All The Poems That Are Fit To Print

a form of illiteracy

2011-04-22T11:43:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Tel Aviv Protests Show Divide Over Palestinian State"
by Isabel Kershner
April 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/22/world/middleeast/22israel.html

THE POEM:
a form of illiteracy

traitors and Jewish Nazis
holding up their heads for
a Palestinian state
in the plot of earth
where Ben G live birthed
Israel
in '48

occupation 9 to 5
occupation that's stolen
lives and homes
constructed then
deconstructed

there are no
new bricks
to build this country
only old ones
with the history of
death and the tiredness
of war to bind them
to one another

a bricklayer is uncertain
if his occupation is his
livelihood or if it
takes his life

in talks
in talks
in talks

the artists
and intellectuals
say give them a state

it will liberate
us both

decades of words
have been decades
of wordlessness

war is a form of
illiteracy

unconscious foolery

2011-04-22T10:55:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Stumbling Into Bad Behavior"
by Max H. Bazerman and Ann E. Tenbrunsel
April 21, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/21/opinion/21bazerman.html

THE POEM:
unconscious foolery

a whistle doesn't blow
round a neck up to itself
in motivated blindness
as the ethics fade into
a confidence in
your own integrity

did you willfully misconduct yourself
against me

or was it just
gross negligence

the terminology is for them

the result is for me

I'm well
now

those nights I
thought about you
at my funeral
or not at my funeral
are fewer
and less frequent

I see people
overlooking as they
innerlook
all the time

permanently swerving into
blind spots to
cripple the
other cars on the road

the biology of
self-interest is
a force I am learning
to navigate

the space between
biology and
conscious
decision-making
is where we could
flourish

so many you s
to get to that
one we

so many rounds of
unconscious
foolery
to figure out
how to be
happy

it's a stumble
over road blocks
and self blocks
you blocks and
me blocks
until whistles will blow
and trumpets will sound
at the sight of
no-more lapses
in ethics just
what's right

increments of three

2011-04-21T00:05:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Pentagon Is Quiet on ‘Three Cups of Tea’ Questions"
by Elisabeth Bumiller
April 20, 2011
http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/20/pentagon-is-quiet-on-three-cups-of-tea-questions

THE POEM:
increments of three

let the poetic record show:

three cups of deceit
don't go down well
without honey
or a fact-checkered
napkin to catch
defensive crumbs

but I sort of kind of two bodies removed know
the man at the
fist of this mess

and I hear he is
an honest and
awesome one

I read that cheerful email
on the arm of a man
bringing a book to life
in bodies at work
bringing
reach out to the locals
from pages to
stages where
children will think
of war and the tea that
turns strangers fighting it
into friends in
increments of three

Oprah drinks tea after dinner
to avoid snacking--it's one of her
diet tricks

in these -stans
Afghani and Paki
tea weighs
much more than
a means to lose

it is a means to
gain the most
desired of intangibles

it turns the unknown into
the known
with humble leaves

it is more than
flavored water

this is no shattered glass
no love and consequences

love does have
consequences
when it's plagiarized
or plastic

but this is not
one of those
tragedies

this is a true story

of yes any press
is good press

but of schools
and the girls
learning in them
where once
their mothers
spoke without
knowing the
shape of their speech
on paper

timing

2011-04-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"To Tug Hearts, Music First Must Tickle the Neurons"
by Pam Belluck
April 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/19/science/19brain.html

THE POEM:
timing

set it up so that
you've been under a cloud
and then you are looking
once again
at the vista and
the whole valley is
drenched in light

notes that bend
the fifth time
in a bizarre
sort of beauty after
four that made you think
you knew what
was coming

mirror neurons
send the sound of empathy
that somehow connects
the things that gravity
can't make see
ear to ear

but the timing of it all

the timing of it all
is where the feeling
of it all
comes from

the timing of it all
is where it gets
its stuff

not in loudness
or softness
but in
whenness
and how often ness

people are not always ready
to hear beautiful things

power

2011-04-18T06:30:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Head of Surgeons Group Resigns Over Article Viewed as Offensive to Women"
by Gardiner Harris
April 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/18/health/18surgeon.html

