Monday, February 23, 2009

Monday Poem: Hormones in Love

by Jim Culleny

Only one can have this thought.
Did you think your thoughts were mine?

We lie apart as close as this:
thinking still alone combined.

Two skulls each with a budding brain.
Two "I"s distant as two moons
reflecting light from somewhere else
too bright to be too far and soon

we come together touch and kiss
we think there is no more than this
we think we think the selfsame thoughts
—but pleasure's not the same as bliss.

We come together, kiss and touch
We think this close is not too much.
And though we think we are as one
—embrace is not the same as clutch.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Coffee Break: Anatomy of the Credit Crisis

For those who are wondering how the world got into the pickle it's in, here are a couple of videos that explain the whole mess nicely.



Coffee Break: Avenue A

By Frank O'hara

We hardly ever see the moon any more
so no wonder
it's so beautiful when we look up suddenly
and there it is gliding broken-faced over the bridges
brilliantly coursing, soft, and a cool wind fans
your hair over your forehead and your memories
of Red Grooms' locomotive landscape
I want some bourbon/you want some oranges/I love the leather
jacket Norman gave me
and the corduroy coat David
gave you, it is more mysterious than spring, the El Greco
heavens breaking open and then reassembling like lions
in a vast tragic veldt
that is far from our small selves and our temporally united
passions in the cathedral of Januaries


everything is too comprehensible
these are my delicate and caressing poems
I suppose there will be more of those others to come, as in the past
so many!
but for now the moon is revealing itself like a pearl
to my equally naked heart

Saturday Poem: Palindromemordnilap

By Demetry Martin in Slate

Dammit I'm mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I'm in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level "Mad Dog".
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I'm a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I'm it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I'd assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
"Sir, I deliver. I'm a dog"
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I'm mad.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Coffee Break: Teddy

Nothing says I love you like a teddy bear armed with ciggies, vodka and rope...For fans of Silence of the Lambs?