I don't know about you, but if someone mentions the name "Randall," one of two things comes to mind: 1: Randall Flagg: the denim-clad Walkin' Dude who appears as the antagonist in a number of Stephen King's books and who is one of my favorite literary villains (despite having a pitiful death in Book 7 … Continue reading Possibly the Ball-Turret Gunner’s Wife
Finding signed books is always neat. Especially when they're signed in creative ways, like this copy of Tina by Peter Davis.
I know what you're thinking: I probably shouldn't do a Google Image search for "Double Aldrich." It's probably terrifying. And I can't say if it is or isn't, because I am now myself afraid of performing such a search to check. So let's just agree not to search that particular term. Anyway. The Aldrich Contemporary Art … Continue reading Double Aldrich, Double Poems
Contrary to popular (maybe?) belief, this is not a socio-political analysis and/or diatribe about the city of Bloomington and any of its municipal policies *COUGH* moreafforablehousingdowntown *COUGH* whatsupwiththeparkingspotsohsorrywhatparkingspots *COUGH* I swear it isn't. Nor is it about the other Bloomington. And because I live in Bloomington, Indiana, the other Bloomington would of course be Bloomington-Normal, … Continue reading Bloomington’s Artful Dodge
It doesn’t die. It just slips into a different robe, one cut from spring-blue skies, but lined with shattered houses. It walks among the people, unseen, a cheerful gust twirling its fingers through their hair, before stripping in the middle of the street, stamping its feet, and shrieking that it’s had … Continue reading When the Storm Moves On (Poem)
Pine needles prick our lungs and auger moons hunker skyward these woodstove nights with frost licking windows, bodies sleeping in church pews and toolshed bunks and burrowed in branches and dead leaves, cold mountain wind breaking on black wool knit. We hack trees free from their honeysuckle cages. My boots are yellow in … Continue reading Spring Break 2010 (poem)
Dead of summer, I’m aproned and sweating at my seasonal retail job, stacking cucumbers, stocking salads, slicing potato sacks—golden, red, russet. We get a watermelon surplus—we truss it all off the truck, extra pallets packed with cardboard bins bursting with fruit. We heave them through backrooms to the selling floor, all those … Continue reading Watermelon Surplus (poem)