I knelt —— kissed ( threefolds of five ) the delta of her thighs —— open-mouthed above her serpent-skirt: ( blessèd be thy womb without which we would not be ) a thin layer of cloth between tongue & valve.

—————

O, my priestess, forget everything the others say of you ( earbones fashioned from Crowley's fingers, et cetera ) & listen to me:

evocation: the act of calling out;
v.
invocation: the act of calling in.

I call you forth from your bed in Corona Borealis: curled asleep in a bowl of stars.

I bring you here, not as bodhisattva —— the body a box to keep the sattva in —— but as the office you held:

the great lady of witches: evokes from herself: invokes to herself: yes: this is thethis is the process of re-vealing: first, the veil, then the page, the word, myth, & again the veil

drops:

first conjugation: voco, vocare, vocavi, vocatus:
as much inflection as it is union: as much grammar as it is magic.

102: Canadian federal election, 1993

2006-04-12T22:50:00.000-05:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_federal_election,_1993
Bloc Québécois

The Bloc won 54 seats
a near sweep of
the francophone ridings
in a vote so broken
the people named Québécois

               a party formed 3 years before

l'Opposition
and Bouchard its Chef de

54 seats or
               10 less than the number of
parishes in Louisiana

      but more
   than double the students
      sitting in my lab displaced
             by water

                             *

creosote slapped over
palm

over palmetto

           over
poles
   and landlines
county seats whose creole is
sweet as tar
and just as stuck in numbers
like

                             *

progressive conservatives lost
     more than half their vote from 88
reduced to 2 seats
from 151

20something Tulane tranfers
who knows for UNO

and 84% asking who sits in l'Opposition
in a parish
when god's left
        the frame unfinished

101: Fanny Blankers-Koen

2006-04-11T19:05:00.000-05:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fanny_Blankers-Koen
To the girl

who walks the side
      of Sawgrass and Coral
Ridge everyday around 11:00 AM——

You don't know me
      unless
you remember me driving

past you on the ramp
      too fast always too fast
speed making

your broomstick skirt snap
      a wave of hello
or fuck off (except

today you weren't wearing
      that skirt
but khakis and black polo

lanyard and keys but still
      those earrings those disco
spangles in chandeliers)

*

Where do you go? The first time I saw your legs peaking from beneath that swirl of crinkled linen,

I wondered if this was what the Flying Housewife looked like to her son: face like a flag on the track, muscles taut against shorts, but thick as pillows under skirts——

Did she remember the Hongerwinter everytime she popped an ankle——

Would she yank her mother-apron up to her thighs to ride that bicycle given to help her to go through life at a slower pace——

*

And to this girl who doesn't know me but for the color of my car or a cute slogan glued to my bumper:

does your hair stay tight in that water-smooth braid

or can I imagine it
      as I do you
unwinding
hurdling out of itself
into a landscape I was never meant to pass

100: OpenBSD

2006-04-10T22:46:00.000-05:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/OpenBSD
Slogan Triptych

           (for the boys and girls of 232)

      1.
Sending script kiddies to /dev/null since 1995.

1 of 3 girls     3 tokens
            bitchface & red pen
    licking tips
red tongue
    room 232:
         where the code kids play
letting in english thru the front
    door
where it hides under desks
gets taped to
         walls     between brackets
comment code on the slash    // now we ride the loop-dee-loop

{ no one told me
      total control stayed
in the lab     under manuals }

{ no one told me
         17
    was too old to write hello world
for the 1st time }

      2.
Secure by default.

It was supposed to be easy money.

Simple: declare
    a pointer -->

int me()
{
Self* mySelf = new Major;    // Declares a pointer to a generic Self,
                                        // & sets it pointing to a newly-created Major.

mySelf->OutputName();    // This will output a "Major", not a "Self".

delete mySelf;

return 0;
}

or
else()    // what
{

      3.
Shut up and hack!

The man-made lakes of Boca Raton recede to their mud gums. There is code to this, too——a name for what is always variable. But I am only a subroutine, walking. I come when called.

99: Antartica

2006-04-09T01:44:00.000-05:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antarctica
Sundog / Zodiac of a Fingernail

If you could clip me, I would be waxing crescent / Once I was a mouth, gibbous until I closed over you / You took my name from Ptolemy—terra australis—to balance me against something higher / My shape was all flats and ice / Katabatic winds rended my plateau at the edge / Interior, they moderated themselves / Sometimes the sun touched my white skin, and I burned like Brazil / My diamond dusts shimmered carnivale, radiation tricky as an open circuit / Now, this ridge slit through, a quick: something little, rough / The nail in front of your face slides under your waistband, parhelios to the snow / Parhelios to the snow, the nail in front of your face slides under your waistband / Now, this ridge slit through, a quick: something little, rough / My diamond dusts shimmer carnivale, radiation tricky as an open circuit / Sometimes I burn like Brazil when the sun touches my white skin, and the interior moderates itself / Katabatic winds rend my polar plateau at the edge / My shape is all flats and ice / You take my name from Ptolemy—terra australis—to balance me against something higher / At once I am a mouth, gibbous until I close over you / I could / would / being / wax crescent if you clip me

32: Radhanite

2006-02-01T21:35:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radhanite
Ones who knew the way

They
 
          were mus           k,
cam               i
   phor   &      c     nnamon:   the aloe-hand guild.
 
