Archive for September, 2008


Posted: September 30, 2008 in Poetry
Tags: ,

your hair fills my life
with the smell of honeycomb
let’s make this hive ours



Posted: September 29, 2008 in Poetry
Tags: ,

Me, myself, I — we are all default states,
all multiple beings of one accord, and
we don’t like meeting eyes in public;
One of us says, “Well, I think…” and
the other asks, “What about me?” or
two band together and say, “I have to
take care of myself,” and the other asks,
“What about me?!” again. The clincher is
when all three are lonely and I can’t
take care of myself, and others worry
about me; all of us cling to each other
but we each feel no warmth.

After the recent historical meltdown, an astute Tweetizen reminded me of the harsh truth that all Americans must face at this time.

We are all investment bankers now.

This crisis has brought us all together under one banner: the mighty American dollar.  And in the span of a couple of days, we all must sit down and think critically about how we reached this juncture without realizing the dire dangers of our risky spending. 

It started with the ambitions of a single illegal alien.  

That’s right.  I said it.  We have no time for political correctness now. If Sen. McCain can suspend his campaign, I can suspend my intelligence to state things plainly. And plainly, my investment banker siblings, it always starts with one.

And we ignored the signs, even when it appeared in the news way back when the Mexicans first began ousting CEOs.

Immigration: The Human Cost

We all shared some chuckles at this early glimpse into the source of the collapse. “Oh, it’s just The Onion! Funny story! So full of layers, like that cartoon character… Shrek! Yes! Full of layers like Shrek said!” I know. I said it too those many moons ago.

But how would we have known then that the takeover would be slow yet diabolically calculated? How would we have prevented the onslaught of countless, hardworking CEOs and bank boards falling prey to the Alien Menace?

Illegal Takeover of Time Warner, May 2008

Illegal Takeover of Time Warner, May 2008

I think I can say with confidence that we simply forgot what illegal aliens are capable of.

The United States first encountered the illegal alien in 1979 when it sent a few of our brave men and women to the final frontier to look for more resources. (Before my time — not that I’m trying to blame you guys for what’s happening now, but if the fail-shoe to recognize an Alien Menace fits…) We did not have the knowledge and technology to add and subtract until the Windows Innovation in 95, and then again in 98, and then again in 2000. So until then, the aliens had an advantage over us that we could not combat. We lost our ship to their persistence, and their oversexed ways found new methods of penetrating our financial glass ceilings.

Aftermath of Lehman Brothers Hostile Takeover, 1979.  Fmr. board member succumbs to internal misgivings about economy.

Aftermath of Lehman Brothers Hostile Takeover, 1979. Fmr. board member succumbs to internal misgivings about economy.

After that tumultuous time in 1979, we had not heard anything more about the illegal alien threat. Starting in 1982, we encountered new friends and slaves helpmates: the legal aliens. Friendly. Ambitious. Took care of our children. Limited English speaking skills… but that was okay! We could work with them to understand their intentions, subject them to our whims, and send them back home where they belonged. They were funny looking and not quite like us; but that’s why we cared for them and extended our hands in solidarity.

Alien names were only initials then. And home was a phone call away.

Alien names were only initials then. And home was a phone call away.

Five years passed, and one man saw the horror of the illegal alien resurgence with his own eyes. He wrestled with him. They were equally matched in skill and strength.

That one man is Arnold Schwarzenegger, current governor of California and staunch fiscal conservative. A man who knows financial problems are not solved in a day. Woe that he rules California alone, especially with his exceptional foreign policy experience!

The man who stared market irresponsibility in the face without blinking. And survived. And entered politics.  Predatory lending in the housing market begins, 1987.

The man who stared market irresponsibility in the face without blinking. And survived. And entered politics. Predatory lending in the housing market begins, 1987.

1987, folks. That year is the year that led us to our current state of discontent. We could not choose the right threat. And now it all crumbles around us and ravages our government, takes our tax dollars, and brings us low… low… low.