THE POEM:
power

switched out my Lexapro
for some old fashioned semen
makes my head feel better
makes the serotoin reuptake take take
me higher

switched out my pills
for some selfish jizz
that wants to keep its options open
likes holes of all sorts and sizes
makes my head ka-boom boom boom
in his room

switched out my feelings for
some unnatural apathy
caring is creepy gets you
fucked in all the wrong ways
at the end of the day

switched out my state of mind
for a state of flux
to match the rattle of the subway
underneath my chair the
state of a cock that doesn't
know what it wants
(except it's not you you you)

when a man cums
he takes power from a woman

her body is no longer her own

when a man comes
he empowers a woman

her body becomes
a destination

the best love isn't
about power

not-yet love is
all too much
so

it's not cheating

2011-04-17T10:55:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"The Psychology of Cheating"
by Benedict Carey
April 17, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/17/weekinreview/17chump.html

THE POEM:
it's not cheating

a brain that
naturally seeks shortcuts
in a field of home field advantages
for other batters
isn't cheating it's
restoring fairness
because it's
a victim
in a good-soul-gone-wrong-
but-not-egregiously-wrong
kind of way
this paradox is a
collection of corners
to cut
into pieces that will
fine-lly be
distributed equally
the way the pie
wasn't cut into slices
when it was cut into
lottery tickets
priced too high
for a poor man
to buy
so he starts in
small increments
and builds
on himself
to wreckingball
this wreckage of
lopsided cobblers
of cherry or blueberry
it's not cheating it's
a restoration of the
equality of opportunity

two marshmallows tomorrow

2011-04-17T10:01:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Too Young for Finance? Think Again"
by Ron Lieber
April 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/16/your-money/16money.html

THE POEM:
two marshmallows tomorrow

pretty Penny
saves her pennies
for the things she wants
tomorrow

she knows
the division between
spending sharing and saving
is more than alphabetical

even Elmo
(at a perpetual
three.five)
knows to say no to
mint choco chip
when a stupendous ball
is waiting in the wings

blank slate begging answers for
God and death
jail and fairies
and some things are
too dire to lie to a child about
(like his future
[and what it will cost])

four year old Benjamin says to me
one day I'll be my dad's dad

he is ignorant
of his brilliance

my parents said to me
we are rich
you are poor

in the years when
the country fell apart
Brienza Corp.
got ahead

my father is not ignorant
of his brilliance

he has outlined
their means in green
and runs marathons
within them

when you are a child
raised by products of
the American Dream
it is always
budget season

when you are a child
raised by products of
the American Dream
you know to say no
to one marshmallow today
and to wait for
two marshmallows tomorrow

too many drops

2011-04-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

"Massachusetts: Conviction in Racially Motivated Fire"

by the Associated Press

April 15, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/15/us/15brfs-CONVICTIONIN_BRF.html

THE POEM:

too many drops

Church of God up in flames

because there's

nothing scarier than a

black man

in a white house

even half of one

is too many drops

for a Massachusetts man

to stomach so he throws up

his hands and reaches for

matches t

hide in hymnals

God was a

burning bush after all

and this is an act of the God

in which we trust

tread carefully, with a scalpel

2011-04-15T17:16:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Obama’s Speech on Reducing the Budget (Text)"
April 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/14/us/politics/14obama-text.html

THE POEM:
tread carefully, with a scalpel

I still believe
in the Knicks and
the dollar chant
there but for the
grace of God go I
at the sound of
thirty seconds to
slash
that
score
pull the rug out from
those rugged individuals
people need to get to know
the feel of their own asses
against rock and mud
people don't like to live naked
don't like the waste or abuse
of their bodies in cold air
except when streaking
in New Hampshire
don't like the twelve percent
of their pockets that pay for
the books
the air
the road
the parks
and is it right for
thirty three old men
to turn out their trousers
to shortstack the taxes
of a young rich one
nah
but
?
two sided
circles
are hard to draw
hard to wrap your
vote around
remember now
debt is a weak defense
a poor man
gets beaten up
a poor country
gets trampled
and a rich man
will give back if
he knows where
to put his hands
but the average American
lives within his means
as well as a three-year old
colors within the lines
circles become
zig zags of
fluid geometry
so
leave your machete
in the shed and
tread carefully,
with a scalpel

around my neck

2011-04-14T11:01:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

"Giving Doctors Orders"

by Mareen Dowd

April 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/13/opinion/13dowd.html

THE POEM:

around my neck

they took out twelve inches

of my insides

I re-learned how to walk

over a Christmas that would be

better than the next

my mother slept in the chair

my father made everyone

ladymacbeth their hands

he would have made every doctor

disrobe his tie

if he'd known

I don't live under anesthesia

I was given seven steps

to address conflict

on electronic paper

He told me speak up

when something goes down

the wrong pipe

I ladymacbeth my words

until it's too late

I tie ties

around my neck

then complain

about choking

A Ghanaian Funeral

2011-04-13T22:24:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Dance, Laugh, Drink. Save the Date: It’s a Ghanaian Funeral"
Sam Dolnick
April 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/12/nyregion/12funerals.html

