Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Grinding Frogs into Cement Is A Lot Like Love Press

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.


If you cut out the entire poem but left the title and the last line, I'd be in love.


Thursday night:

Deborah Landau, Zach Miller, and Matthew Zapruder read
7pm at Teachers & Writers Collaborative
(520 8th Ave, suite 2020)
Free and followed by wine and cheese

Another option for Thursday night:

8:00 PM
Hillary Raphael and Donari Braxton at Spoonbill & Sugartown Books
218 Bedford Avenue (Bedford Ave. at N. 5th, adjacent to the “Verb Café”)
Brooklyn, NY


I have a poem up at Realpoetik so check it out:

I've slept curled up on my (right) side, ball-like, for the last 25 years. Why this summer has my sleeping position suddenly changed? I wake up on my belly and I don't like it. Was it the heat? Maybe autumn will right the world again.
Last year I managed to stay in the city and miss this:

As autumn is truly one of the more stunning changes to witness, I'm determined not to miss it this year. Less city more leaves. I also missed apple-picking season. Which means you've missed out on some damn fine apple pie. I've got a few field trips up my sleeves.

1 comment:

K. Silem Mohammad said...

I love that poem. More cowbell!

It probably would be better your way, though....