How the market crisis <em>really</em> began. The truth the media are hiding about immigration. Everything you know is a lie.

How the market crisis really began a few days ago. The truth the media is hiding about immigration. Everything you know is a lie.

So, that’s the brutal history, you guys, in a short and hard hitting phocumentary. Illegal aliens are running amok, and we have a very short period of time to deal with them before they deal with us. We have a very tough fight to secure our borders and our securities, to learn really hard math and take reckless chances, to protect four of our five homes from foreclosure. And fighting the illegal aliens is the only way out. Call your congresspeople. Let’s take back Wall Street. Let’s take back America.

Breaking: Google Earth!  Not you too!

Breaking: Google Earth! Not you too!

medusa's legacy

Posted: September 25, 2008 in Poetry
Tags: ,

you know perseus did her wrong
you know perseus used her
until he found andromeda
& in her heart she knew it
she could feel it from the tips of her hair
to the soles of her feet
& she was pissed about it
& she had reason to be

& athena was a hater
because she knew medusa thought
she find true love one day
until poseidon swung through
& pierced her with his ole trident
right in the parthenon
& instead of taking it & smiling hard
like athena wanted she got pissed

medusa knew her worth
& she was a feminine mistake
everyone would hate her as wrong
she kept ambrosia between her thighs
because medusa knew what men wanted
medusa knew what they expected
& she put it out so gametight
the hardest men couldnt look at her

she had a muse’s curves on her
she likely wore a fro or locks
she didn’t put collagen in her lips/
snake venom in her frownlines
eyes glowed brown with her skin
full breasted big assed hips rockin
she held her head high above all
she chased not one golden apple

she didnt run to her kids
when women talked shit about her
she didn’t call after men
too mirrorstruck to want her
she wasnt into that animal thing
zeus could follow her with the
new york zoo glass menagerie
& she still wouldnt come with him

the goddesses were fraidy haters
of Dus & her badassed sisters
cuz she got to them first & told
“we aint gotta go with these games
we can do our own thing & like it
we can shake our locks out anytime
we can be us & love us for being
that is what bad bitches do”

so the three of them would chill out
& guys would come over boner first
& try to get wit it all demanding
& medusa would fix her eyes on him
& demand he wipe his dustyass feet
& say he needed to fix his loincloth
his phallus was showing & teensy
& she freeze up all his weak game

greek men hated medusa
not because she was ugly/mean
not because she got her sisters
not because she aint have goodhurr
not because she knew how to drop
they hated her because she knew
other fish in the sea & those fish
were bigger & better than theirs

she bathed in her own mud rivers
dug her own deep snaky channels
rocked her homemade boat &
rode her salty waves to her shores
& greek men hated medusa
they could not map her out well
their trinkets got cold looks
couldnt get in her head thattaway

perseus tried & she wanted it
perseus trinketed
perseus boner swang it
perseus liplicked & stunted
& she still kept her head
aint trust that nigga to lose it
perseus had to slice her head
clean off to bring her down low

[i'm] on patriotism

Posted: September 25, 2008 in Poetry

stayed the course boldly
surged onward for our country
change totally came

dear mama

Posted: September 24, 2008 in Poetry

as open as you try to be
as much as you say you love me
i still don’t understand why you would leave me here.

i know it’s not my fault
i know it’s certainly not your fault
but i still don’t understand why we blame ourselves.

i don’t want to talk
i don’t want to tell my stories
i don’t want you to think you’ll lose me the way
i’ve lost you.

even if something is wrong
even if i am losing my battle
i have to make sure you win yours.

that’s what love is
it’s beyond a touch and a hug
it’s not about kissing and holding hands
it is a dream war.

