2013/04/26

unsung the tiny human esophagus what a conundrum where memory is a lot of dead hair



   
No Thursday Night Pints for a second straight week - people are busy - and I'm busy today (and hope to play outside all weekend), but I want to point out a new blogroll over in the left column, Newest Gag. The plan is to add a new-to-me blog every day through May: the more Blegsylvania dies (and see how fewer and fewer bloggers keep blogging) the more I want to read new people. There are two there now, one for yesterday, one for today, so so far, goal met. I'll need raid some of your blogrolls, and I welcome suggestions of your favorites you've not seen mentioned here. Sure, it's attention-trolling, I admit daily I'm a slut when I can't be a whore, and I admit Kind is a form of passive aggression but also it can simultaneously be Kind. As always, if you're Kinding me but me not you please let me know.












FORSAKEN PEN I'LL FORGET

Clark Coolidge

Reality be dashed       I live in the quick
no bulk       sat there       funny       things happen
those dark swimming ways       architecture
hospitality       a flesh wound       the Duke of Earl
the real what's left when you don't sleep
even if you do or especially       no prizes
those dispatches       flakes off an iron bell
left on the avenue with the kliegs       unsung
the tiny human esophagus what a conundrum
where memory is a lot of dead hair       as a child
I held it to the light       the world there
in those common toys       breathing on the weights
measuring spoonfuls       nothing to say
wide as the rest of the empty way