wii fit

so, got wii fit, to get fit. started yesterday afternoon, continued this morning. so far the following parts of my body ache like never before: everything between my upper arms (shoulders included) down to my knees. did you know there are muscles in the side of your stomach? *itaaaaaiiii!!!*

wii fit is wii fun and i am actually looking forward to playing agian tomorrow! more updates to come.

wii-mote cocktail

promise #18

a bike ride on the sea, through the streets of
your Beirut

the humid spring air is scented with orange blossoms

it reminds me of the perfume you wear
and the box of precious teas you sent
on valentine's day

if only the mud on the tires didn't cake
and force us to stop
to rebuild

(thinking of the family)

two

inanimate eyes locked
in the purge of lust

two poets, behind masks
return to form together

they are bound

the waltz

the waltz was invented yesterday
by two Japanese mechanics in a speaker box

with lock clock punch cards
and times in all three strands
of season and affair

the women they loved wore fans and feathers
like birds fit for stage and tragedy

we love the men that make us and break them
over our knees like children
with the will of our eyelashes

panda tales

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the panda bear sings

sink tactic bamboo
thatched on the backs
of rice patty clouds

scolded in the shape
of Buddha and pests alike

no beads to speak of
and no bread to chew on
but leaves and leftovers

for dinner with the president
of Alpha Centauri or Russia

where the elephants are mighty
in art and masters of ceremony

the panda bear dances

tree story

a sun beats down
on the sorry brow
of a young boy
trapped inside
the body of a tree

five hundred years old
and twisted
with toes and thorns
and knots that beget
all real pain and grief

his heart beats
pumping veins of water
to ill branches
and dying leaves

but in his purgatory
he sees the world
as a king upon a kingdom
in all of its brilliance
and all of its turmoil
and beauty

and wonder.

promise #17

today, the first of may,
i work on self identity and imagination

for the balance of realism in music
and the poetry of scrap metal robots

working to dispense the electricity and character
a replica of love--their hearts made

out of recycled foam cups, shaped
in the shadow of young men with long hair

and plastic guitars strapped over their shoulders
super stars in their living rooms

while i think about planting more bulbs
in the front garden come september

exchange

the toothpicks are all wearing party hats
your cheeks are pink with drunkenness

the dim light suits you, when you smile
against the music in my direction

hair in your eyes and sand in your shoes
separating into the carpet fibers

from that kiss on the dune
with that other girl--blond, tall and beautiful--

that i watched from someone else's car
his hand on my the jeans hugging my thighs

summer is almost here for exchange
of goods and our partners' tent beds

creepy looking dude with awesome voice seeks listening audience

first, a little something live:


this is my fav song of theirs, possibly because it was the first one i heard.




there's a bit of a lynchian feel to some of these videos. i'd love to see what david could do for a nick cave and the bad seeds song if he directed a video for them.

the poetry reading at gallery x

at the poetry reading at gallery x
in downtown new bedford
to hear neeli cherkovski talk
about his friend, charles bukowski,
i stared at jose's hair the whole time

i didn't know his name was jose
until john landry asked him to get up and read
and he read a poem from temper
with a thick accent, in a white t-shirt
that read P.E.Z. on the front

his hair looks best from the back
but it didn't look that bad from the front either
black, straight locks the flaired out
at the ends between deltoids
or whatever you call the muscles that rest on shoulder blades

promise #16

to smile whenever you bring my cut flowers

filling the empty space on the island
in the kitchen

with joy and forgivness

and other warm feelings that come with this
kind of love we share

for karl

promise #15

not to drown you out
when my the beat between my thoughts
crescendos

into the back of the room
where Dead Bird's ghost dances

and sings

into the night, dark and unwelcome

not to drown in your voice
like the dependant child i crave to become

wrapped in strong arms and warm
with memories of love

promise #14

to stop putting sugar in my black pearl tea

humming the infusion of silk
and hot water in boiled ceramic

the therapy we speak of, with chocolate and dill,
sweet mysteries, our bellies

that sing us to sleep and dream
of far away sea shores and bicycle spokes.

promise #13

my addiction to
your chaos

if i could not see, nor dream

the fourth dimension folding upon itself
like our blanket in the moments after

we make sense of it together
the math of infinity and the

weight of anti-matter

you wait and i trouble through
in the dark, towards you, at the speed
of your sound
flickering off the unpainted walls

i promise, i love you

Dear BBC

First, make Plush Figures of these little fatties:



Then, send 12 of them to my house.

Please and Thank you,
Katy

promise #12

longer poems will come later

promise #11

the papers will not read themselves

a list of things you're allowed to put in meatloaf according to John Landry

for john landry, poet laureate of new bedford

bread crumbs
plain oatmeal
chicken noodle soup
marinara sauce