Tuesday, November 07, 2006


she couldn’t find it there, in the woven and swollen birch bark. damn the choosing rhymes, their flavorful, ghastly whine. buckle. three, four. she is fastened tightly with portrait stamps, wound around her knuckles. faces lost to damp adhesion. war into day. and more days. you are a different child. than the one we lost. liquefy and shed. we take drastic measures to hide those words. will I cast my lot. will it end up solid, growing and vehicular, in this, the most desperate of sunsets?


didi said...

Hello - Bob Marcacci asked that I add you to THE COUNTDOWN's blogroll and he selected this poem to be featured in the next broadcast. Are you able to record it yourself or would you prefer I get one of our readers to do it?

Thank you,
Didi Menendez

luc u! said...

fantastic poem!!

i like to be a cheerleader about poems. i love when i can say "fantastic" and that's what it actually is.

so i stick to that rule near to unswervingly.

also, congrats, and i look forward to hearing it.


poetzie said...

Thanks Didi! I'd love to read it myself, I just need to knoe what kind of file you need the recording in. How exciting!

didi said...

I need it in an mp3 file.

We need it as soon as possible. Please send it to my hotmail address on my profile.

Thank you,
Didi Menendez