Whoot Ding!

I remembered how to sign on!
Unlock my canvas
and shut the door--

let's start with bread mold
and the sinus cavity . . .
my partner may lose his face
because I wanted to feed the geese--
three months ago . . .

. . . withhold the . . . urge . . .
. . . don't . . . even . . . type those lyrics . . .

gasp--pant pant--I think you are safe.

but I've got a happy urge I'm riding. Writing.

Ms. Magazine is still active? Didn't know that
and for the longest time, thought I didn't have the time to check--
not until I wikied sati, foot binding, and FGM--yep,
a link was provided.

Note to Blogsphere: Something strange has been happening to my brain in the past couple of weeks--weird instances when I skip words or combine ideas; my dreams have been overtly vivid and highly plot regulated; I forget . . . things. Should I be worried? Anyone else experience brain-flesh rot, please let me know asap.

Best news ever. I'm ready to read again. So, I can't wait for this summer. x2.

Red blooms fish through
colored fumes in that hazy old puddle by the barn.
A hard knot finds its way
between my teeth
as I peer through the bushes
watching the blue buckle
flick rocks ribboning the surface.
I'm not her.

I never swam there.

It's not a seed. I cough it up

look in the grass and bend my knees:

a worm has buried itself, wrapped

around the center, holding on for life.