The birds have been ringing my doorbell lately, and knocking faintly on the window. So I went birdwatching for an hour yesterday down by the Bay. I am sick of trying to pencil face-time with the real world into my schedule, but that's all I can do lately ( Read more... )

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I've been watching the world a little more closely lately, looking to see when it's safe to call the season "Spring." Temperature can fluctuate, and has been fluctuating, so it has to be ruled out as an indicator. And everything I used to rely on in Massachusetts no longer applies. For example ( Read more... )

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Plum blossoms arrive
as autumn's red sweetgum leaves
still refuse to fall.
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I've been performing this new poem lately called, "Fuck You, Mitt Romney and Rachael Ray At the Same Time." Performed it last night, actually. And now, apparently, I have to entirely change the title.

Now, if only Rachael Ray would get booted from the Food Network, I could happily retire that piece.

Yes, ratpackslim, I'm aware of your little perversion. ( Read more... )

I read an item the other day that said that, reportedly, Tom Jones just insured his chest hair for $7 million.

This is a guy who knows what the ladies like. Where has the chest hair gone in this world? Wither hast thou gone, Tom Selleck? For the past twenty years, the standard of male beauty is to be as hairless as an 11-year old girl. Male ( Read more... )

All the frustrations of my personal and poetic life are building to a massive thunderhead right now ( Read more... )

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