If your friend organized a wedding via Second Life (to save money?) would you register for Second Life to attend the wedding ("wedding"?)?
I have a secret.
Recently I've just been washing my hair with soap.
Is that weird? Maybe.
I'd like some frozen yogurt, I'm hungry.
Thank you to the poets who responded to my challenge yesterday. I'm pasting their poems below:
Second Only to Sticking Your Hand in the Toaster
& Turning the Heat Up to Bikini Island
first you wrote dear person doctored each letter
for certain wisconsin it's simply moscow here
what you'd a winter most like concluded second
only to sticking your hand in the toaster & turning
the heat up to Bikini Island more confused than
kafka in vermont breeze there's too much thigh-
master much too much juicy migraine to squeeze
Second Only to Sticking Your Hand in the Toaster & Turning the Heat Up to Bikini Island
is the prickly
warm sensation you
get from helping
a salamander achieve
long term goals
like finding a
meaningful career and
overcoming its fear
of heights its
fear of snakes
its fear of
hamburgers its fear
of decorative tapestries
in large houses
owned by descendants
of one-term presidents
I do not
own a house
or a tapestry
but I am
a descendant of
Millard Fillmore supposedly
and that is
why I feel
connected to this
very important issue
Second Only to Sticking Your Hand in the Toaster & Turning the Heat Up
to Bikini Island
The cars outside will not stop honking,
though it is past midnight & all the little eyes
that line the buildings have shut into darkness.
There are three distinct honking sounds
from three distinctly separate streets
& I wonder if they perhaps are old friends,
unable to move without a driver
calling out during the only time
when their voices can be heard.
“Hey Tom!” “How was your day, Jerry?”
“It’s been a cold one, hasn’t it?”
I close the windows & turn the music up,
but those tones insinuate themselves
into the melodies of saxophone & bass,
becoming a constant counterpoint
of HONK – Honk – honk, until
those notes define the song & I get up
& turn on the light & the coffee maker
& decide hat if this is how songs change
from intention to the actual
I have two choices & I choose the second one,
which is to sit down & write this poem.
Nothing can stop me from going to this next week:
Tuesday, March 3
(doors at 7PM)
@ Dixon Place
(161 Chrystie Street)
Admission is $6 at the Door.