Arabic, Persian, Roman,
 
Spanish, Slav: limit    - ed    n u m b e r 
                                             5 
                                          of  languages.
They load their goods
 
east           -west
      -east                on        bro
                                         ca
                                       de
a        n  e               t        & slave,
 
                  w              ork
cross
     ing
    camel-
back & sea,
 
       making sail to Constantinople    swords, fur,
                                   the palace
                       of the Franks.
 
One who knows the way      speaks:             rises
                                    "Incense            & 
                                                  falls
Hold amber                                        like empire.
in your hands; 
see how the light b   r
                   e
                         aks     gold?
 
This taste  lingers                      in your
         mouth for centuries."

31: Dixie

2006-01-31T21:08:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dixie_(song)
Found in the "$1 Clearance Bin" at K&B

Seventeen decks of playing cards.

Two packs of blank cards.
           (One with chicks.)

Four boxes of super tampons.

1996-1997 personal organizer.

Klassic Kartoons on Video, featuring
           Blackface Bugs singing "Dixie"
           Blackface Fudd singing "Camptown Races"
           (Exclusive! Banned from television!)

Discarded sign: Shoplifters will be prosecuted.
           (Once placed above the condoms.)

Purple, like Mardi Gras.

Purple, like bruise.

K&B purple stuck to bags,
           shoes,
           LSU-colored Confederate flags,
           Plantation Rooms.

Dixie.

Ice cream, melted.

High school graduation invitations
           (CON"GRADS", CLASS OF '98!)
           (NEVER BE ANOTHER CLASS LIKE U!)

[—and moms crammed their carts full of discounts and discards, said over five-time picked-overs, "We'll make the best of it. The past is the past. That color never looked good on anyone."]

30: Charles I of England

2006-01-30T20:44:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_I_of_England
Divine Right of Uncles, from Three Angles

1
guess
how it lands,
heads or tails. he flips, and the coin rolls in the air like a molecule. i'm right again. uncle richie loses quarters by fives, and Charles supervises. Charles knows gambling is serious. i walk away with 75 quarters and a wristwatch. Charles tosses in a book of stamps, just to show Charles can lose.

2
fists
full of money,
held in my sister's face. her skin drains dishwater-gray, then hotwater-red like my hands. hot water. we're in hot water. Charles, mom says, don't do that. Charles, can't you see she's crying. Charles, that's no way to punish. and i go back to dishes, done the way Charles asks.

3
days
in the bedroom,
door closed. mom says Charles is sick, he needs to rest. Charles will get better, he just needs medicine. that's what mom tells us before pushing us away from his door. so i wipe the tile down after every bath. not just the ones when i use the showerhead. i use lysol on the sink. bleach. i think i've upset my uncle Charles.

(years later i slept in uncle's bed, my hair spread between a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of astroglide, and asked who dictated.)

29: Prostate Cancer

2006-01-29T10:02:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostate_cancer
Multiple Choice

The only things I remember from the study guide:

Antediluvian is an insult for great-aunts.
Proctor sounds a lot like proctologist.

Cystoscopy. Apoptosis. Prostate. Prostrate. The men that might have taught me their language withdrew without forwarding test scores. All that vocabulary I never had to repeat. No spelling bees, no multiple choice. I failed that section.

*

"The results aren't good."

I place my hand to the scar on my mother's breast, divot wide enough for two fingers. Another surgery, and it will be four. Perhaps an entire hand. In a space too small to tear open with a pencil, my mom teaches me her vocabulary. The book stays closed. Later on, I refresh the verbal section alone. I pretend I'm learning cognates.

28: Imperial Japanese Navy

2006-01-28T16:41:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imperial_Japanese_Navy
Three Fortunes

—— [hitotsu]

Mutsuhito, Meiji Tennō
(     *       sixthman, enlightened rule heaven king)

The navy says, Shusei Kokubō, holds its place like brick and telegraph blacklines, running back-forth-back. East-Capital is not meant to stand, but lean. Into someone——anyone.

——
—— [futatsu]

Kaikoku Nippon, Poussière Navale
   (     mari    -time Japan, //         naval dust      )

Young schools, like young god-emperors, emphasize the tiny. Small calligraphic forms. Steam. Torpedo. Wife-consort. The wood rots without treatment. Rivalries settle themselves in 23 knots. Tie again.

——
——
—— [mitsu]

Kamikaze
(godwind                           *
         *            *)
               *
The prostitute wears her obi tied in front, as does the warrior. Below, ginkyō ages, fans itself on the ground. No blame to she who lifts her sleeve fastest.

27: €2 Commemorative Coins

2006-01-27T19:17:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/€2_commemorative_coins
Facio ut facias

(Partially burned paper found at the feet of a statue of Diana¹)

[wide-handed²] diana whose

priests

       ______        [sh]out

sexless
pleas[e] accept this

harp euro³ in [com]memor i

_________                         [e s in exult⁴]

[ation] of [you]r

bow,
    steamtamed

whitefoot deer

queen [of] wi[t]c[he]s

               han[d] str[i]king [sk]yblack

starfire lighting her scalp

[I do in order that you may do. Loosen your grip.]

¹ We refer to the figure as "Diana" because the author of the fragment does. While the statue depicts a young Roman female petting a greyhound, the exact name of the woman is unknown.
² Language appearing in brackets [ ] is reconstructed based on examination of the paper.
³ The harp suggests that this was not a commemorative Euro, but merely a standard Euro from Ireland.
⁴ Here the fragment is badly burned and difficult to decipher. We have included this section as a curiosity.