THE POEM:
A Ghanaian Funeral

Windows rattle with the upbeat beats of death
Ghanaian-style in an out-Irish display of
cool (and the gang)'s African roots

It's a celebration
of good times
elapsed and
in the now between
grinding bodies
at a funky funeral
to raft a body
across the sea
into its original earth

Why go to a bar
when you can get it here
for free
randoms ask
between
shots and beers

Americans weep at funerals
They wear their grief in black layers
of cotton and lace

Ghanaians wear theirs
on the dance floor
in fuchsia and swag

Americans hold their grief
in their lungs
--a widow has difficulty breathing
afterwards

A Ghanaian widow breathes in time
with the rhythm of the DJ

It has been two months since
and she can now reserve her crying
for her home

Here, it is not in poor taste
to profit from a dead man

My ex-husband's new wife
will plan his funeral

She will oversee the practical joke
and the hymn he requested
and she will enforce the list
of who is not allowed to attend

He will go to his grave
humming his grudges

The Ghanaians have it right

I want my husband to
beatbox my eulogy

If he goes first
I will deliver his
in haiku

Cowboy Poetry

2011-04-11T11:00:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"For Cowboy Poets, Unwelcome Spotlight in Battle Over Spending"
by Adam Nagourney
April 11, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/11/us/politics/11cowboy.html

THE POEM:
Cowboy Poetry

cowboy poetry say what
say words that rhyme with cactus
and feel smoother than chaps
against coarse cowboy skin

cowboy poetry say what
say beats that cradle a man
riding solo on the prairie
in wintertime

cowboy poetry say what
saysing songs to horses
ditties to cows
tunes that tie rope
'round a man's heart
and lasso him into
the dirt where he
plants more cowboy songs

cowboy poetry say what
say Mister Man's got his
jeans wrangled up into a bunch
because cowboy poets like
to share cowboy poetry
with other cowboy poets
and nothin's free
not even for cowboys

a cowboy poet rodeos his way through life
he makes love to a woman and sleeps with his horses

a cowboy poet doesn't busy himself
with unessential things

keeps it simple
in lines
and stanzas

a cowboy poet does not use
iambic pentameter
it's too far away from the earth

a cowboy poet says
cowboy poetry say what
say I write cowboy poetry
and I vote this way not that
you may not get it yet
but one things for certain
I didn't cause all this debt

don't blame the cowboy poets
you can try it on but
the blame only sorta fits

20

2011-04-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"True to Mission, Comedy Central Still Strong at 20"
by Brian Steltzer
April 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/11/business/media/11comedy.html

THE POEM:
20

it's no joke on
April the first
twenty years have 'lapsed
since the funny found
a central point to
spiral itself 'round

twenty years forward to now
a woman at the head of a network
-ing a woman's ass off in
a man's world making the funny
like she could make a baby
labor pains shit and all

ganeless sounds like
gain less is more
in terms of a
funny guy and a
green screen
making millions
off the internet
and deep v's

gain more the merrier
at a gathering where
18, 34, and 20
are the numbers
on everyone's
lottery tickets
via com uh duh

next year
they'll be legal
and they'll throw down
in the spirit
of themselves

just about anything

2011-04-09T14:22:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Where Eagles Dare, and Other Workscapes"
by Neil Genzlinger
April 9, 2011
http://tv.nytimes.com/2011/04/09/arts/television/human-planet-on-discovery-channel-review.html

THE POEM:
just about anything

by sea
by mountain
by jungle

a man will do just about anything
to survive

he will hold his breath
for five minutes
to spear a fish or two

he will dive into an
active volcano
to mine sulfur

he will perch himself
on the top of
Victoria Falls
to catch his dinner

by living room
by hulu
by ipod

a man will do just about anything
to entertain himself

he will watch
the strength of others
the struggle of others
the impossibility of others

and feel most himself

force fed

2011-04-09T13:58:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"White House Meeting on Budget Fails to End Impasse"
by Michael D. Shear
April 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/08/us/politics/08fiscal.html

THE POEM:
force fed

a glass slipper turned stray
and at the stroke of midnight
the country will turn into a still pumpkin
so, no, we are not prepared
to express wild optimism
that things won't
shut
down
'cuz
there's no agreement
'cept
there's no agreement
between people who butter their bread
butter side up
and people who butter their bread
butter side down
gas and babies
gas and babies
nobody can agree
on gas or babies
everything else has been
narrowed
into spaces that smell
like compromise might
if it wasn't all
a fairytale
in the traditional sense of the word
so they'll continue working
through the night
cutting bread in half
the thin way
awkwardly
buttering it in the middle
or until until someone agrees
to be force fed

remain

2011-04-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Qaddafi Writes to Obama, Urging End to Airstrikes"
by David D. Kirkpatrick and Kareem Fahim
April 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/07/world/africa/07libya.html