"At Last" | Etta James

Posted: September 22, 2008 in Music


a normal night

Posted: September 22, 2008 in Poetry
Tags: ,

everyday feels like spring
because before bed i am wet
and morning breezes soothe me
for the first time

everyday feels like spring
the wood smells rank
the weeds dense blankets
and the birds are pecking

the worms slither close
birdsong melts into cricket
crickets hoot like owls
and then back to light cooing

people visit but no one stays
people apologize and leave
they drop bundles of regret
and dead weight on my chest

my splintered back splits
my hair tangles deeper in dirt
my nails thorn apart
and i bleed vines of flowers

"Bu Liu" | Faye Wong

Posted: September 21, 2008 in Music


Posted: September 19, 2008 in Poetry

i started to name this poem “Untitled”
but then i realized this poem isn’t unnameable
it isn’t helpless
it’s not like the title fairy hopped into her
ice cream truck of title toppings
and when this poem got its fifty cents
and put on its barbie flip-flops
and ran out to its front porch
(“bye, miss muse! i’m getting a title now!”)
and started pounding the two blocks
the title fairy made it run to get the toppings
the title fairy looked in the rearview
saw the holes in its smock
saw the desperation in its eyes
saw the sweat around the coins it held
and floored it down 95 to noo yawk
the place where the poem has never been

this poem runs stag, baby.

(besides the poem would rather forget
its inopportune encounters with the title fairy
because it thinks the title fairy is a git
and they have met many times
and each time the title fairy has been a git)

this poem doesn’t need a fuckin’ title
this poem has reclaimed the title phenomenon
and turned it on its head
because it realizes that if it leaves a vacancy
the world will name it “untitled #n”
where n means “no name because the author
was too lazy to name it so it has been Untitled
and though it’s not alone
we will treat the poem as if
it were an only child and
respect its blank space”

this poem hates energy feeders
this poem hates the readers who read
and say “this poem needs a title
it needs energy
because i live off energy
and i am too lazy
to ask the energizer bunny
to beat the drum in my ears
so i stay awake forever
so instead i will take it out on
this little poem with no title
this Untitled poem”

this poem is bowlegged
this poem is bent over
this poem is gaping
this poem is fingerlicking
this poem is shitfaced
this poem is bootylicious
this poem is fast for its age

this poem narrates itself and
when it speaks it decides that
first person is for fools
who think that perception means
they have a soul
this poem has a pulse
without meaning it

one night this poem went to a
poetry slam and it met eyes
with the drummer and
they connected on a
metaphorical level
and so they danced together
on stage in front of everybody
and the poem closed its eyes
grabbed the drummer’s shoulders
and rode him for an hour

then this poem made eye contact
with a girl with green eyes
and the poem wondered why
they were so violent and hungry
and so they went home together
and the poem made green tea
while the girl sat next to it
and they lay down
and the girl cried and cried and
stained and crumpled
the poem’s lining
and blurred out its title
when it wasn’t looking

this poem doesn’t like to talk
about its problems.

this poem doesn’t need a title.

this poem prefers to think
it gave its title away
to the crying girl so she
could go meet the drummer
and they could make music
that only they understood

this poem prefers to think
that it was strongly named
fearfully and wonderfully made
and that if words were gods
its magnitude outweighs any
one word that could capture it.

this poem prefers to be called
and it will kick your ass
if you say it is Untitled
or half-titled
or ridiculous
or jingoistic
or boring
or unmetered
or amateurish

this poem knows how to fight
this poem says yo’ mama
is half-titled
and says it fucked yo’ mama
so what now?

oooh, you’re scared of this
“Untitled” poem now,
aren’t you? it talks back.
it names names. it named
Yo’ Mama’s Name.
and you know that it knows
what power a name has behind it
because it doesn’t have one.

people categorize this poem
as improperly hostile
as anti-social
because it knows tradition
but it doesn’t give a fuck
about following it
and it can’t afford
to spend too much
on tradition right now
because last time
it had a decent opportunity
at a good life
with a good name
it got spotted and
the chance sped away

i’m tired of this poem
using me to speak
i don’t want to talk
about this poem’s life anymore
i don’t think it needs a name
it deserves one, sure
it would like something, yeah
but then it made me tell
its story and i don’t want to
i don’t want to name it
i’d rather let it determine itself