I am going to beat everyone at poetry.
October 30, 2012, 8:18 am
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I am going to beat everyone at poetry.
I am going to use up all the metaphors and rhyme combinations.
People will try to write poems
and I will say to them,
“Sorry, but I already compared a chicken to surfing.”
“I already compared a cigarette to that time you threw up in fourth grade.”
“I already personified your mother’s bracelet.”
People will be at their desk, writing about their grandmother,
and I will come out from behind their door,
and I will say, “I already wrote that poem about your grandmother.”
And their grandmother will walk in right then and say
“It’s true, and I’ve invited her to have Christmas dinner with our family,”
and I will accept the invitation,
and at dinner,
I will speak only in rhyme.
And I will say how now brown cow,
this is my family now.



40th Street- Eileen Myles
October 29, 2012, 10:38 pm
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I’d like
to say

that when
I change
coffee

the pot
doesn’t know
it for
a few
days

it’s awaiting
the tempo
of French
espresso &
suddenly
El Pico
is back

it’s inexplicable
the glass pot

is dulled
speechless

so wake
me up
with your
confusion

in a few
days you’ll
be shaped
like this
& a new
strong
meaning
will
come.

Be patient
pot. Advance
the parade.



Kingdom Come- Matthew Zapruder
October 25, 2012, 1:40 pm
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She asked me how long it will be
until the giant black rose
she has seen in her dreams
bursts out of the ocean just beyond
the walls of the circular city
and drips molten fire on the heads
of likenesses of the smiling gods
who sent a message from outside
our solar system crying
and swearing to protect us
if we built them. Quite
a long time. Probably many
hundreds of years. First we must
build the circular walls,
then the towers and the steps.
Then we must build the satellite array
and send it into the atmosphere.
And we don’t have that
technology yet. The scientists
who can dream of building it
have not yet even been born. So
for now I say to her let us live
here in this apartment and make
sounds of love on this futon
while outside the window the orange
extension cable strangles
the white and green flowering branch
and monks cry anciently on the radio.



Final Performance -Cynthia Cruz
October 24, 2012, 9:53 am
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I crawl along the wet floor
Of my mother’s childhood,

A serpent, or a long-buried secret,
In my mother’s bisque
Chiffon gown with small stars

Stitched in silver, a crown
Of tinsel pinned into the dark
Blonde knots and dreads of my hair.

I follow a sequin thread of dead
Things, stop when the moon clocks out,
Polish my long nails in the sun.



Sci-Fi -Tracy K. Smith
October 22, 2012, 9:49 am
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There will be no edges, but curves.
Clean lines pointing only forward.

History, with its hard spine & dog-eared
Corners, will be replaced with nuance,

Just like the dinosaurs gave way
To mounds and mounds of ice.

Women will still be women, but
The distinction will be empty. Sex,

Having outlived every threat, will gratify
Only the mind, which is where it will exist.

For kicks, we’ll dance for ourselves
Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs.

The oldest among us will recognize that glow—
But the word sun will have been re-assigned

To a Standard Uranium-Neutralizing device
Found in households and nursing homes.

And yes, we’ll live to be much older, thanks
To popular consensus. Weightless, unhinged,

Eons from even our own moon, we’ll drift
In the haze of space, which will be, once

And for all, scrutable and safe.



My Heart- Kim Addonizio
October 16, 2012, 8:14 am
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That Mississippi chicken shack.
That initial-scarred tabletop,
that tiny little dance floor to the left of the band.
That kiosk at the mall selling caramels and kitsch.
That tollbooth with its white-plastic-gloved worker
handing you your change.
That phone booth with the receiver ripped out.
That dressing room in the fetish boutique,
those curtains and mirrors.
That funhouse, that horror, that soundtrack of screams.
That putti-filled heaven raining gilt from the ceiling.
That haven for truckers, that bottomless cup.
That biome. That wilderness preserve.
That landing strip with no runway lights
where you are aiming your plane,
imagining a voice in the tower,
imagining a tower.



well ok honey
October 16, 2012, 8:12 am
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