Daily Archives: August 13, 2007

In This Issue (revised and small explanation added)

1. “What If She Were Your Mom?”

In the picture
the representative Mom is in sleek black
bra and boyshorts, ass
to the camera, face pitched back
over her shoulder. She’s been classically
styled as hot Mom, MILF I suppose,
and the article (I further suppose)
must deal with the problems
a MILF’s daughter must face knowing that
some proportion of the men around her
might be thinking of assuming
some of the duties of her father,
as if having one Dad wasn’t enough trouble
what with him already having a thing for her
cheerleader friends. And who knows
what Mom thinks of all this?
Everything’s always been
a problem when it comes to Mom and Dad,
of course, even before
Mom’s emboldened fashion sense and Dad’s
sudden devotion to “Veronica Mars” reared their
strangely alluring heads. Daughter will have to look
elsewhere for guidance now…

2. “How To Work A Skirt”

You can work a skirt
to say “I love you,” obviously. But did you know
you can work a skirt to say
what a good MILF you’ll be someday?

3. “Tragedy In Dafur”

Read this
so that the next time you’re working that skirt
you can reference it so someone will know
you pay attention to things other than your Mom’s
lingerie and Dad’s lust for the new. You can keep a copy of it
clipped under your hem, just out of sight.

If a hint of it does accidently appear you can laugh it off
and mention all the things no one knows you keep up there.

4. “Hollywood Hookups”

The kiss she laid on him
at the afterparty
was like nothing
seen before by any reporter
and if you had seen it you’d understand
that your Mom’s lingerie is a way of recapturing
a moment from a time before the way to work a skirt
became a glossy prescription.

5. “Where To Buy”

Buy it anywhere fine goods are sold —
one-named stores, multilevel stores,
small stores on Elizabeth Street in NYC,
stores on Fashion Island in Newport Beach, CA,
upside down stores near the back lot of a movie,
stores reconfigured to look like distressed auto plants,
store where you can get a Darfur bracelet, stores
your Mom hasn’t heard of yet, stores Dad can’t hang around.

Buy it here before that skirt works itself out of a job.

note: all section titles taken from a magazine a young woman was reading on the ferry trip from Hyannis to Nantucket. yes, I was reading over her shoulder — the titles, anyway.


random

I’m listening to a dancehall compliation right now. I love dancehall. I don’t understand 80% of what’s being said, but the rhythm makes my toes hop.

There are certain types of music that I love without recourse to understanding the lyrics — qawali singers, flamenco, fado. This falls in that category.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The posts from NPS this week made me wistful, but I’ve realized that it’s not my place anymore. Life’s too short for me to wade through all the mediocrity and the formula to find the gems.

The struggle for me, I think, who came into slam as a performing poet (rather than coming to poetry through slam) is to find a way to be more than a slammer in a community with relatively little connection to the larger art form.

Sadly, I think my audience is still, in large part, the slam world; but how do you maintain a career of any sort with it as a feature performer (not as an organizer or host) when you don’t want to be part of that aspect of the scene, the aspect that most seem to care so much about?

I don’t know. Frankly, any grand pronouncements about trying to reform slam, create a senior circuit, etc., are beyond me right now. And NPS doesn’t need reform; it’s just what it is, and less than I want in an event.

I won’t say I’ll never attend NPS again, although I can’t foresee that happening. I’ll likely go to IWPS again as I think the poetry is better overall. Not sure about the WOW slam — still don’t love the reserved legacy spots. Think I’ll investigate going to things like the Dodge instead — more my speed these days.

And of course, trying to feature where and when I can, and working with Faro as much as possible.

If someone wants to run with the Ken Hunt Prize, that’s up to them. I couldn’t do it this year and if I don’t go back to NPS it seems pointless for me to be involved with it.

I’m not angry, not bitter, not railing against the world here. If anything, I’m laughing at myself for thinking anything I could do would ever change anything about something so many people love and which makes me so crazy/angry. I’ve wasted too much time on this.

I’m glad you all had a good time, and I hope you continue to do so. I don’t want to convert anyone or change anything. Right now, I’m thinking of NPS the way I would something like Burning Man — an interesting subcultural phenomenon that might have interested me once, maybe even excited me, but doesn’t hold much interest anymore.

It was fun though. Thanks for the ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have I mentioned that I love dancehall?


taste of blue

thinking tonight of the taste of blue.
veins savored gently through the skin,
eyes perfect for just that tart hint,
light sipped from along the edge of fine hair.

what was I imagining just now? a slinky
roan flank of night covering the house,
an old jazz horn lifting the air around me
and flirting with my fingers as I pass them

over my rumpled clothes, new oils and old pleasures
heavy in my nose, and all i care to do
is taste your blue on my lips, take in the crumbs of the week,
sing out about the way they make my mouth sing.