Palinode 18

We move the deer aside

Make room for the

Fodder.

I brush my teeth in horizontal

Patterns

To try to remind them

How to do it

To run or gallop—

            [Luckily the naked noise doesn’t follow
            it keeps its distance
            I don’t let it get in everything
            like your pubic hair got in my soup]

There

Must

Be

A

Million

Asian

Students

At

The

University

Of

Pennsylvania

And

Apparently

The bees have disappeared

Horded the honey—

Honey I’m sorry,

I mentioned your pubic hair

In public,

I cannot hear myself speak.

Eat your dinner.

Yours truly was asked to clean the apartment

Alright:

I     see     a      potential     pile.

              [Is this a form of cleaning?]

Straw

And

Sternum

Make

Nice

Sound

Piles

Why

Don’t

They

Make

More

Sense?

How things work...

I just wanted to lift the veil on a few of the secrets behind all the mysteries that seem to happen here, in blogland, neighboring your reality. Well, the chapbook was not just miraculously formed by my Epson Stylus C88. I'm sorry to burst anyone's bubble about that. If it makes you feel any better, I believed in Santa until a VERY late age. That being said, I would like to just send out a thanks to the DIY Publishing Blog run by Shanna Compton. It basically provides all the info you need to publish a chapbook or zine, or whatever it is you publish, without waiting around for someone else to do it. It's a fun process, and worth investigating, if you are poet or not.

Secondly, the Palinodes have been coming more slowly as I'm trying to also post poems on a new project blog The Ping Project.


This is more of a collaborative blog, with Nikki Roszko, a poet, coworker, and friend, who is interested in investigating the relationships between internet spaces--looking to cross reference the work of other bloggers, with one's own poetry, these poems rise out of communications and, for me, word banks, provided by other bloggers. It's worth checking out the blog, and if you're a poet, perhaps you can join in the ping-ing.

More poetry soon, and better.

Palinode 17

To decide between the bees
Settling into supper
Still quiet
Picks a different cup

Bees scatter and sense—

        I start to undress the noise, but it follows

Still
sounds too loud

the winded population is
a stomachache
a pot-roast most people dress down

I didn’t want to pile up my clothes
the same,
I say,

anti-

anti-

anti

and I became a pumping steamship

        --green lakes flat as hard wood this would be quieter--

and I became a pocket purse and waited to get full

No buildup of brandished waves
No sloppy liquid lake splashing out of the sink

I can recant the messy afternoon—

Quiet the quieters hushing me

It’s not the humming bees that bother

I have forgiven them

When will the winded, the noisy, hush up its--

              -renowned
    -surround.