tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-235413982024-03-12T18:53:10.265-07:00negative wingspankirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.comBlogger242125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-53830651802148156532011-09-19T04:49:00.001-07:002011-09-19T04:55:56.907-07:00blogging elsewhere for awhile<a href="http://kaschock.wordpress.com/">HERE.</a>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-12281075299811367192011-09-15T15:59:00.000-07:002011-09-15T16:01:47.930-07:00dear little girldon't you know what you're made of? <span style="font-style:italic;">yes: lucre, spite, every thin night.</span>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-86726482309832198222011-09-14T20:18:00.000-07:002011-09-14T20:21:54.036-07:00dear red queen as a childoff to bed... off to bed... off with you now... off to your bedkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-20287407767330429282011-09-13T04:02:00.000-07:002011-09-13T04:04:45.753-07:00dear sisyphusthat looks heavy. <span style="font-style:italic;">It's not heavy, it's my boulder.</span>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-34263626120668778432011-08-22T09:08:00.000-07:002011-08-22T09:09:08.794-07:00Dear BrowningsLove does not make itself available to the abacus.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-32391882557569792832011-08-21T07:07:00.000-07:002011-08-22T09:09:43.333-07:00Dear KeekHow have you learned lumbering, that wooden way?
<br />Your trunk is showing.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-78052399461610675072011-08-08T11:54:00.000-07:002011-08-11T13:46:45.086-07:00Dear Anon.Though clearly muddled, I am glad you are
<br />filled with humor and wish in fact your bile
<br />more bilious. I might then feel something—
<br />an acidity beyond dismissal. I do
<br />work out my pretense with little leg lifts
<br />as befits a woman incapable of rendering edible
<br />the ineffable. You strike me as a consumer.
<br />kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-2587214325160278842011-07-11T10:59:00.000-07:002011-07-11T11:00:48.353-07:007.11.2011What is the arc, the angle of my bent light?<br /><br />Do I send it out or wait for my receipt from the brown van?<br /><br />Will he notice when I forget how to sign my name?<br /><br />This amnesia is a product of the small boxes inside rather than of the larger ones he has in the back.<br /><br />He never tells me his name anymore. It used to be Bruce, or Walter.<br /><br />I can have my entire life delivered.<br /><br />These boxes contain, for an example, my husband: prescriptions, a shirt he can’t bother to try on, books no longer in the bookstore, a torso.<br /><br />If I send him to his colleagues, will they recognize him?<br /><br />Despite myself, I would not do that.<br /><br />I have the decency bred from production of children, the internalizing of all those public ideas which remained blessedly outside until I was already overfull. And then.<br /><br />Now they skirt me on the way to ice cream, the park, the pub.<br /><br />I call after them “warm coat,” “vegetables,” “kindness.”<br /><br />What is it to be illuminated? Is it to find oneself scrawled on by monks with a penchant for fart jokes? Is it to contain knowledge no one seeks out?<br /><br />I unscrew myself from the socket, wear a bathrobe all day long, try to remember my old imprint.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-45974917658638703452011-06-19T08:06:00.001-07:002011-06-20T10:14:52.011-07:00a third beginningBaseball was over. All arenas housing. Not long after, bombs fell. Ash rained. Someone woke up under snow and a thousand years had passed. A thaw, maybe aliens. Here was a diamond. Here were books or videos: history of a game. The sticks fascinated-- the distance-traveled, the arc of rebounding spheres. The dugout required a certain relationship to patience, civilization. They practiced. The world was summer evening, each pitch a true love: nothing outside interfered with the game's perfection. A thousand years. Someone woke up, this time inside the game. Not long after, tears fell. Diamonds roiled beneath ash--it was a history of shame: blunt objects, dysfunction, the art of unfounded fears. Foundational ones. A thousand more years and someone dug out—beyond arena, into nature. It took practice, but nothing interfered. The world was a green evening. If only summer would last all day. Continue under the lights.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-5950863357341664892011-06-10T09:55:00.000-07:002011-08-22T09:19:45.484-07:00dancepiece: spamashupDear Friend, I --for
<br />
<br />his direction as regards this
<br />mission-- have to thank God.
