The Blue Pitcher

that which may be filled and emptied

Month: June, 2013

Because instead of listening to the kindergarten orientation I started a poem

(poem was here)

sad little nugget of a poem

once upon a windowsill
once upon a now until
sat you and I in a room so white
staring deep the throat of fright
a boat the size of the world
sailed by while you pointed
out the nooks in which to cry
the edges were blurred
we belonged in a dream
oh my dear friend

on the inside we screamed

After Sappho

The Buzzing

Neither honey nor bee for me, said she,
and I with my roses and my madness
followed merrily, merrily, merrily so.
In a pocket of Soho there was cake.
The flowers remained in their paper dress,
and though mirrors were hung,
one could not find one’s face,
even after all the songs were sung.
But in the country: trellises, pools and green.
I do not know why the buzz startles me;
only that when I hear it, my sole instinct
is to dive deep underwater and stay there.


(poem gone fishin’)


(n.) The notional place from which things come when needed and return to when no longer needed, called the god-shaped hole by some, or Bugs Bunny’s pocket, or the tunnel my brother and I tried to dig to China back when we still had shovels and believed the earth was penetrable. 


(poem was here)