26: StarCraft

2006-01-26T22:27:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/StarCraft
Insert Credits to Continue

never played

(traitor)

      but watched

didn't understand, but watched

*

stayed up late to tape the Super Mario 3 special       dreamed of whistles & fireflowers       joysticks like unbroken calyxes worn smooth by eager hands

my hands roses       brightbud calluses on thumbs & palms       lips drawn into a jujube for blowing dust out the cartridge

& behind the shelf where I stored Link, Kirby, & Mickey Mouse       plastic bulbs filled with voodoo sprinkling powders

Gold Dust, Crossing, Uncrossing, Love Drawing       empty hotel shampoos steeping Four Thieves Vinegar & Water of Notre Dame

twelve-year-old fingers too soft to grind bones       up down up down left right left right B A start       grubbing in the coin return for silver

to resurrect the dead       set in their eyes       draw down the moon & start over

*

no insert credits to continue

no cheat code for worldbuilders
no matter how many quarters I slip

under Nana's pillow

25: Kalimpong

2006-01-25T20:56:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalimpong
Dissecting Orchids

We met at the theater, of all places. Him, in his rocker's leathers. Me, in thrift-shop tatters. Between reel-changes we sneaked behind the concession stand, talked about Buddhism. He hated the Dalai Lama.

"I'd never venerate that guy," he said. "Not by my own will."

Not by their own wills, Tibetan monks fleeing along the Jelepla Pass into Kalimpong, their robes lines with scripture. Not by his own will, Maninder Pal Singh Kohli confessing the murder of Hannah Foster.

Not by my own will.

Years later, I would call him Molasses-under-His-Eyes, just as I would call the Dalai Lama Teacher-of-the-Oceans. (All of them.)

Our lives, rhizomes and laminae—thin membranes pulled taut, snapped like cold-washed beans, grown wild.

I dream:

Next time
he would be an orchid,
tucked between three wool folds and a cardamom basket.

"There are ghosts,"

I'd say,
my hands cupping butane
to spark, light my cigarette on the road to Teesta Bazaar.

And he'd
tremble, his leaves shedding
their waxy sheen. Veins parallel. We might be even then.

24: Claudius

2006-01-24T20:55:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claudius
nouveau classique

    1.
ecce romani (look at the romans!)

nineteen:    (failing)
      subjunctives

[A grammatical mood of the verb that expresses wishes, emotion, possibility, judgment, necessity, commands within subordinate clauses, and statements contrary to fact. All Romance languages inherit their subjunctive from Latin, where the subjunctive mood combines both forms and usages from a number of original Indo-European inflection sets, including the original subjunctive and the optative mood.]

                     forgotten

       translating letters between
library
       hours

teacher whose name I forget pulling me aside:

         —Sixth place in state JCL, and all you can rustle is a C?
         —I know you can do better than this.

she knew my elusinian mystery

         —I know who you studied under.

    2.
u, claudius

,
ur will         suppressed
did u read ovid aloud?

            [only gods
choose new gods]

and where did u go
when nero's angry men

burned u from the pantheon

          and gothicus replaced u
once vespasian gave up his toga picta?

    3.
grammatical mood

In Book Four of Virgil's Aeneid, Mercurius ter Maximus speaks:

         —Varium et mutabile semper femina.
         —Woman: always variable and ever-mutable.

The adjectives varium and mutabile are in masculine form, inconsistent with the feminine form of the subject femina. Virgil's not here to confirm the distinction personally, but it's safe to assume he knew his grammar.

The obvious argument—use of masculine agreement retains the dactylic hexameter of the line—falls through. The feminine form would have kept the meter.

Perhaps Thrice-Great Mercury spoke with feminine insight.

Perhaps, noting vulva over phallus, he lent man authority over woman.

Or perhaps femina was too mutabile to be tied to adjective agreement.

    4.
claudius, i

can only see u

in the radiant crown
on ur double-
denarius

              sungold clamped to your scalp like a bear trap

rather than       on the senate floor
fingertips grubbing marble cracks
searching for
blood

                debate
haruspices with
bright
livers
to portent your marriage

    5.
cult of persephone

Mercurius ter Maximus // Hermes Trismegistus:

When you led the Kore back from Hades,
did you ask if she'd read Ovid?

I am nineteen, clawing my way out of bad translation.

I am twenty-five, still looking to talk my way out.

I am a gold leaf on a sparrow's back.

I breathe my name into your beak; I ask you to change me.

23: Planetary Habitability

2006-01-23T22:32:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Planetary_habitability
Predictable Contemplations of the Body as Planet as Body

It's a formula, the body as planet as body.

(Not quite

2C₄H₁₀(g) + 13O₂(g) --> 8CO₂(g) + 10H₂O(g)

; stoichiometry is one part art, two parts math.

Balanced.)

Complex colonies of bacteria camp in human hair, but those unicellulars also live in the geyser's sulfuric curve.

Low mass means less life retention. No atmosphere. Too smooth to stay that way. Cue the eruptions, quakes. Then, geological death; no energy to crank.

Fat people make better planets because they have gravitational pull. Large iron core. Magnetic fields blocking solar wind.

High metallicity in their stars, spitting off sparks, proplyds, secrets of the Drake equation.

The notion of a habitable zone may have to be expanded or discarded as too restricting.

The Fermi paradox refutes astrobiology's assertion that I'm hot, and extrasolar bodies get sexier every day.

Poets consider themselves habitable, unaware they're the most hostile environments.

22: History of Test Cricket (1884 and 1889)

2006-01-22T12:35:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Test_cricket_(1884_to_1889)
Catnip & Goetia

flat bat // witch's wand // catnip & goetia

standing at the end of the
pitch
bowlers all around

two
girls

with willow
standing near ash
this flat bat
this witch's wand
willow for healing
ash for strength

a test of endurance

test
cricket

test
this shop

for new age books & things
where one girl says:

"I haven't used Four Thieves Vinegar since I was 14!"

