It's pouring out and I left Brooklyn to go to the city and since I'm wearing a wool sweater I now smell like a lamb.
This is what it looks like outside my office window.
This image came up when I searched for "downpour." Her facial expression is the opposite of how today looks. If I ever make that face, whack me.
Which reminds me, I was almost hit by a hearse today while crossing the street. I really hope I do not die in some terribly ironic way. Close call. The hearse got my pants all wet.
I woke up this morning and realized that my window was open a bit so my cactus got a tad flooded and the chapbooks I had stacked there were in danger. And then I spotted Elisa Gabbert's "Thanks for Sending the Engine" (Kitchen Press 07). Which brings me to how much I enjoyed this chapbook. If you don't know what Elisa looks like, she is very adorable and pretty, and then she busts out with her sailor mouth humor and it's kind of awesome. Anyways, I didn't know what to expect, but her collection has both very acerbic, cutting lines that are hyper-conscious of our confused symbiotic/parasitic relationship to technology, and also some "it hurts so good"/truth lines. What is interesting about Gabbert's poems is her awareness of tone and how we hide behind it. It's easier to say what we really want and need when we say it in a way that sounds like a shrug, a half-joke.
I particularly liked these:
Reading my biography was like pulling the legs off a dead millipede.
Do not be afraid of angering the birds. What angers the birds is fear.
I'm not seduced by death, just death's techniques-- the way it lets me let it buy me a drink. Then drives me home with the lights off, in stealth mode.
My pet, the statistics are against us.
I desperately want you to notice me without me having to exert much effort to make you do so.
I stared so long at the water it didn't look wet anymore.
I waited so long to be saved
I forgot what I was saved for.
Why I was waving my hands.
Sometimes I thought I loved this island.
I ate some sand.
I kissed the land like a man saved.
I remembered a story about a man who ate an airplane.
Sometimes things washed up onto the shore.
An umbrella. A crate.
Everything that arrived I partially ate.
This image came up when I googled the title of Gabbert's chapbook. Well, it's not the cover, but I think it's fitting.
Tonight I'll have dinner with an old friend. Today everything I'll say will be in someone else's fortune cookie.