Yeah. Well, I’m thinking that I’ve done this, actually. I’ve been published in several annuals and anthologies, featured in a number of magazines, books, e-poetry sites, etc. (and a true crime novel after the author (Burl Barer) read something I had online about the case he was writing about, but I’m not sure that counts.)
I think I’ll mark this as done and focus on my self-publish on lulu goal.
Woke up before 6am
wrote (out of nowhere)
Where did that come from?
I just don’t know how I feel about it. I really don’t.
It’s interesting though, I’ve passed this around to a bunch of different people who’ve typed up comments, rated them on a scale, added post-it notes with feedback, or just written directly in the book… whatever struck their fancy. It’s quite beat up at this point, but I think that’s a good thing.
I’m glad it’s come home. Perhaps I’ll actually do something with it someday – if I could even choose a tenth that I liked I’d have plenty for a little book… at least this is a step in the right direction.
I’ve just e-mailed the fellow who has my book. I dearly hope his apartment didn’t eat it. I know how things tend to dissolve in other people’s homes after a while: gnawed on by dust bunnies, drunkenly trod upon, accidentally splattered with coffee…
Once it’s back in my hands, hopefully I can really read it. It may have been gone for so long that I can be rationally critical of myself. Then I can edit. Then I can put together a small press run.
I have a problem. I have a lot of old writing & I don’t know if I like any of it anymore. I need to retrieve the one copy I printed & had bound. I lent it to someone a year or so ago.
I need to try & sit down and read it as if I didn’t write it. I’ve sent a few things in and had a few things published, but I think I have to do some sort of collection thing before I can really write again. Purge it…
Cinnamon hearts on my tongue
make me hope your tooth is sweet
that you’ll swallow these affections
like a sideshow sword
you leave me hungrier
I’m screamwhirling on the inside
don’t you hear all the commotion?
feel my skin buzzing;
velvet bumblebees humming under your touch
holding me tight
my bones turn to glass
and I’m shaking like a dashboard hula girl
please don’t tell me
you’re smiling at that dizzy pitch
because you just wanna be my friend
tracing tattoos on my skin
in the name of art alone
I want you to reach inside me
pull out my heart
take a bite
tell me if the flavor suits you
wash it down with a gin & tonic
(the kind with a squeeze)
then pull me against you so hard
that the fever on my skin
is left where I’d been standing alone
a heat ghost that drifts down to the floor
in warm, faintly glowing dust
you could scoop up in one hand and blow away.