& everyone looks:

*
"For Heaven's sake, Barlow, stop the rot!"

The history of Test cricket between 1884 & 1889 was one of English dominance over the Australians. In 1883 England won the Ashes, beating Australia 2-1. England won every Test series that was played.

*
colonial dominance

shaman's sport

at checkout
where she buys dragon's blood
two candles
catnip & goetia

she must be some rotter

looking like
a wand-waver

a bowler breaking
for lunch
tea
& biscuits with demons on the field

21: Economy of the Iroquois

2006-01-21T11:42:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economy_of_the_Iroquois
three sisters,

unrelated: each (technically) an only child:

maize: structure for climbing beans: no need for pole supports: short kernels: popping bits:
Husk-goddess, Lady-of-the-Fields, She whose feet break soil like leaves—

beans: provide nitrogen other plants take: all curves: crafty flowers: scrutable genetics:
I know at times I've been You, my stems bent toward easy light,

squash: spreads along the ground: monopolizes sunlight: prevents weeds: retains water: living mulch
but perhaps that bit of You-in-Me is really Me-in-You, fleshform, waxform.

companion planting: scaffold of family economics: one-little two-little three-little indians: girls going to

seed

:
photosynthesis:

two genera joined by a half-sister
renegade code
making economy
division of labor allowing
all three girls to carry their own harvest

back to the gononh'sees.

20: Tooth Development

2006-01-20T22:52:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tooth_development
Timeline: mastectomy

Development is difficult to stage.

Crown     Hard tissues form and mineralize. Assignment. Enamel. Bright nails tapping against incisors. That was years ago, when you kept them slick and round. When your hands mattered. I dreamed you combed my head as I slept.

Bell     Differentiation. I say English; you say computer science. We argue over futures writing code or prose, not knowing your cells split like hair. You note all knots, cords, niches. I cut my backlength braid.

Cap     My first publication: always thumbtacked above your desk. Eventually, each part produces. Cells multiply. Breasts harden. Pancreas slows, stops. Teeth fall out. All those supporting structures, which held so well, crumble.

Bud     Where you are. That knife-flattened chest rises, falls, catches. I've almost forgotten that hollow space in your smile. Where your secret leaks. Where no tooth returns.

This stage is difficult to develop.

My hair is long again.

Let me brush yours now.

19: Hero of Ukraine

2006-01-19T08:22:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero_of_Ukraine
contributor's copy

"We no longer knew whether we were in heaven or on earth, nor such beauty, and we know not how to tell of it."
—St. Vladimir's emmissaries, upon arrival in Constantinople

i am a word signifying a story of real events.

———
i fly bylinas to kievan rus′
i contribute
i dance orthodox steps
i am not the sola scriptura
controversial
i accept my order of the state
for ukraine & the union
i am signified
i am honored
———

therefore, brethren, stand fast, and hold the traditions which you
have been taught, whether by our spoken word, or by our epistle.

———

trident
oak leaves
great labor
free verse

myrrh veils

———

i am the velikiy kniaz′;
i wear my title on the right.

18: Article 153 of the Constitution of Malaysia

2006-01-18T19:27:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Article_153_of_the_Constitution_of_Malaysia
Old shapes

Yang di-Pertuan Agong holds the Bumiputra in his hands. Notice how the old, rough shapes clump together: small wonder. Those fingers

c
u l
r ,

protect. All acute bends and right angles. Illusion of a curve. The Bumiputra cannot roll sideways and upside-down to escape. The tops of their heads gleam dark.

The spline of the idea, that old witch of Agnesi: continuation of the colony. Outsiders cut off. Nativity arc. Those British laws protecting Malay from Chinese, from Indian.

Flag-waving, singing the Negaraku, ritual: social contract. Also: 15% discount on real estate, matriculation. Middle class. Callused hands smoothing edges on old shapes, wearing them, softening those barbs that, piecewise, hooked them.

17: Butter

2006-01-17T21:59:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butter
Nutrition

People remember artifice.
They know religion via Milton, not God.

You know butter via shortbread, not value. To reiterate: one tablespoon of butter has 100 calories. All from eleven grams of fat, seven saturated. Remember your grandmother who lapsed into weekly comas. All that Italian bread. And butter. Later, pumpernickel and cream cheese. One slice is a serving. One bar is four. Do the math. Bad nutrition. You are on a diet.

What is valuable to your body.
What you can live without.

Hunger is a game. How long you sustain, starving for mash and grind. Remember how your family did it before. Large glasses of water. Pasta. Shortening. Fennel. No butter. Indulge in olive oil. Just enough to slick the throat. Test your blood sugar. Nine calories for a gram of fat. Four for a protein. Injection.

South Beach is a lifestyle.
Needles stick out at night.

This is an addiction. Come home looking for butter. Something soft. Easy to spread. You forget to eat. Bottom out. In the morning your toast sticks to the floor. You can't fit it in your mouth, so you settle. For building. Castles.

16: Texas Rangers Division

2006-01-16T10:40:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Ranger_Division
Borderlands

"Institutionalized religion fears trafficking with the spirit world and stigmatizes it as witchcraft. It has strict taboos against this kind of inner knowledge."
      —Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands/La frontera: The New Mestiza

Gods on horseback trained to aim
shoot
reload.

Dreams of riding beside

Sam Walker
John Ford
William Wallace
Chuck Norris.

