Thursday, May 13, 2010

The King of the Birds

"Many people, I have found, are congenitally unable to appreciate the sight of a peacock."

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Larry Levis


You are the sweet, pregnant,
teen-age blonde thrown from the speeding car.

You are a dead, clean-shaven astronaut
orbiting perfectly forever.

You are America.
You are nobody.
I made you up.
I take pills and drive a flammable truck
until I drop.

I am the nicest guy in the world,
closing his switchblade and whistling.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Birthday Letters

From The Shot:

You were gold-jacketed, solid silver,
Nickel-tipped. Trajectory perfect
As through ether. Even the cheek-scar,
Where you seemed to have side-swiped concrete,
Served as a rifling groove
To keep you true.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Frederick Exley

Page 35: "And finally, I wanted love - or said that I did, though I know now that what I wanted was the adulation of the crowd, and that love was just a word that crowded so many other, more appropriate words off the tongue."

Saturday, May 8, 2010


I am here at Soapstone for one glorious week.

I'm in the cube.

Out the circular window in front of me:
the pointy roof tip of the other writing cabin, spring green tree leaves, white birch bark, cloudless blue sky.

Out the circular window to the left of me:
rolling white river water over rocks, green moss on the trunks of trees, insects zipping by at top speed.

Out the circular window to the right of me:
the sound of a car or two passing on the highway, a big red sign that says EAT, and green, green, green.

I'd tell you about the circular window in back of me, but that one's dirty and needs to be washed.

Loyal reader, (that's you Brian), ahoy from my cube. And good day.