Category — Odds n’ Ends

2012. I don’t even know what to do with that. Does anyone have any advice for me in the new year?

One of the many things that most writers have in common is toes. Obviously not all writers, I’m sure there are toe-less writers out there. I mean no disrespect to the toe-less, some of my favorite people have lost at least a couple of toes.

Once, I saw a guy drop a ton and a half of bottled water on his foot and he lost his toes. I don’t think he was a writer at that time, but who knows what has happened in the 20 years since.

My main point here is that writers usually have toes. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Think about that. Just – think about that.

Suppose I cracked open my head and a thousand images drained out onto the concrete. Suppose you could see religion in the blood and atheism in the brain cells. Suppose my left leg twitched one last time before I was gone, and it sounded like a little breeze through the cat o’ nine tails?

Would you write that poem?

1. Set your font to 12pnt Courier.
2. Write your surname vertically
3. Write a single verb for each letter of your last name
4. Reorder the words by character length longest to shortest
5. First word must be in your title
6. Last word must be the last word in the piece.
7. All other words must be used in order

e.g.
A
N
S
T
E
Y

Anticipate
Nudge
Stifle
Trudge
Eavesdrop
Yell

Yell
Nudge
Stifle
Trudge
Eavesdrop
Anticipate

The Fisherman's Yell

The old man sat in silence on the pier, watching the wave's nudge
a piece of driftwood toward the rocks. It'd been hours since he'd
had a bite, and it was all he could do to stifle a yawn as the sun
drew towards its noontime apex. The thought of the long trudge back
to the car without anything to eat gnawed at him even more than
the boredom. So he sat there and tried to eavesdrop on a couple of
little boys pretending they wanted to catch something like a shark.
It wasn't that long ago when he was a boy. He remembered those long
summer days when he dreamed of the big fish. Not because he was
hungry, but because it seemed so exciting. They were so loud as
they squished their little boy voices into happy shouts. It took
everything for him to hold on to his voice. It took everything
in him to love them. It took every bit of strength to be the
old man who held his anger. "They're boys," he thought.
"They're boys, and everything is exciting when you still have all
your fingers." Later, when you don't, it's hard to remember what
it's like to hope. Eventually, when you've lost everything, you
give up the childish notion of the joy you felt when you were
still happy to anticipate.

mars is a planet

the dog peed on the rug

cheese, good old fashioned american cheese

a man in a pinstripe suit.

mars is still a planet

doG does not exist.

thoroughly modern muenster

a man in a blue pinstripe suit

Really, mars IS a planet

or circles mean nothing

i’m not inclined to

a man is a monkey
is a monkey is a man
is a god is a grape

question is the vision
vision is the answer
is the god a grape?

a man is a man
a monkey is a monkey
what is the question
of God?

I dream of distance,
of miles, of feet, of inches

the long stares down short roads
the short steps that accumulate on the sides of mountains

the winged leaps that do not land
but float to the absent place where clouds waste away

I dream of eternity,
of timelessness, of hours, of seconds, of now

the perfect watch
that sees the perfect heart
the hands that count
away the clock

the cloven feet that step along the path less chosen
horned and woolly, blind and vacuous – up the slope

I dream of space,
of lightyears, of novas and nebulae

the endless nothing between the microns
the long slip that becomes a wish of dust

the gill-less dive that leaves me unbreathing
into the abyss.