The Solar System, (or Why Humanity is Failing at the Speed of Light)

In my dream I'm singing "she's like the wind next to me," but Patrick Swayze is far away on the television and nobody is dancing, even dirty. I carry a red balloon, just one, and wear a scar and the sun is shiny in the sky, which I know because I looked and it was a dream so I didn't go blind but saw that the sun was actually a lie. A shiny lie. A refinished lie. A lie waxed on and on.

Things of note

a l i c e    b l u e returns

read poems by me and others at coconut and dusie.

also, out there, new octopus.

go here

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6298467.stm


way too lazy to make a pretty link. but you should read this, and download the pdf to get the whole scoop.

Sulfur

The sound is a reflection.
The sound is a burden.
The sound is the sunrise in an orange streak.


The peak is a curve and a bell.
We are all listening and dying.
We are deaf in the streets with
lights as lines of script in our past.

The script is a poem.
The past is a poem.
This poem is a poem.
The sound is a poem
made of water and fog.

Morning Adventure

Slipping to the bus stop on ice, then waiting. Two people beside me: a portly old man with a grandfatherly face and a green beret...buying an eight ball from a kid who couldn't have been more than 16. They talk about the guy they almost killed behind an alley. Grandfatherly bonding. Mentor.

Then reading. Reading on the bus. Reading Joshua Clover on the bus and damn it's good. Fourier Series. A discovery about this beautiful book that I own. The cover has a flower/dandelion split between the front and back covers, the spine a dividing line. This is just a fancy book jacket, folded over the real cover. It comes off. Reveals a poster of a dandelion and the simplest cover underneath.

Then Downtown Seattle. Riding past store fronts. Banana Republic doing their windows. Naked mannequins. Naked Male Mannequins...and all that that implies...

Something interesting always happens when you ride the bus. I love it.