Thursday, April 1, 2010
Purchased at Talking Leaves...Books.
Sometime within my first two years here, I put together a reading for Just Buffalo featuring Peter Gizzi and Bernadette Mayer. I am pretty sure it was in the Spring of 1999. I remember going to dinner with Peter and Bernadette and Phil Good and Aaron Skomra and Michelle Citrin. We ate at the Anchor Bar, home of the chicken wing, despite the fact that Aaron and Michelle were vegan. I think they ate french fries. Peter told us there was this new movie we all needed to see called Rushmore and offered to take us all to see it. We piled into my little Nissan and drove out to the multiplex at the Walden Galleria Mall. I remember all of us laughing through the whole film, and I could feel Peter's evident happiness at having turned everyone on to a great film. In our occasional correspondence since, the slowly steady decline in the quality of Wes Anderson's features has been a frequent subject.
from Artificial Heart
There I could never be a boy.
You have to begin somewhere.
The devil of your empty pocket moves as escargot
up the artery of a hollow arm,
ending on the lip of your dismay–it shows–
in the Brillo morning of a shaving mirror.
It is that morning always, and it is that morning
now, and now you must fight, not with fists
but with an eraser. The duelist awaits a ham sandwich
on the dock where your ship comes in.
Be warned and without ceremony take your place
as you have before. Only look once
at the idiot chagrin and smile as you ready your slingshot.
You are not alone in your palindrome.
Why is it so hard to know everything it said
the mirror spoke. The book is darker
than night. Do you read me?
This is written somewhere and no one can
read it. It is not for them but to you
it is a reproof from years of neglect.
There there. No place like home.