It is a hard thing to talk about poems…
To put on the ill-fitting hat of knowledge…
Talking about poems can feel like putting on a suit and handing out those little green bibles on street corners…
A blood-and-feathers swan is nice to think about but I would rather see a shadow-puppet swan…
Let’s agree to come to more mutual decisions…to agree to disagree…
If you get the vaccine you can immerse yourself in the thick of it all…no problem!
But vaccines are big money…big ticket items…the healer only has so many…
Everything…all at once…makes you sick…but you’ll get over it…
Get well soon!...(you have a job to do)…
Poems are not a job but they can feel like one sometimes…
March 21, 2011
Yes Please New Eric Baus Poems
Owl Wool
The sky fermented a cotton tarp. The baffled voiceover spread. Iris’s dove scored itself with scales while owl wool coated the clouds.
more here
The sky fermented a cotton tarp. The baffled voiceover spread. Iris’s dove scored itself with scales while owl wool coated the clouds.
more here
March 16, 2011
March 11, 2011
I spend too much time wondering if other people wonder if they’re crazy. If other people sometimes scare themselves when they are alone in their homes. Am I the only one who sometimes finds it impossible to sleep because I’m too busy picturing yards of dark red and light blue threads unspooling from the tiny holes in my eyelids, the ones eyelashes grow out of? I wonder whether others let loose sounds they didn’t plan to, never imagined or expected them taking shape within the wet walls of their lungs. Do other people’s bodies occasionally capsize or careen into furniture and foundations? Do their limbs briefly turn into violent propellers or severed electrical cords without warning?
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