THE POEM:
remain

a father and a son at war in a
tale as old as Hamlet and a pre-
step father sub poison and an ear
for oil and fire from the sky
but
still
despite:
[ ]
a father's love
sticks like his genes stick to science

a father believes his son
will do the right thing
will build peace out of words
on paper

reserves for his heart the
terror of his own creation

a man of power is born
out of oil

his mother's womb is
caked in black

it gushes out
with the placenta
and swaddles him
into his future

my father caught me
on the way out and
wrapped me up in
the air he said I could
shape into mountains

my brothers and I have
scared him
on many occasions

by being more than
two handfuls

by disintegrating
under his roof

by turning his genes
into madness

at nineteen he learned
the weight of the world
was seven pounds

a father and a child at war in a
tale as old as the years
between them

I was five
I screamed
as they fought
against the wall
in the basement

I don't know the sound
of my brother's voice

only the rhythm of
his anger

sons do not know
the texture of
their fathers' sacrifice

my father and I have been to war, separately
but never with each other

he has let me go
to a certain degree

he has said many times
and always plain
that I will always remain

a very grown up thing

2011-04-07T20:37:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"The Puzzle of Gullability"
by Paul Krugman
April 6, 2011
http://krugman.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/06/the-puzzle-of-gullibility

THE POEM:
a very grown up thing

belief makes things true
ish qualify parentheses
belong around words the way
quotes make them less of
themselves the way a verb
can turn into past tense
i love you becomes
i loved you and
i want to die becomes
i wanted to die
and one year is measured in
brothers lost and aunts estranged
trains ridden and zip codes changed
conversations with imaginary ghosts
of people alive and well
ish I hoped without me how could
well be anything but a lie to tell
yourself in the middle of a
selfish night but
things change the way
shapes change with more food
or less food or how a body swims in
its own water weight and changes
the way it believes in the world
the way it used to believe
no longer applies the way
resurrection can't help but
change a person's view
of the world

it is a very grown up thing
to realize love
isn't enough

gullible people fall in love
all the time they sink like ships
for lines crafted like woodwork
on a woman's heart

my father said love is a verb

my mother said you give too much

they've been in love since they
were seventeen

the same year I learned
the violence of love
before digesting it

people who have learned
not to be gullible
the hard way don't
easily fall in love

they begin to judge

to make checklists
in the air

hoping it will take longer
but last longer

it is a very grown up thing
to realize love
doesn't disappear
when it ends

it moves,
perhaps from the spine
to an elbow

a new language

2011-04-06T14:33:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"OMG!!! OED!!! LOL!!!!!"
by The New York Times Editorial Board
April 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/05/opinion/05tue4.html

THE POEM:
a new language

they have tried to make a word
for every reality on earth
in heaven
in hell

but I look at you and I
can't speak

there is no word
that fits your face

no word that
explains the shape
of your self

I will invent a new language
that is worthy of
conversation with you

to understand my vows,
they will have to look up
every word

history

2011-04-06T14:18:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"At China’s New Museum, History Toes Party Line"
by Ian Johnson
April 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/04/world/asia/04museum.html

THE POEM:
history

bigger and better with
no shades of gray just
pastels and reds that
drape over history
like old furniture
in a museum about
the now fronting as
a space to
portrait the past

entire families could live in
its holes

carve out lives in its
fertile ditches that
test positive
for carbon

ugly spaces whose teeth are crooked
and whose body is awkward
have been left out
of the narrative

the way a former flame
only mentions the good things
over lunch

not the nights he drank alone
or pondered death

in this way history
is made
after the fact

Out of 9,041

2011-04-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"For 9/11 Museum, Dispute Over Victims’ Remains"
by ANEMONA HARTOCOLLIS
April 3, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/03/nyregion/03remains.html

THE POEM:
Out of 9,041

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
elbows
knees
eyebrows
birthmarks above his left ear

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
spine
collar bones
thumbs
freckles on his v-shaped back

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
two left feet
that made dancing
so awkward
at weddings

Out of 9,041 pieces of
human remains
a hundred are
my husband's
oversized hands
and undersized lungs

Out of 9,041
a hundred are
ears that listened
to our children sleeping
and arms that carried them
at the end of long walks