<br />
<br />God it is who wants me.
<br />I am Director of Operations.
<br />
<br />I am here--
<br />byseeking your advice.
<br />
<br />Your services will be paid, you will be a partner, if
<br />you and your words are acceptable. I know you maybe
<br />
<br />wondering how I got your contact. I am
<br />not risky for futures. I know it is advisable
<br />
<br />to invest in foreign land and secretly wait.
<br />My condition, having become so critical,
<br />
<br />for security purposes, due to interception,
<br />shall not accept or acknowledge calls. Out
<br />
<br />to a Christian sister who assisted me
<br />I reached, in order to utilize wealth.
<br />
<br />Should you be of interest further, I would
<br />prefer you to reach me soon and finally.
<br />
<br />After that I shall provide you
<br />with more contact. The way I am
<br />
<br />going, even the consulate doesn't know
<br />the regard. I intend to contact you.
<br />
<br />It has been revealed that you can make
<br />judicious resources for purposes currently.
<br />
<br />I am sending you mail from my bed.
<br />My husband in the hospital earned
<br />
<br />a large undisclosed sum but died.
<br />I am due soon. Also, my infertility
<br />
<br />resulted from a medical God.
<br />I believe in reasons for you
<br />
<br />to contact my lawyer, for my lack
<br />of heirs, everything; he will inform
<br />
<br />on you. Please you must reach
<br />to him. For greater fulfillment
<br />
<br />of my last wish,
<br />please deliver the rest
<br />
<br />to You who are
<br />Blessed. My most
<br />
<br />warm sincerity, Helen.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-19241516343872773502011-05-27T14:04:00.001-07:002011-05-27T14:05:44.655-07:00dancepiece: expoand then the woman silences you and in the tiny<br />window gives you a better chance at movingkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-633237364143002452011-05-09T07:34:00.000-07:002011-05-09T07:35:35.945-07:00dancepiece: membraneNot interested in selling<br />what he does is permanent<br />and you are a/skin/g<br /><br />for words--not actual artkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-7995195262490659202011-04-27T05:30:00.000-07:002011-04-28T04:55:14.410-07:00dancepiece: phrasewould that each poem were<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">an antidote to a world...</span><br /><br />grown hopeful with poisonkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-37299552047720542422011-04-24T16:23:00.000-07:002011-04-25T07:50:24.919-07:00dancepiece: monkshe wishes she <br />cd pray without cease: and goes<br /><br />to create a liturgykirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-13237588919337474672011-04-24T15:09:00.000-07:002011-04-25T07:49:00.355-07:00dancepiece: candyfor Easter<br />I'll give you candy, commitment<br /><br />for your sins<br />I'll candy too, and crucifixion<br /><br />for all that's<br />candied, I'll twirl on hill, golgothic <br /><br />I'll eat, in proof:<br />all manner of confection, ash<br /><br />on Easter I spin<br />unorthodoxy no less moving<br /><br />for the color of its lipstick<br />or eggkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-14201795214424426842011-04-19T09:06:00.001-07:002011-04-19T09:07:51.482-07:00dancepiece: justicethe hipster un-hipped<br />un-zipped from but carrying<br /><br />baggage or revolver.<br />was the world over? I don't<br /><br />know him anymore to ask.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-51618789048097935932011-04-14T11:01:00.000-07:002011-04-19T09:05:31.971-07:00for that girlwith the way about her I have only this to say:<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I commend you</span>. I commit you to me, I issue <br /><br />you to my memory and charge, and I recommend you <br />highly, so highly I am Everest or a chasm -- a trench<br /><br />inverted out of the Atlantic just to say how <br />I <span style="font-style:italic;">with fixation</span> need speak of you. It is possible<br /><br />I have my verbs wrong since I am not you, who<br />etymologically speaking, <span style="font-style:italic;">know</span>. I just cannot say<br /><br />enough about the way you have of making me<br />want to sing praise to hallelujah you, also ponder <br /><br />on the things you do and have been loved for--to love you <br />right alongside everyone who has it so down, so right about <br /><br />your deserving body of work, the whole <br />body of it, fallopian to fallacy, follicle to folio.