My nearly-6-year-old is a budding poet. I discovered this gem in the living room (not hidden with the lettuce, mind you): Ow samwich you are sow boown you are sow tase… Let me translate: Oh sandwich, you are so brown, you are so tasty… I am so proud! My own mini-poet in the pantry!
The flower, growing out of the waste of the world— Beauty in darkness and filth, Blooming in spite of adversity. Springing from a crack in the sidewalk— Somehow surviving trampling feet, Pissing dogs, plucking children, and perpetual heat. The crimson petals of unknown passion, Unfurling with grace; shy and cautious, Exposing the secrets within. Once … [Read more…]
I am that bleached-blonde robin red-breast, gulping golden glasses every Thursday night: siren of spring to some, boring bird to others, desperate to be noticed. I am that bird of paradise, perfumed and primped, old men perched next to her, parroting their prose– eager for a f***ing frenzy, despite the gleaming golden talon. I am … [Read more…]
Falling down the hole that has no bottom, like Alice on her great adventure in Wonderland, my heart beats fast and hard– I hear it in my ears, throbbing–but whose ears are they? The white rabbit I followed who ran away with my dust mop? Why would he want my dust mop anyway? There is … [Read more…]
They should serve food in art galleries. It would bring more bodies in so the masses can proclaim, with satisfied grins, that they are patrons of the arts while they gobble tasteless, cold, mushy, food-like substances, glancing in between bites at walls attempting to satiate a go-go-go society’s need for culture when there is no … [Read more…]