The division relating to the Texas Rangers may not be abolished
but it may be haunted
taken a
            -cross

            [The magician says: "I am the daughter of fortitude, ravished every hour from birth. I am understanding; science dwells between my legs. Behold! By force of will I make my commands heard and obeyed."]

los diablos tejanos
evoked
in blackland borderland
astral trash sticking their spurs

the law in these parts
every man a star
that badge a shaman seal

*

*       (circled)       *

*               *

texmex ground into every grain of sand
every tortilla
every denim layer
every city raised in honor of the dead

15: TGV

2006-01-15T11:10:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TGV
je ne parle pas

train of grand speed

:: falling into
project ::
and choose to jump rather than skip

(the less I understand)

I didn't ride the Eurostar when I travelled
"plenty of rude French waiters in the hotel
without me riding their commuter train"

(My student wrote a poem about the Euro
so simple I envied her

I overcomplicate

build

perpetual motion machines

carriage re
-turns
,
but) my French is bad

Bahnjoor, jeh m'apple

I sound like a coonass
Like I was BORN THERE

*

Mme. Handall hollowed her mattress to learn to read
her father threatened with death for educating her
she slept on the weight of words
quilted over
the knowledge breaking her back
little by little from seven to twelve
(she slept on a heating pad the rest of her life)

Five years of language.

She would cry if she knew
the only French I remember:

I am an American.
Where is the bathroom?
May the flames of Islam consume your degenerate lifestyle.
For added fun, pop eyeball out of socket.
Blood makes the grass grow.
This food makes me vomit.
These clothes would look good on an alien.
I speak little French.
I'm sorry.

She'd say I gave up my blood
to avoid the switch I missed

the train à grande vitesse in favor of a pirogue
greasing my proud tongue with hyacinths.

14: War of the League of Cambrai

2006-01-14T03:06:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_of_the_League_of_Cambrai
angle of the descant

we were old before they raised their blades
falling iron
to take our lands
but this god-place, these words of what is both—

———
                —i am starting over

leland was a liar

but that makes his italian witchqueens matter more

those dianic breasts high and small
like a miata's side
you should never expect your car to foster maternal instincts
cars are not cute but dangerous

the venetian collapse: complete

war of holy leagues and foots and farthings and
(say it)
fathoms
fathom this

francis advances on milan and miami both

———

welcome to the improv
this is the art of composition

fuck your earth logos

my queer feet on plainsong

     plainsong plainsong           , white

nails, white sheets, white on white on something
perhaps a curve of moon
think diana (again)
doing a press conference

my fellow a       then     i     ans
my fellow a       me     ric    ans

i'm too old
too broken for this
what you need is someone new

my virtues are yours
virgins and underdogs, wildhaired
so take my bow

aim

    set it to

                fire———

———

and the italian wars
thus reignited
would continue until 1530
without significant interruption

failing
counterpoint

this word of what is both,
these gods-but-places take our blades
we were falling iron,
old before they raised their lands to—

13: Game Theory

2006-01-13T19:19:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Game_theory
Games Girls Play (II)
(for S.G.)

She's the kind of Women's & Gender Studies student that Women's & Gender Studies programs don't want. Already a published mathmatician. Changed careers after her advisor advised her:

—Drop out.
—Teach high school.
—Marry another mathematician.
—Write his papers.
—Make him famous.
—Give him your career.

After John Nash (first-class asshole: her words) commented:

—Forget it.
—Waste of time.
—Stupid.
—A major for idiots.

She's cosmopolitan, a fashionista right out of Vogue. Slender, fit. Blond. Early riser. Gets up to teach at 7:00 AM. Likes it. Requests it. Goes jogging afterward.

She's proud of her geekhood.

She's politically active. Registers poor voters and takes them to the polls. Volunteers at Planned Parenthood. Marches.

She talks about rhetoric as easily as game theory. Star Wars. The latest Dolce & Gabbana line.

She's a cranberry in her department's teeth.

They lose her papers.

They call her poseur. Fake.

They fake her scores. Score her empty.

They take her job. Mock her Yoda notebook.

They don't know I see her to her car the day she leaves, wishing every minute to be her. To beat her. To have her perfect information.

12: Holkham Hall

2006-01-12T14:10:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holkham_Hall
Roman identification:

Palati
           al palladian.                Piano nobile.

Column. Cornice.         Frieze.
    Facade.
Masque. Make             up.
    Powder weight. Pig
                                       ment
                                        ,
                                       wax.
Sweep
of shadow. Calluses.
             D
         r
              a
                    p
   e.

Toga picta.

An arm full of             *
    *
                                    *
      *      *
          *           stars.
Thirty pounds of linen. Shield
    -bearer. Trained.
           Held.
           Supported.
           Gained.

                       Gold. Ultra
                             marine.          Mary
Kay.
           G
               lit
     t         *
            er
eyes.         Can
                         '
                           t
      go
out.
                                                         Not
             like this.

Cedant arma togæ.

11: University of Michigan

2006-01-11T20:55:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Michigan
Games Girls Play

1.
UM Alumni Association moon chapter:

David Scott, president:
Flew on Gemini 8, Apollo 9, and Apollo 15.

Alfred Worden, vice president:
Flew on Apollo 15.

James Irwin, secretary:
Flew on Apollo 15.

James Earl Jones, treasurer:
Flew on Death Star.

James Howlett, serjeant-at-arms:
Flew on Blackbird.