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-249269368896940962011-04-13T18:05:00.000-07:002011-04-14T12:07:24.255-07:00for those guyswhom I don't want anymore to worry about.<br />I won't worry about you and you will be able<br />to tell that by the way I am not worrying.<br /><br />You will be able to look into my eyes if<br />that were something you could do, and see<br />that they are not focused on your jeans<br /><br />fitting or being too skinny or the state of <br />higher education in your apartment. I am <br />not the kind of woman who is kind of<br /><br />like a mother but also like a girlfriend only<br />funnier. I am not that funny and you can<br />tell this by me admitting it so flatly I must<br /><br />be hoping. I have curves and these mean<br />something where they used to be and one <br />of the other unfunny things about me is <br /><br />I'm old, almost fifty by which I mean okay<br />thirty-eight. I never told you you ought to <br />care because that would clash with you know<br /><br />--The Giving Tree--and what I've learned <br />from other guys like you I've stopped giving <br />even a shit about, or reading their poems.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-91758821570919740682011-04-07T05:42:00.000-07:002011-04-07T06:30:22.414-07:00dancepiece: inertiabodies tumbleweeded<br />one, a few, the sound<br />of drift<br /><br />one direction this wind<br />fuels, each crossing<br />of body<br /><br />lessens a body, each<br />use has limbs more <br />strewn<br /><br />numbers continue past<br />possible, minutes then<br />dozens<br /><br />of minutes, these are non-<br />identical em-bodys :<br />illusives <br /><br />after each crossing each<br />dancer must shoot self<br />against<br /><br />wind behind other <br />curtains upstream<br />to keep<br /><br />the idea of endless<br />drift respiring by forces <br />unseen <br /><br />purpose-- to seem to <br />have none thusly cool<br />sweatskirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-44998905034866598722011-04-06T19:15:00.000-07:002011-04-06T19:16:35.899-07:00dancepiece: lovepoemdancer1 lies facedown<br />there is no otherkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-27918926425182171682011-04-06T17:49:00.000-07:002011-04-07T05:42:18.445-07:00dancepiece: amplificationtwo figures lean in as <br />in whispering<br /><br />but no whispering, feet shifting<br />toeheeltoeheal-- the non-secret<br /><br />moves across stage<br />in centipede, in<br /><br />the organic machinism of <br />a foreign brain dis-<br /><br />persed throughout its segments <br />in thickish blood or a patriotism <br /><br />which admits its fearful nature<br />then rolls further inward <br /> <br />inaugurating a self-admiration in <br />spiraling, awe-filled earnestkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-12204055574483794692011-04-04T07:13:00.000-07:002011-04-07T06:32:34.184-07:00gurl, the urthWe all know what to <br /> do: till them. Mine<br /><br />them. Farm them. Watch<br /> them writhe. Catch it on<br /><br />film, the recurrent <br /> tsunamis. This eleven-<br /><br />year-old dressed<br /> didn't she? like a hurri-<br /><br />cane, quake-make up.<br /> All over America <br /><br />we prayed she would <br />not reach too far <br /><br />inland, the upper floors.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-23501461516271546952011-04-02T09:33:00.000-07:002011-04-02T09:37:27.444-07:00napowrimo2not a plus an inroad <br />or delta I cannot <br /><br />move you away <br />from that wall<br /><br />I struggle with space<br />out there ungraphed<br /><br />this thought like <br />a fallen egg openskirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-27869210573095305942011-04-01T13:47:00.000-07:002011-04-01T13:55:22.203-07:00napowrimo1tops of feet asleep, a hotelroomfloor<br />air like silt, rich and flavored <br />flowers, a metallic production, so many<br />factories must produce this excessive<br /><br />amount of... I am afraid, crouch, carpet<br />hurts, the outside too temperate <br />to bear after the raw march after all <br />the indecision, and then, all the decidingkirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23541398.post-66573270700166695002011-01-15T16:35:00.000-08:002011-01-15T16:38:38.955-08:001.15.2011: 3inaroomThe lights are on, for chrissakes--turn them out. <br />Cover yourself. <br />No, not you, I'm painting you. <br />Sure it's cold, it makes you more pronounced.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15452601450765809749noreply@blogger.com1