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Showing posts from December, 2007

planning food

Routine. Just the right amount. I always try to time when I can eat so I have enough energy to get through my classes. Working split shifts makes it hard. I know when I teach a six hour shift in the afternoon with quick breaks I don't have time to eat anything. The morning shift can be easier. 3.5 hours in the morning then a piece of bread and cheese. Need to find a decent meal to get me through. Not easy. I try not to eat my main meal until 2PM so the food will stick with me longer. But by then I am low in energy and end up eating a kebab. Five kebabs last week, two cheeseburgers, one chicken burger, one chicken wrap and ham and cheese at 10PM. No time to really cook. Hm . . . today I am going to eat my main meal at 1:30PM and make it last till 9:30PM. Maybe a chicken sandwich. Mondays are awkward.

one shot 8 min, no revisions yet


I loaned out my voice to a crumbling city and prepared kielbasa for the magic road to childhood. Along the way I found pecans in the irrigation ditch. I sold goldfish to teddybears. It isn’t easy to outlift the dust or outshift the universe. The nightbridge carries one-half the city and my soul is lipped into existence. My face was painted in puddles and an archaic ship floated on my ceiling.

one shot, 10 min, no revisions yet

Ice Age Debris

yawning into eldervisions the priests honeyed their veins and hung their passions behind the cough on the snowed-out television. they nailed opposable thumbs on their wall to indicate their degree of passion and spray painted roses on the table. one day their folds of Jesusflesh sprung a leak.

On the first day, their orphaned memories reconfabulated. it was at a time when radio towers splotched the nightscape. red armies outnumbered white armies and there was a balloon floating above the head of god.

On the second day, another logic crawled between their walls and tapped a new line for the dead. it was at a time when a knife in the snow meant a denouncement in the hypnotic modulations of the void.

On the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days these priests found their usual place at a Polish restaurant and waited for wodka. this was at a time when Poland was schooled in the techniques of stamping and everyone carried an ice-age debris in their mind-chunk. yokels know best.…

more from Prodigal Drift (rough draft)

In Another Post-Communist Hotel

the moon is a grenade in the Polish landscape
setting against the coal-smudged windows
one toilet and one shower for twenty miners
the truth is something that is re-cast
an orphic revolution in the grayed-out buildings and boot-smeared shit
to become human is a continual inter-subjective project
art is non-instrumental communication in the darkness
sarcasm may be a condition of truth
Barbied culture: bitten into tin
beauty outpulls the numbness

Ireland soon :-)

I am ready for a break. Very ready. Walking through one of the world's ugliest train stations four times a day is taking a toll. Worn out for sure. I am going to Portadown a week from Sunday for Christmas. Ah to hear English. Clean air. Green. Irish sausages. Butter. Bread. Counting down the days.

I prefer a green small town to an industrial coal smudged city. In the near future, I gotta find the green again in my life.

new glasses

more from the new manuscript


in the effects of grief
memory was worth
doing over
to arrive again
in scattered kingdoms

in the nameless
book of
pronouns outnumber us
the heart
is helixed

can you trouble
yourself enough
to feel
your self