Tag: For Paul
Last Lapse
Continuation. The hook and tongue of day. The waggedy that. Lapse, clasp. The lace of days in utter continuation. The smalls and mediums and larges. Largess. Pants around my mother’s ankles while trying it on. The grooves in love like a golf ball. As it resists its own specificity. As it becomes crocodilian, recording it …
Paul’s Birthday
Paul’s 30th Birthday was definitely a marathon event consisting of dinner/movie, a craw-fish extravaganza, some “goat time” with the newest member of the Klinger family, a sushi dinner and two-stepping. My newly-lasiked eyes were not-a-little tired after all these festivities.
Animal Sculptures
These are the only objects that pulled me through the latest bout of homesickness brought on by snow. Thanks be to Paul for all his wonkiness.
Inanimal: Animal Poems
I don’t usually venture into the world of chapbook fabrication outside of the Dusie kollektiv, but I took a few weeks to make Paul a chapbook for Christmas. I sketched these critters over and over until they mildly resembled animals.
Mexico City
One of my favorite trips of all time was our jaunt down to Mexico City. I wish I had pictures of the subway on those massive tires and the hostel peeps we met and the anthropological museum. I also wish I had one of that bigass ear of corn I ate one night. But alas, …
HowRU&YRU
How are you my love & why my love are you ripped in the apartment wall my love my sat./sun. as in whiteface whirs hey my whole hey chickening at the blue pool bottom kissing really in love with legs this leggy velor love in eukaryote Samsonite in haute algae skirts in leather necklaces my …
Grand Canyon Trip
Love Letters to Tucson
Mindee sent pctures of Paul and I in Tucson. I have no idea what we were doing or why my hair is a poofy loop.
New York Poem
1. He does not want to call or say anything so I said I miss you and I do wish you would. 2. They said maybe saying “please call” would help. Doesn’t. Certainly he is not inclined to speak, nor does he wish me to speak or to let my desire be known. He wishes …
Letter to Paul
I found your nose in my chicken pie, and lightly sent you smoke and glassy pans and things to bake clay on. No you don’t. I’m a terrible badger of late, making bad on my lightness, my room of books, ashtrays, the precise way I move here and steer the garbage into corners. The foundations …
you like I letter
slung with slant news; some bells attached to trees smartly knotted betwix sturdy hairs of Bentgrass, St. Augustine, Zoysia, and Throw Rug Green seen some distance up, as from a plane, the way you will be going December 28th. I say I’m fine, sans severance, the tall columns of lofty hotel lightness. It’s bulldozer cold …
Cole Swenson’s Oh
and did you know she’s writing a book called The Glass Age and I think she is love. Or what I would be if derivative, delectable, and sparse. Andy and Melissa are cooking the bird right now and Kristi bunnied in to say it looks ‘gorgeous’. I say whatever, what with that oily skin and …
Dialong
She is like plaque, that is what you say to her. Her face obscured; hair over her eyes and cheeks, her hands. Yellow hair over the white cuffs she is wearing even to the bed. Her life is a mess and though plaque badly describes it, she understands what you mean. So go on. There …
Primary Love Poem
I push my nose to your hand like a bud believing you are a caper, rock star, that you have circular glasses like Freud Derrida “dies” and you were by There flexes in the back room this dark under a dress we slap the cow with the back of a shoe, sleep on top of …