xoxo still here

Delirious Hem Delirious Summer

I love summer. It is when I read the most.

Delirious Hem had an amazing forum on feminist poetics last month, and at some point I have things to say about it.

Check out the newest forum on Deviant Beach Reads, curated and organized by Danielle Pafunda.

the large crow that resides slow
and steady black rustle feathers
whisper flight, the dusk rattle
in my throat: it takes so long
to live.

I've forgotten all my songs. The garden
rows like swamped in ruins. Dust
in gates, mesh wire swinging. We'd
cling to what if we'd only known.
She thought this to herself before
bed every night for a week.


mesh-water in the air, the light
webs unmarshed. waiting for June.
the acid lake winks under ash, under
motorized wings: eye snaps capture
trees like glass, like little singed machines
who haven't any hearts.

Test 10

More on Tests

at what point is it not behind but underneath? I am undeneath the tests. I've made my charts, arranged my instruments, but something else continues to duel or intercept. Also, I resent the screen. It is easier with yarn and cloth. You know what I mean.

The other night we saw a white-lined sphinx moth. Two of them. Yes, we had to look twice to determine that it was not a hummingbird. It looked human as well. The head appeared to be especially meaty and soft. I presume the outside of the moth is the hardest part. The exoskeleton. I am soft, but inside there is bone. This moth appeared to be soft inside and out. I felt its colors in my mouth

Test 9

Test 8

on why I am behind in the tests

one of the things that has suprised me is that the data collection is difficult. the learning curve is steep, and I most be focused and in possession of a sufficient amount of emotional energy if I want to ensure a certain level of accuracy or "truth." Although one of the things I'm finding is that truth or the feeling of truth is completely unreliable (of course, therefore more interesting, thus raising the stakes and producing an increased level of anxiety). It is difficult to be honest honest honest with each word, and it feels as though to scrutinize each thing, as though it were only a slip of paper held daintily in silver tongs, is sometimes so serious and profound that I want to cry and at other moments so absurd and ridiculous that I want to laugh. And so I try to record these feelings and impulses but perhaps it is like an x-ray of a magnet or guts -- the densities of these things fluctuate so.

test 7

test 6

Today I saw three whales. I was in an airplane. The whales were in the ocean. The shadow of the plane skittered across.

test 5

test 4

The next three poems will be coming later tonight. So far data collection is going well. There are plenty of words out there, though it occurs to me that a future study would include letters, sounds, glyphs, and gestures.

Testing 3

testing 2

testing 1

napowrimo

poems one and two will be posted here later today. this year the theme is animals and women and whether or not they are real.

terrarium test poem

new project

Good news

My pamphlet "How Hate Got Hand" is now available from eohippus labs.

Eohippus labs is the project of Amanda Ackerman and Harold Abramowitz, two of the coolest people ever.

Harold has a new e-book out from Little Red Leaves, and Hex Press will be publishing Amanda's chapbook this summer.

Also, the new issue of Little Red Leave is gorgeous and full of really awesome poetry.

I had a dream last night that had many of the features of a classic anxiety dream. I was due to get on a plane to London in a few days time, and in order to enter the plane I needed a confirmation number. I was confident that the confirmation number was in an envelope which was in a box, but everything was a mess and I kept putting off the moment when I would actually open the letter to try and find out if the confirmation number was there. Also, the person with whom I had planned to travel had (seemingly abruptly) decided that she wished to stay home among her new friends. I could see that these friends were much more exciting than I was. They danced and partied and seemed willing to consume substances I refused. I thought to share my hurt and disappointment with my mother, but I then decided it was unfair to worry her. Outside there was a party, and my attention was divided. I had conflicting impulses: to join in, to sulk, to ask my friend for an explanation.

I intended to go to a wedding in a elaborate castle that was, oddly, in the middle of a large cemetery. At least the cemetery was the type without headstones, but it seemed rather a bad omen to get married amidst the dead, yet I also realized that perhaps that feature made the location more desirable to some. I thought briefly of poltergeist and the muddy caskets that bobbed up like buoys in the huge mud hole intended for a suburban, backyard pool. It occurred to me that it would be best to ride my bike, which was a little like a wooden motorcycle. I was to go downtown after the ceremony, and my bike was swift and light, but I also worried that it could blow up like a bundle of sticks.

When I woke up, I missed my friend terribly.

with the water pulled back, you could see the teeth
rock triangles in the sand, zipper lined
cliffs slid up like peach moon rock
quartz glinting or slate shale shifting
I begin collecting. Water where there was
sand, the silence a hand over everyone's
ears. Another beak in which there is
blood, are parasites, black bodies
that tick and stick. Eye glass of blue
like a heart-core ticking, flicking
the shallow self in and out, rustle
of damp feathers in the clock
that chimes a full hive of coins --
shimmer machine of edges and holes.

and would not scare

it wasn't a skunk, but a raccoon posse. "a pack of bandits" is what my mother would call them. soft and fat, the fur up close, the ringed tails, the clasping paw-hands, half-cat, half-bear. I left a shiny black bag full of trash outside our door; I planned to take it out, but I forgot.

White Bird

I have not been writing because inside my brain the words are all written on top of each other, like the letters overlap and to write requires untangling, unlayering. But I wanted to tell you about the white bird I saw after dark on the sidewalk, by itself, lingering as people rushed by with plastic bags and boots.

There was a tern at the bird center. And J got a new dog; her name is Daisy. Also, after work one day, there was a beautiful, colorful sunset.

advent poems

It's advent over at Delirious Hem. Click on the boxes to get a new poem each day.

Laura Goldstein

Don't forget to check out the awesome new chapbook from HEX PRESSE!

Ice in Intervals by Laura Goldstein




You can also see Laura reading her poetry at the new Rabbit Light Movies.

No Tell Motel

You probably already know that Reb Livingston is awesome. I'm super-stoked to have my poems at No Tell Motel this week. It's also my birthday week, which makes it extra good. xoxoxo