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The following poem was intended to be a long exercise in sexual innuendo, with at least 5 more stanzas, but for some reason I got somewhere on the third line of the 3rd stanza and stalled. Maybe my visions of grandeur led me to set it aside and not submit it to Haggard & Halloo. At the moment I feel out of touch with the universe as well as my muse (which can be the same thing sometimes), so I have found difficulty sitting down to wax poetic, let alone sitting down to finish a short story. So I dug up this poem from the archives of my hard drive and decided to post it here. I submitted it to Haggard & Halloo last night after failing to finish part two of O.C.D. Tree Killer, but if I were to bet $5 it wouldn’t be posted after all the drivel I’ve been submitting the past couple of months, I’d probably be $5 poorer. Anyway, I won’t waste any more blog readers time with this expository drivel. Read on…
an explosion at battery park, 4th of july 2007
there’s an explosion in her mouth-
french vanilla and a pinch of salt after
watching the fireworks from a rooftop
overlooking battery park tonight
before she wakes up to Channel 8.
what an odd dream-
she’s never seen battery park before
or had fireworks explode in her mouth, but
relishing the thought of it makes her
queer in the pit of her tummy.