Month: January 2011

it’s my birthday

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It’s my birthday, and yes, I’ll take some digital-age coddling …
since my momma took me out of that itchy-ass swaddling
Now I’m the life of any party in this groovy leisure suit.
gonna make you all holler a rooty toot toot
Oh, hi. It’s my birthday. So remember when I was all ohhh I miss you and I’m totes attacking your blogs with a vengeance
and growling yarrrgh like a pirate of Penzance
It’s Your Birthday Cake & Ice Cream Shower Gel Set
So I’m taking this chance to say hail flarfy fellows well-met
Today, on my birthday, I celebrate another year on this planet.
Not knowing where I’m going like Brad and Janet
It’s My Birthday, I’m Gonna Party Long sleeve shirts
Gonna drink salty tea in medieval yurts
It’s My Birthday and I’m crying as he wants me to.
Gonna shout it out from the balcony at Pompidou
birthday, aging, menopause, perimenopause, getting old, shmirshky, women, cake.
Gonna swim with swans in the freezing Prospect Park Lake
It’s my birthday…whoop-dee-f**kin-doo
And a doody doody doody doody doody doody doo

flesh

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oat bran with tons of nut butter and agave and bananas
lots and lots of red lentil soup with sweet potatoes and herb/garlic goat cheese
gruyere and mushroom quiche with a small mesclun salad
and yet every day my weight drops by several ounces
my body just burning itself away
this morning I was 103
three months ago I was 112
five months ago I was 118
three years ago I was 134
flesh is such a strange thing, what is it with flesh, the mind and body freak out together

The Womenflowers.

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There are beautiful women, less
beautiful. They are seduced by the
poet and taken. From there
they either appear in the house
or they will be laid in secret.
There are sweet like the
younger pretend and animal-like
women like the menopausal wo-
men look. The woes belong just
to the deceived. And the gloaming just
to the woeful snowy gloaming.

My upcoming social calendar

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Here are the poetry events I am planning to attend in the near future, barring loss of consciousness (knock on wood), blizzards, or other, um, obstacles:

1/15 Segue: Shonni Ennelow & Renee Gladman / Poetry Time, Lisa Robertson et al
1/19 Nick Piombino and Lisa Robertson at the poproj
1/22 Segue: CA Conrad & Norma Cole
1/28 Julian Brolaski book party in Brooklyn
1/29 Segue: Douglas Kearney & Yedda Morrison

Just saying.

The Fakery

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The fakery is great, in it are
two women, one for white bread and
one for nonwhite bread. The pussy
will in each case be felched by the
male faker, for the rele-
vent masquerade with the local no.
from one to eleven. Masquerade one are
the two women, two and three are the
boy, four the boy and five
also boy. Six, seven the boy,
eight, nine, ten the boy and eleven
the boy, because it is all about the boy. 
In the morning at half past nine
the blog is published then it comes
out and is laid out to bleed on the
floor.

The Woman

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woman has huge eyeballs, and
giant fat cheeks. The woman is
so stupid. The woman is ignorant.
The woman is pleased about
each little treachery. She also
does harm. And she is a bitch
while stealing the men.
The woman does not write poems,
she works as an operations manager.

Scruples

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Not everyone has scruples
some scruples are dishonest
or inoperative. So it is with you.
The philosopher says everyone has
scruples. Your scruples are
especially for cheating. The scruples
consist of the upper self and the
lower self, the goat and the
thinker. Of the ethics in the upper self
and also in the lower self. Half of the
self also belongs to the crotch. As well as
both of the testicles and the index fin-
ger when one has stuck it into the ass of
one’s slut.