Drinking Shasta in my car
Falling birds are just where we are
Too much walking blues don’t freak
Drinking Shasta in my car
Falling birds are just where we are
Too much walking blues don’t freak
The insurance will not cover birth-control. It doesn’t matter, anyway, when I will not conceive. When I maintain my status quo. When the insurance company believes I should be pregnant. When men in their uniforms believe I should be pregnant.
I saw the bones of Ohio begin to glow
Beneath a pulmonary night. With a limp hand,
Stretched up direct into darkness,
I felt the contours of the frozen wind
To begin an essay called “Gluten” with anything other than an explication of the metaphorical substance and how it pertains to my subject…would be obscure, or coy. Gluten is a protein that binds fibers together. It’s a “tough, viscid, nitrogenous substance remaining when the flour of wheat or other grain is washed to remove the starch.” It’s strong and pervasive and sticky.
Hell-o.
This on?
Think I’m hearin me. Me.
This reverbin either in the buildin or in my head. Whatever. Ha.
Nobody listnin anyways right?
A balance at the weight
Of one large yolk shines:
STILL not finished review
but productive day and feeling
GÜT
like a fine mama
I finished it even before I went through passport control, really I finished it at JFK. It was in my hand while the man asked me questions, but I had already read the end, in line. When I shut the book, for a minute I was satisfied, or self-satisfied, you might say, because it was a long flight, and I had accomplished that, at least.
When I was a boy we lived out in Mosfellsbaer, in the valley between Mount Esja and the hill we called Langahlið. It was only my mother and me in a small cement house; my father had moved in with his other family. Next to the house there was a small pool, called a kettle pond, of a type common in Iceland: round and deep, left over after a chunk of glacier melted. It had no inlet or outlet except the sky.
there is a lake that’s nervous
of anything too composed
there is always the horse