2.
Please? You can have all the Wolverines. (Except that one.) No, my draft picks. I never get to be quarterback. Let me tackle. Yes, grass stains come out. Jesus. No, he's not on my team. Did I tell you my mom played stickball with Spike Lee? Of course it's a lie. But she did have pizza with him every week. Helped her pass filmmaking. Yeah, really. Would I lie?

3.
Q: How many schools did you apply to?
A: Two.

Q: Which two?
A: Birmingham-Southern and LSU.

Q: Why not an Ivy?
A: I'm poor.

Q: But you're smart.
A: Everyone asks what I'm doing with myself.

Q: Not even a public Ivy?
A: How would I get there?

Q: Have you considered working part-time for extra money?
A: Did you know this counter is Wilsonart 4551-1, Blackstar Granite with a standard finish?

Q. No. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. Young.

Q: That's impossible.
A. That's not a question.

Q: Answer the question. Seriously.
A: Formica 7008-80, Acajou Mahogany with a mirror finish.

Q: Fuck you.
A: Special order.

10: White's Tree Frog

2006-01-10T22:07:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White's_tree_frog
sawgrass

at night cecil b. sawgrass looks like those specimens john white sent      discolored blue preservatives & light     who would guess his journal     a voyage to new south wales would bring you green tree frog out the outback     now your cartoon cousin     only mascot of a road sold to ronald regan's turnpike     guards the sawgrass     all reflective eyes & tongue.

cecil disappears faster than you     dumpy tree frog     he fades into painted steel     while you sleep under glasstop     above rock & cedar grit     somehow you invade     too small to be invasive     & settle in florida     buy a condo on biscayne bay     terrazzo     terra rosa     boca developers closes the deal     feeds you sweets while you sit reading loft in the lobby.

you sleep     dream of cecil & the weather channel     those long serrated bits     knives     you dream of hurricanes     of mills & malls     flying sawgrass     signs crumple     you wake     climb onto me     we kiss     in my dreams princess sounds like priestess     & you're only a censer     where smoke & ash coat my tongue in swamp.

9: Omnipotence Paradox

2006-01-09T21:51:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omnipotence_paradox
Letter to the Editor

Dear God,

I have stopped checking my math.

My secret? Your formula: 3 = 4 = 7.

Consider the hexagram: difficult beginnings, then enthusiastic preparation; armies buttoning their jackets.

—mountain above water—
—water above thunder—
—earth above water—

2^6 = 64
= 6 + 4
= 10
= 3 + 7
= 4 + 4
= 8

Eight is the number of points, & the possibilities are __________,
yet all from one location: space encompassing

(n)ever

(w)heat + (e)at

(s)tripped
and lost.

God, have we always been testing each other? Have I been waiting for You to make 2 + 2 = 5? Or did we give up, live-in lovers grown distant through bad schedules?

Recall: when I was ten, I stood with You in the backroom of a bookroom. One of Your boys passed algebra texts two-handed. I wanted to ask him to the school fair. His fingers were bits of funnel cake: dusted, greased, pressed in my lips. Hands like hay bales, pushing up my skirt as I fell. Up his leg. Then a jolt, that doubling-over in a wavy mirror, as I kicked him square.

—water above thunder—
—earth above water—
—mountain above water—

While You're here, let's get a few things crystal. Eight points:

I made him leave her.
Sometimes I miss him.
You should have let me win.
You are impossible. Logically impossible.
I burned my calculus textbook with my letters.
Only I'm allowed to damn my family.
You should have killed that nun.
Wake me up; I'd rather be boring.

Heaven moves forward continuously; I never need to rest my pen when writing You. Yet trying to think like You has me confused. Does that make this impossible?

Dear God, I have forgotten my question. Let me answer:

—earth above water—
—water above thunder—
—mountain above water—

I went so fast because I had to learn everything in a week.
I waited in St. Patrick's on Camp for years, you know.
Make the right side equal the left.
Your shoe's untied.
Don't kick yourself for flunking honors calculus. I had a hand in that.
I like your writing better this way.
You didn't lose me.
You've always been able to pick up my phone.

8: W. Mark Felt

2006-01-08T17:09:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._Mark_Felt
Seat of Conspiracy

1. Most people did use toilet paper.
2. Most people did not appreciate being asked about it.

      We slink the space between central heat and autodoors, our fingers sugar-powdered. The bus comes twice a night to Walmart; we're the last ones out. Late night dramatic reading of Weekly World News: Bat Boy and alien babies, fat ladies and Bigfoot fanart. And the crossword. Our mouths creak and snap as ten-degree air bites our lips. Too cold to wait outside, too loud to loiter. We perch instead on benches like homeless kids on the neutral ground—that curb between streets,

      that grassy knoll. Add my age to the year Deep Throat fielded in New Orleans—1970, the same year Jim Garrison published Heritage of Stone. There's numerology in conspiracy; always others who unlawfully, willfully, and knowingly combine, conspire, confederate, and agree together. Who breathe together, ideas like winter steam hissing across their teeth. It only gets this cold in north Louisiana, never in New Orleans. Conspiratorial heat—that xerox glow—keeps the crescent warm,

      but Natchitoches, home of Steel Magnolias, conducts ice like north lightning. All whispers, small gifts. After the bus carries us back to our dorms, the night manager calls the campus director. Deep throats. The whole school meets two days later in the auditorium. Conspiracy theories. Someone died. Someone fucked in the graveyard. Someone fucked up the graveyard. Someone gave the director a blow job. Someone slipped a few bucks in his jock. The truth—five students fooling around under store cameras—is no fun. No lying down, head off the bed's edge. No craning the neck to take up the shaft. No whistleblowing, no euphemistic play, just choking on the air down there.

