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Showing posts from June, 2011

The Nervous Breakdown

Although I eventually declined the feature and the interview, the editor at The Nervous Breakdown didn't hold it against me, and has published one of the poems.
The Nervous Breakdown

From the Mouths of Babes in Prison

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When I was born my mother put a pearl inside my mouth.
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I'm going to be a hero when I get out of here.

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My hand weighs a thousand pounds.

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Mine is a thousand years old.

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When I get out of here, I'll still just be Thomas.

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(after hearing Kipling's "If"):
While you were reading that my heart was pounding.
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I used to hate it when people told me what to do. Now I can't wait to say okay.

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I wanna be a philosophy.

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I am always trying to think of things to say. I guess that makes me a poet.

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I tripped on my hoodie and now I'm a punk.

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My favorite word is taciturn.

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Mine is freedom.
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I have more buttons to push than a flippin' elevator.

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My favorite thing in the whole world is socks.

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I doubt my mother is feeding my dog.

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I like most of the stuff in poetry, but I especially like it when you talk about the magical parts.

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Wendy, do you think change is something that is really possible.

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Wendy, do you believe in immortality.

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Wendy, I wanna read this to you so bad ....







Under the Elder Tree, a Sapling Garden

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Yet More Alcohol Inks on Yupo

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My name is Wendy and I am an alcoholink.





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An attempt at visualizing the Fourth Dimension: Take a point, stretch it into a line, curl it into a circle, twist it into a sphere, and punch through the sphere. (Einstein)


More Alcohol Inks

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Hot Sonnets

Entasis Press has released an anthology of sonnets, which features among others, works by ee cummings, Edna St Vincent Millay, Randall Mann, AE Stallings, fellow Coloradan David Rothman, and yrs truly:
Hot Sonnets
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No ideas but on wings.

(Take that, WCW).


A little Lorca, slipping into English

When the moon sails forth, the bells fall still and there emerge the pathwaysthat can’t be penetrated.When the moon sails out, the water hides earth’s surface, and thousands of hearts are islands.Nobody eats an orangeunder the full moon's influence. It is good then to eatonly green and icy fruit.When the moon sails forth with a thousand identical facesand a thousand staked hearts, the coins made of silver weep within your pocket.

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I have taken to teaching literature in a maximum security prison.  Needless to say, I  have been contemplating the word Corrections.



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