so says the straw hat

Prince Rupert of the Rhine made teardrops from glass. Hot molten glass. Cold water. Rupert's drop. Shaped like a tear and full of tension. Strong and explosive all at once. You have taken a hammer. It does not hurt. I clip the tail end and shatter. Also, once in Eureka California a large bearded man whose name I have lost but whose soft slow voice is still a lullaby--once he gave me a tiny piece of lightening glass. When lightening hits the sand.

Dead bird under the bed Have you heard me of late? Sleep comes like a shipwreck these days and the wind oh the wind, how it pulls at my sails. I do not believe that this is a matter of song although your voice-- you sing like the whole gospel choir. Dead bird under the bed I have been counting your babies this spring necks crooked-bent on sidewalk lines tiny feather, just fistfuls of string, rest slick against pink balloon-stretched skin. their eyes are always closed. their eyelids a drowned blue. They are broken on sidewalks in every city I visit so far, twenty-seven have tried to fly. Dead bird under the bed I do not remember how your eyes went missing just how those holes look all empty and black, and how you started to sing one day sad and slow. Familiar southern songs singing the sun to rise. you sing tales of shipwrecks or necks bent wrong-angled and how I started to steal those songs to name them Dream. Dead bird under the bed I never did know you alive so it isn't so muc

When the branch fell out of the neighbors yard, it knocked over the power lines. I was not home, and the city came and got the power lines up and running. They left the branch--all huge and broken--in pieces in three different back yards. My clocks, they all flashed 12:00. I have fixed one of the clocks. When the branch fell out of the neighbors yard and came crashing down on the corner where three fences meet, bringing the power lines down with it, it did not scratch a single dog or child. We all consider ourselves lucky for this. The dogs have discovered a hole made from loose fence posts. When the branch fell out of the neighbors tree, crashed down on our power lines but not our dogs, there was a moment when nobody knew what time it was. When we remembered what candles were for. The dogs, they have already forgotten why we have fences. And if it weren't for those pesky cars...those pesky cars. The dogs have made it back home. When the branch crashed, and the powerlines blinked,

the trees have started shedding their branches again. I have heard that it is still cold where you are staying. the branches, they are just lying there across backyards and powerlines. dropped down on fences or in the middle of the hot asphalt streets. the branches, they make no apologies. The trees always pretend like they can't hear me complaining--they just turn their newly scarred side toward my face. In tree, this amounts to putting on airs. I don't mind. They have been here much longer than me. Pardon me, tree and branch, I will just turn around. Please, continue on as you please. I have heard it is not even t-shirt weather yet in the far northwest corner of here. I can hardly remember what it means to be cold. the trees must be getting older, shedding branches like hair.

So. I've got him cornered into the bathroom. That is where I found him, the bathroom. I was reaching for my toothbrush when the corner of my eye caught his mad scurry towards the door. Only he got stuck behind it and had no smooth escape. I tried to kill him. He got out the door. I found him hiding behind the leg of a dresser. He almost seemed invisible there with all the shadows and the wood. I took a mop handle and tried to poke him in a violent end. He got away and scurried back into the bathroom. So I just blindly flopped the mop handle on him. It did not hit with enough force or accuracy. He scurried to the corner near the tub. I tried to throw a shoe at him. I do not want to get my face close in case he decides he wants to fly. I do not want to step on him because i have no closed-toe shoes except my one blue pair, and they have very thin soles. I do not think I would like to feel the crunching. Needless to say, my shoe throwing attempt was pathetic. He scurried behind the to

not riding my bike in the morning makes me more tired all day long. babies crying all the time makes me very tired. something about a nervous system and my reflexes. arguments make me tired. this body makes me tired. if i was any more tired, my head would fall off, i am certain of this. writing, writing also makes me tired.

Two fat boxes met in a lane bowed most politely bowed once again how do you do? how do you do? how do you do again? Two fat boxes met in a lane They did. Shook hands. Hello. Hello. Hello again. Bumped corners till they lost some shape. Pardon me, oh my, pardon me! Two fat boxes met in a lane one full of antique picture frames clank clatter crash bonk one full of nothing but air which does not rattle or bang. bowed most politely, bowed once again. It does not say, but I would suppose the two fat boxes just bumped, bowed, and went on along.

If I put this quarter in my mouth I will know the weight of George Washington's decapitated head plus, depending on the quarter, perhaps the weight of one of these 50 states that are United. I already know the weight. It is 5.6 grams. Knowing this does not tell me anything. I do not speak Measurement. I will put this quarter in my mouth. It will feel heavy on my tongue. It will taste of metal, but not like a spoon tastes like metal. It will taste like metal and travel and metal and sort of like blood. I will blame the decapitation of the head. This will be a funny joke that I do not tell anybody about. I will smile a little at my own thoughts. I cannot tell anyone. There is this quarter on my tongue and so I cannot say the things I want to say. 5.6 grams is light in my pocket. It is heavier on my tongue. If there is not a state, there will be an Eagle. I think if I suddenly breathe in, this quarter might flip nicely into my pharynx. The plural of this is pharynges. I only have one

Anis is here. We are busy playing cards and eating food. Also, we walk places. Also, we get our palms read.

Today I typed and typed and typed on my new Olympiette typewriter (thank you brother). All of that typing and I keep on forgetting to tell people about the storm. Mostly, I turned off all the lights and watched it happen all in the dark. And the sky was purple and green with flashes of lightening. Incredible. Someone (named Nic) has left an air compressor on at the construction site, which also happens to be right outside my trailer. It keeps on deciding randomly it needs to compress air. vvvvrrrrrrrrvvvrrrrrrvvvvrrrrrspifft! I hate it. I also keep on forgetting to write Aly an email about why I am not religious anymore. I also forgot to try to write a poem about electricity for that press in the ham. another day done.

I think that perhaps there are many different types of people, but three that I am concerned with at the moment: 1. People who get shit done. Kerry is a person who gets shit done. Robbie Q is another good example. They are constantly juggling 28 different projects while pursuing/achieving important accomplishments in their lives and they still manage to join the local kickball team or watermelon eating competition. You know what I say to you guys? Yeah? I say that I cleaned my bathroom tonight, AND did my laundry. So, you know, I am capable too. 2. People who wish to get shit done, but cannot get around to doing so. This. Is. Me. I get overwhelmed if it takes me longer to get home than usual. I work 40 hours a week, so then nothing else I want to accomplish ever gets done. I make lists that I have to then throw away. Example: I bought a scooter in January. I still have not transferred the title. I will now get a $110 fee for being lazy. AND even though I know I need to get it done, I s