7: De Lorean DMC-12

2006-01-07T22:38:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Lorean_DMC-12
88 mph

Doc told the truth ya know when I was runnin from Lili I drove down the Atchafalaya Basin at 88 mph I went back in time my timemachine was a Mazda not a De Lorean gotta update for the times ya know

     but the air around was empty I could smoke a cigarette let it hang out the window and Lili didnt take it cuz the car scooped space outta time a hollow where my smoke rose up forever waverin a little like a line then disappearin into the whitespace where even the scrape of the wind burned an afterimage behind your eyes

     and the back of my Mazda was skilletdry green not brushed steel or teflon I thought Im gonna remember this but first I went back to 1985 Mom was still with her ex husband I didnt know that Symbolics registered the first dot com or Microsoft released Windows 1.0 or Ford rolled its Taurus off the line sans flux capacitor

     but I knew he smoked funny cigarettes in the livin room tied knots in my hair tryin to braid it and never took me to Chuck E Cheese but cuz I came from the future I knew that Michael Phelps born June 30th 1985 would win medals over medals and told his Mom to take him to the North Baltimore Aquatic Club

     and when I came back I tripped over cypressknees over I 10 skies smooth as caruba wax on Wax Lake Outlet and I looked for an exit turned around in Whiskey Bay to get back to the future but once I turned off the hollowout space around me cut into the car my jacket fluffed up like gullwings

     and I looked like a pelican flag a pelican with a cig in her beak offerin ash to her chicks or maybe two doors openin to the swamp a girl fallin into news fadin into will o wisps 1.21 jigowatts of power sparkin off my hair as I hooked around the blacktop bleached by rain

6: Voting System

2006-01-06T16:25:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voting_system
Mark Clearly

Please indicate your choice(s):

[ ] Single winner
   [ ] Binary voting
      [ ] Plurality
         [ ] First-past-the-post
         [ ] Relative majority
         [ ] Winner-take-all
      [ ] Approval voting
      [ ] Run-off method
         [ ] Top-two run-off
         [ ] Elimination run-off
         [ ] Exhaustive run-off
      [ ] Random ballot method
   [ ] Ranked voting
      [ ] Instant-runoff voting
      [ ] Borda count
      [ ] Coombs' method
      [ ] Supplementary voting
      [ ] Bucklin voting
   [ ] Positional voting
   [ ] Condorcet voting
      [ ] Minimax
      [ ] Copeland's method
      [ ] Schulze method
         [ ] Cloneproof Schwartz sequential dropping
         [ ] Beatpath method
      [ ] Ranked Pairs
   [ ] Rated voting
      [ ] Range voting
      [ ] Cumulative voting
[ ] Multiple winners
   [ ] Non- and semi-proportional methods
      [ ] Bloc voting
      [ ] Single Non-Transferable Vote method
      [ ] Cumulative voting
      [ ] Mixed-method
         [ ] Parallel voting
   [ ] Proportional methods
      [ ] Party-list proportional representation
      [ ] Highest averages method
         [ ] Sainte-Laguë method
         [ ] d'Hondt method
      [ ] Largest remainder method
      [ ] Open list
      [ ] Closed list
      [ ] Mixed method
         [ ] Mixed Member proportional
      [ ] Single Transferable Vote
[ ] No winner
[ ] Does not fit voting criteria
   [ ] Majority criterion
   [ ] Monotonicity criterion
   [ ] Consistency criterion
   [ ] Participation criterion
   [ ] Condorcet criterion
   [ ] Condorcet loser criterion
   [ ] Independence of irrelevant alternatives
   [ ] Independence of clone candidates
   [ ] Delayed vote-counting
   [ ] Potential for fraud or disputed results
   [ ] Opportunity for tactical voting or strategic nomination
   [ ] Undesirable degree of proportionality
   [ ] Lack of simplicity
   [ ] Other
[ ] Other

5: Marilyn Manson

2006-01-05T20:22:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Manson
Im seventeen

youre twentysomething and when I hear Sweet Dreams are made of this on the radio I remember how I cant drive

      [EXIT 45 SR 808 GLADES RD]

how I dun wanna get my license cuz at this school it makes you a target people asks you to buy them cigarettes and beer and the dorm ladies they watch you

      [EXIT 44 CR 798 PALMETTO PARK RD]

like theys expectin you to make a porno with your roommate and sell it for drugs but I gots a state ID so I could take the SAT ACT PSAT GED GRE OMG and get in this damn place

      [STARTING 01-05-06 NIGHTLY LANE CLOSURES 8PM-6AM]

this school with these rooms where they paints everythin eggshell and say dont hang posters with tape cuz you might discolor the doors

      [EXIT 42B SR 810 HILLSBORO BLVD]

but the lesbians stick Skittles ads in the showers lookin to taste the rainbow and I think about my roommate Shelley like the poet like a boy like the first girl I ever thought I loved

      [SAMPLE EXIT BE CLOSE ---> DETOUR SW 10 OR COPANS]

legs longer than that space between hip and pillow and how she say we could never be together cuz we both too crazy we kill each other but I was the one that held her

      [EXIT 41 SR 869 SW 10TH ST SAWGRASS EXPY]

when the bitches next door screamed all night when she threw her book at the wall to shut them up when the book bounced and broke her favorite dishes

      [TOLL RAMPS REQUIRE EXACT CHANGE]

and I went over there pink bathrobe and all bustin a hole in they door slink back to my room and fall asleep to you Marilyn Manson cuz you was the only music loud enough to drown out those screams

