Books

I recently found this bookstore in my town that deals with rare and expensive books. I didn't know how expensive some poetry books were.

Monolithos

Views of Jeopardy

I really want these books but they are far too luxurious at the moment.

*
The other day C got me eight poetry books, and a Ps3 for our anniversary. I need to get Rock Band. That game is addictive even though I've failed every time at the mic. I got her a card, a customed t-shirt, and a cd.

How uneven.

*
Sent three submissions in yesterday.

One month later

I messed up a submission. Damn.

Freeze tag

Yes, Helene tagged me!

Here are the rules:
1. Write your own six word memoir
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere
4. Tag five more blogs with links
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

My six-word autobiography: "Stay. My world hasn't collapsed yet."

I tag: Mika, Jim, Sopheak, Rachel, Giles,

Under my skin

I saw W yesterday and it felt like seeing an ex. Our friendship died over two years ago. He tried to salvage it but I left.

We use to be best friends since childhood and we'd share secrets. Now there's only small talk and silence. Much silence.

We wander into different rooms.

*

We wandered into different rooms. And if there was a window in both rooms I'd imagine a moon in each. Silence is our own patio. We look up, we look away.
There'd be cars leaving.

I imagine meeting an ex like this at a party.

I won't say, "I can feel you under my skin." outloud. I'm too proud.

Kiss hard until the dial tone surrenders

This is no drunk dial. No conman
with his tricks and mirrors. It's me,
really. After the break up I've been
very unhappy.

But tonight is different. I'm suited
nicely, clean-shaven, and snuggled
squarely inside a window seat with
gorgeous black shoes.

The window panes are so large
I had to remind myself the ego
cannot be unabasheded even
if framed.

I'm naked except for my good suit.
My hair is slicked back. I smile sincerely,
women approach me first.

They run their fingers up my center,
pause to admire my handsome buttons.
They feast to my neck and stop.

If they devour me there their lips
would frost.

Instead they kiss up a winter storm
in the space between my eyelids.

My waitress seems uneasy by this.
So I tell the waitress I need my salt
but she only brings me more sugar.

Y, since you left fortune finds me
like a bouquet of flowers cast off
into the crooked arms of my
coldest winter.