The Mystery of the Chicago Theater
I can’t tell if it was one person who did all the painting
or a whole group of artists. Assuming it was one person,
I can’t decide if he or she was a genius or a hack.
I can’t tell if there's some grand
unifying theme — a message behind it all — or if
they were just trying to get the job done as quickly
as they could. The Great Depression was
on, after all. Maybe the artist was just looking for
Letter To J.
You told me a story: moving back to California /
one summer, you ran out of room in your suitcases. / You had to wear
all of your clothes — / they ballooned your body out, / like strangely
soft exoskeletons. On the plane, / you stripped the sweaters off one
by one, / until you bore only a white tank top, a tiny / eggshell.
You were cold.
You Made It, Whatever It Is
You are glad God didn’t reveal what you were
getting into ahead of time. If you’d known about the near misses,
the grip of absolute panic, the gaping fear, the feel
of your heart stopping and then laboriously resuming
its rhythm, you might not have
gotten into this mess of motherhood.
you in a blue bikini. yellow and black butterflies
/ along the bank watched indifferently / we stopped on a sandbar
bending back / the warm grass with bare feet.
I barely heard the engine as he drove away. Unlike
pickup engines, it sounded like smooth vanilla ice cream
passing quietly down my esophagus. We sat at the kitchen
table, eating more oatmeal
and toast than usual. Kathy even made scrambled eggs, which
they seldom ate. News of a hurricane, flood, and wars we
heard on the radio, our
fate’s background noise.
Brave, Brave, Brave, Brave
After watching Conyers in action during Gonzales’ testimony,
I started to get a sinking feeling as I remembered how the Democrats
had tried so hard for so long to remain the minority party in Congress:
you get the same paycheck, but you have none of the responsibility when
shit goes wrong.
Excerpts from Bulletface, a Novel in Progress
You get in and steal from death. You don’t
need words. It’s just timing and action, like a pickpocket.
Some might call the act salvation or rescue. It feels
wonderful to do. However, without a doubt, when you’ve been
a fairly severe interruption.
O you lovely big-assed pitcher.
Originally published in 2003
FROM THE PUBLISHER
If you made a mistake, say like starting a wild
fire, would you just run away and hope that the fire
went out by itself? What kind of person would that make
you? What kind of country
would that make us if we just up and left Iraq in its
current condition? Are we that irresponsible as a nation?
Sex, Drugs, and Cars with Naughty Bits: Kids-in-Mind.com
Look, I don’t believe children think about
cars having genitalia, but if they do, they’re way too old
and pervy for this movie. The gesture of literally engendering
automobiles reads to me as a gratuitously adult trope. In other
words, if you
imagine a car having private bits — the sort that should
perhaps be covered by heavy-duty tarp underwear — being offended
by a children’s
film may not be the most pressing issue to address in your
© 2007, keepgoing.org and Identified Authors
Cover & Spiral image: © 2007, Photography
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