      [EXIT --- -> CORAL RI_GE]

and I know how old Ive gotten that I cant sleep like that anymore that I wonder if me and Shelley could have been two people that Manson would say

      —I wouldn't say a single word to them; I would listen to what they have to say, and that's what no one did.

but instead Im readin street signs thinkin no fire left in these fingers and all I wants is to be home but all I gots is to be loud

4: Delrina

2006-01-04T14:24:00.001-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delrina
Seven Censored Angel Modules

I.
The courts said to remove your wings. To make you digestible. Our artists primed and painted your face so no one would recognize. The moon-shine on your sides? Had to go (replace with dots). We sawed off your legs. No need to stand since you'll fly (wingless). Oh, that three-prong tail. Too demonic. Go wireless. Keep moving; you should always keep moving. So the believers won't look up and—seeing you still—remark, "This case set a precedent."

II.
Girls only have so many middles names. Mary or Marie. Ann or Anne. Lee or Leigh—sometimes Lynn(e). Elizabeth. I've only known one Rebecca, one Rogue (one faintly Biblical, one faintly Comical). My middle name is Ann. My sister's is Marie. The rest tessellate.

III.
Delrina, best known for producing WinFax, also released many popular screensavers, the most famous of which resulted in the well-publicized "flying toasters" lawsuit (Berkeley Systems, Inc. v. Delrina).

IV.
The bar that forms the chord of my ear? Yes, it hurt. I'm proud of my geometry. Sister ________ Marie asked to copy it, just like she asked to copy my homework. Just like she never asked to copy my diary and read it to friends.

V.
How appropriate: a company know for its facsimile software sued for copyright infringement.

VI.
One night before bed—when my pillow cradled my neck like a mother—I heard Tabris whistling. As a little girl, I told him to go away. I gave up on you when I left the church. Free will's a joke. I'm trying to sleep. I learned to turn over, let my ear swell under the weight of my head. He held his wrist in front of my lips. Inches away to feel my breathturn. His latex face tilted forward. Would you give me your eyes, he asked, so I may see your mouth open like mine?

VII.
Yes, it hurt. If it didn't, everyone would have them.

3: Xanadu House

2006-01-03T22:25:00.000-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xanadu_House
Robin's Egg

I would build that dome in air:

that solar dome, those sheets of nylon. From above yards the flat span of Lauderdale flickers light and blue: a washed egg. Modular homes, detachable sections. Commodores. In the Golden Age of Computing, each room has intelligence. No one lives inside; the arch is too sensitive. This is Florida. The rain affects. The tropics peel roofs like pop-top cans. Would be that their innards were blown from foam,

all soft curves and white. The milk of Paradise spoils in heat and curdles into loam.

2: Our Friends in the North

2006-01-02T02:53:00.001-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Our_Friends_in_the_North
Mason-Dixon

(the first version of this story ends before I begin)

*
The lines between friends: red.

Not string. Coated copper. In phonecords, broken English, that celebrated curve under Diet Coke.

Our Friends in the North was broadcast in nine episodes on BBC2. 9:00 PM. Monday nights. January 15 to March 11. 1996. My sixteenth birthday.

You weren't there for that
[We met the next year, during the revision process.]

—but let me tell you. My roommate baked a cookies 'n' cream cake; we ate it with our hands in the lobby because we forgot the flatware upstairs. The dorm mistresses crashed the party. Told us to wash our faces and go home.

*
(watch how the author adds years to close the gap)

*
When I passed you a soda can, you held it to your ear: remember.

The last time you shoved a manuscript in my hands, I was younger than Nicky, Mary, Tosker ~~and Geordie~~
[I've eliminated Geordie. You would have.]

—who might have been projections of us in another time and country. We were already writing fictions together. You asked for comments; I told you it was good and meant it.

The line between us has always been an ink stain and a Mary. She lived with you first, then you joined me at college. But I fell in love with her. She said you let her go. You cried carpetbagger, carpetmuncher. Damn yankee dyke stealing good Southern girl. Waved your Picayune, extra extra, for us.

*
(we labored years in preproduction, the author and I)

*
One last critique: eliminate words.

The real poetry is in intersections.

We crossed.

1: Dinosaur

2006-01-01T00:23:00.001-06:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinosaur
Gripping the Spade

Now what do I say, Maiasaura?

      you promised good food & sleep if I came home for 2 weeks I have gotten neither       & what about Son-in-Law who raises his flap of hand to strike

—you know I could lift his head out of the nest & squeeze—

[The nest is silent now, save the dull hum of a computer. Outside, somewhere far from the site, I hear explosions. Someone blasting. New year, new discoveries. I dig at the keyboard, hunting for letters. It's too early; there are no fossilized breadcrumbs between the keys. Give it time.

I excavated keyboards at every job I've ever worked. I lifted the dust with straightened paperclips, cotton swabs, eyeshadow brushes. Between every row of letters, an on-going dinosaur renaissance. Staple. Eyelash. Candy shell. Semicolon. Stardust. Proof of warm blood.

I offered to do your laundry because you needed it, not because I missed the nest. Coming home is never vacation. You are a good mother lizard, but even if your nose was a flatter, longer something, you still could not nuzzle me again.

Our bones are on display, posed for the Christmas camera. Please, stop apologizing.]

—between my pinky & my thumb       the round mouse rests       I'll dig with it—

Son-in-Law will never reach you, Maiasaura.

      see him leave now our eyes amber       by the time he finds a hole he will oversee his tumble

become his dig
,
,

—hand open-palmed & petrified—