Sometime I forget the "special features" I've started on this blog, like my idea to do "Fresh to Death Fridays," and then I remember when I think "I should start a feature in which I share poems in process," and then I remember I've already started such a feature...
What made me remember the feature is when I remembered that Sara Wintz sent me some poems a long time ago for said feature, and I've yet to post them. Then I remembered that this would be a good time to remind you to remember that there are still copies of Wintz's The Feeling is Mutual anthology (with cover artwork designed by me and guts designed by Stephen Novotny). You should buy one to support Small Press Traffic (they're cheap!), and then you should read these new poems by Sara Wintz (or you should do these things, I guess, in whatever order you choose). We now resume "Fresh to Death Fridays"...
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wake up and put my clothes on [30 push ups, thirty curl ups, relaxation exercises]
“standing in the sunlight streaming through my window” “the roses on my bedside table”
it’s morning
radio on, “sunlight streaming through my window”
walk across the room to my dresser, put my clothes on and walk downstairs to the kitchen
turn the coffee on, open the fridge which turns the lights on
page 55
on the internet a teenager from usc joins the libyan rebels at the end of summer vacation
cactuses on the table [9:54 PM] christmas lights surrounding the living room
lights off everywhere but the multi-colored glow + white light from the television screen
a woman in the television says “on the sugar bowl”
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I want to say so many things. About a collection of people. About the way that the sun looks on the apartment buildings across from our house in the morning, with the porch lights still on. About the pale shade of blue in the sky. About the process involved in sending one letter to you, Francesca. In our kitchen, the back door is open leading out to the back porch. Walking down the stairs in nighttime, clouds float across the moon. Kitchen lights for miles on. Yellow squares floating out into the distance.
I want to say so many things. About a collection of people. About the way that the sun looks on the apartment buildings across from our house in the morning, with the porch lights still on. About the pale shade of blue in the sky. About the process involved in sending one letter to you, Francesca. In our kitchen, the back door is open leading out to the back porch. Walking down the stairs in nighttime, clouds float across the moon. Kitchen lights for miles on. Yellow squares floating out into the distance.
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