Tuesday, April 14, 2009

what an odd phase this is

in the hothot waters of my bath, I always bring a glass of ice
I set the cubes on the top of my head
the coldcold water trickles down through my hair
and licks my scalp, and it makes me think of
how it would feel
to crack an egg on my head
and let the yolk run down to sneak into my ears,
while the white
leaves slimy snail tracks on the back of my neck and
tickles the tiny hairs there
like a ghost

but it's just an ice cube, not an egg
which is hidden,
buried and cozy,
redred clots in the water

Saturday, April 11, 2009


the phone rings.
"hello, archives."
"do you allow females in the club?" she asks.
"I'm... sorry?" the word females throws me off. it sounds so clinical.
"do you allow females in the club," she repeats.
"um, I'm sorry, I don't understand your question. this isn't a club," I tell her.
"Isn't this a strip club?"
"no, we're an archives."
"what's that."
"kind of like a library."

she hangs up.

the funny thing is that apparently this sort of thing happens all the time. people call, thinking we are a sex club, a strip club, an escort service, a brothel. what surprised me the most was the idea that a "strip club" with the word lesbian in the title would not invite women.

Friday, April 10, 2009

it's national poetry month

you get what you put in
I think, while at the laundromat
there is not nearly enough foam amidst my tshirts

and also, I'm alone
save her warmth at bedtime