2012/10/26

Am I Not Your Animal?



That's Planet's cow, I said, showing the above photo to Thursday Night Pinters on my iPhone. It's going in our front yard after we uHaul it from Ohio over the mountains in December, best garden statuary ever, it'll look great next to the red reflecting ball I'm getting Earthgirl for Giftmas. K said, Planet needs to get it to an all white depth-crunching studio to really capture the negative space. I said, we'll do snow this winter, provided we don't die this weekend via Sandy, the androgynously-named hurricane. Is it a boy or a girl? Of course we scraped scabs bloody re: motherfuckingly motherfuckful motherfucking POTUS 12, our disgust, our surprise at our disgust, our disgust at our surprise, what motherfucking rubes we are, were we always, must we have been? We don't know. We talked about Berryman, how we daydreamed of being a giant but knew, know, we weren't, aren't, we who compete to be top tier interpreters of giants. L said, so, Roxy Music tomorrow, yes? No, said K, I mean yes, but a Julie Doiron cascade too please. Nope, said D, who follows me on twooter, Lambchop. Maybe, I said. Soon. Yup.

















TO THE ANGELBEAST

Eduardo C Corral

All that glitters isn't music.

Once, hidden in tall grass,
I tossed fistfuls of dirt into the air:
doe after doe of leaping.

You said it was nothing
but a trick of the light. Gold
curves. Gold scarves.

Am I not your animal?

You'd wait in the orchard for hours
to watch a deer
break from the shadows.

You said it was like lifting a cello
our of its black case.