Visitor

Visitor

No one has need to sit. I let them lean,
hold up the walls, pin down the carpet. Chairs
are soft and bent and welcome secrets shared
with unsuspecting ears. You used to twist
your hat brim, scuffed in scraped and bruising fists
like baseballs newly umpired in, or fit
the cap snug down, whichever knee would hold
it while your fingers plucked the fraying crease

of pants you could afford to throw away.
Just three years late I banished chairs. My knees
will be the only bent ones here. My soles
the only ones exposed. No one stays long,
so uninvited stiff, head tilting down
to see only my crown, my sullen skull.

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Everybody says I love you

Everybody says I love you

I used to say I love you. Plain
speech made sense back when I loved you
and more when I didn’t. Again
I said it. Again. As if new
sentiment could grow out from that
same old, tired phrase. As if, after
something we weren’t looking at
aged and died, I could see laughter

lines at your eyes to match my own.
Again. Again. I love you. Doubt
is not a word that thrives alone,
but in pairs. Speak some fact about

the sky, my eyes, some prickling purpled heather—
I love you. How these lies lie light as feather

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Passages

Passages

Just yesterday, the parchy leaves
scuttled crabwise here between
the wall and wall and sidewalk dust.

Then, we wondered if it could rain.
If rain meant something else than water,
if rain meant a bright hot sky. Now

the bricks gleam wet, crustacean leaves
guttered, gone. Here is nothing but
the wall and wall and sidewalk man

in the cold shelter of the wall,
smelling of firecrackers, wanting heat.

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Wow, it’s been a while

I’ve been thinking more about poetry lately, after a long drought of poetry-related thought. Last night, I decided to write something that’s been tugging on my brain for a while, but lordy, the rust! The rust!

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Snatchers

An old one I’m revising.

Snatchers

My dead uncle came out of the restroom
casually, like last year’s cancer
couldn’t concern him. He’s taller now,

less grey and grave. I was tempted
to offer him popcorn, a drink,
or to sidle close enough to feel

if he still radiates. The dead flock
to crowds where a jowl’s droop recalls
Generalissimo Franco, that ruddy

cheek, my dad. Too many faces
reappear in theater lobbies or produce
stands. The dead should not touch

the strawberries. The dead should stay,
stay where they are and await my company.

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The backseat

I’m finding that writing of any sort, poetry or blogging or emails, is just taking a backseat to everything else in my life. It isn’t the image I have in my head of how things would be, but it seems to be reality.

The good news? I survived a year of law school, I am on the law review I wanted, and I’ve been working a job I enjoy.

The bad news? I get too tired to do other things I enjoy. It makes me feel old. Oh, and apparently my blood pressure is occasionally reaching the stratosphere. What I wouldn’t give for some ability to relax!

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Pseudophakia

I have been meaning to put pseudophakia online for free and I’ve finally gotten around to it. Maybe this means I’ll finally get around to finishing book 2. Or maybe not.

Here it is, in pdf format: pseudophakia

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An announcement and a request

I’m done with finals for the semester! Woo! They went… well… they went.

Chris and I are hosting a little impromptu virtual food drive for our wedding (also, conveniently for the holidays). If you feel like helping us meet our fairly modest goal, I would really appreciate it.

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Week 9 in the books, and so am I!

Sitting here writing a voluntary, ungraded assignment that’s taking hours. You know there’s something wrong with you when you do ungraded, voluntary assignments that take hours. The something wrong is LAW SCHOOL.

I have been in school for nine weeks, and in LA for six months as of today. Other than feeling like I never have enough time, things are going well. Moving out here and in with Chris was a great decision. Choosing an apartment with white carpet was… a less good decision.

Sitting at the kitchen counter watching the World Series while writing a VOLUNTARY UNGRADED assignment (did I mention the voluntary, ungraded part?) while drinking vast quantities of ginger ale? Ain’t nothing wrong with that at all.

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A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds…

*sigh*

So I hung up Facebook because it annoyed me. It still does, but I decided to open it back up for school reasons.

Make up my damned mind!

Week 8 started today and, frankly, I’m tired. We’ve been taking the subway and it requires my levering my tired body out of bed at an hour that just doesn’t seem to work for me. I’m no longer a night person, but oh lordy I’m not a morning person either. I’m just… a person. And even that’s a bit questionable at times!

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