Out of 9,041
his hundred will be in
a tomb of unknowns
with the other questions
we haven't stopped asking

avenge

2011-04-06T13:44:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Afghans Avenge Florida Koran Burning, Killing 12"
by Enayat Najafizada and Rod Nordland
April 2, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/02/world/asia/02afghanistan.html

THE POEM:
avenge

mullah mullah mullahs
at the head of a crowd
taking off the heads
of another

an eye for an eye gets
lost in translation across
the universe turns into
a book for twelve bodies
a cartoon for four

too much wordtalking
from illiterate hands
cradling hate and tasting
triggers on the tips of
foreign tongues

flush and
fourteen piles of ash in Afghanistan
where fathers once stood
after men meshed Muhammad
with their own waste
in Cuba

the death of words
is the death of people
the way to avenge either
is the same

and vengeance knows no bounds
of geography

mullah mullah mullah
in my language
in your language
words are
such sorrow
in the making

paper cut

2011-04-06T13:09:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"U.S. Panel Suggests Research Into Causes and Prevalence of Health
Issues Facing Gays"
by Robert Pear
April 1, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/01/health/policy/01gays.html

THE POEM:

paper cut

the pre-cancer breasts of two women
pre-armageddon when all of this will
explode into who'll take care of the kids
after and who'll die first and nights where
one will lie on the former chest of the other

alex is taking her hormones
he wants what's best for her
and he'd rather bisect himself
with death than live another day
as herself

and evelyn's had an overdose
penciled in her agenda pad
ever since Dad caught her
going down on Rachel

paper cut and I tripped in
the subway blood floor
trash and the place where
I'm sure a rat has peed
a simple interaction
with an envelope
and now I might as well
have fallen on the tracks

in Saudi Arabia and
parts of Arabia
I am
against the law

here I am only
illegal in the hearts of
some people

in a venn diagram I imagine
they'd share space with
Americans that hang
Confederate flags
on their front porches

at eighteen I couldn't call the doctor
from my parents' basement closet

this paper cut will be
the death of me

affection

2011-04-04T14:31:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“In Mexico City, Kissing Tells of More Than Romance”

by Janet Jarman

March 31, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/31/world/americas/31mexico.html

THE POEM:

affection

blaring why don’t we

do it in the road

Mexican legs and

arms answer with

each wrapped around

others’ and

someone’s lips are

attached to his

lover’s knee

because even an elbow

can make a dick throb

if it’s the right elbow

clothes come off

when the money’s coming in

and even the people here

know what’s going down

in Jersey

two forty-year olds

one bald

one in blue eyeliner

met while selling hats

sexy

when they were young

people would point

if you touched

now they touch

while others are

too busy touching

to point

here in Mexico City

the most lips locking

have locked at an altitude

of 40,000 heartbeats and

20,000 pre-boners

affection is a way to forget

my lover said last night

I just want to feel

a woman’s body

makes it hard to think

a short and concise observation

2011-04-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“High School Graduation Rate in the City Is Lower Than Reported”

by Sharon Otterman

March 30, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/30/nyregion/30dropout.html

THE POEM:
a short and concise observation

it’s

even worse

than we

thought!

change

2011-04-04T14:27:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Obama Cites Limits of U.S. Role in Libya”

by Helene Cooper

March 29, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/29/world/africa/29prexy.html

THE POEM:
change

ran and said

Iraq would phase out

hopes this won’t

be like that but doubts

running and saying

it’s not it’s not

things have changed

stuff happens

to the successors of

George W.

the way they happened

to him a man is

his reactions and
subjects rarely change

said

2011-04-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Libyans Call Woman Who Claimed Gang Rape a Prostitute”

by David D. Kirkpatrick

March 28, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/28/world/africa/28tripoli.html

THE POEM:
said

he said

she said

they said

my friend

did not testify

because of what

they’d say

what these

have said

she’s drunk/insane/a liar

I say

why is a woman born

into a world

that doubts her

after it

rapes her

why is a vagina

a thing to rob

like a house

whose emptiness

is grounds

for entry

why must a man cum

to continue the world

and a woman’s clit

means nothing

to Darwin

why

has a house been offered

money been bribed

for the silence

of a hole

closing up

its own silence

he said

she said

they said

my friend

had a roofie

in her bloodstream

unlike the pool of blood

she woke up in

I say

why are women

programmed to bleed

why does the world

depend on it

blood on top of

blood will make

a vagina drown

in her own home

or can open her

into herself

in words loud

and rippling

I am not drunk

I am not insane

I am not a liar

new ways to be cruel

2011-04-04T14:21:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“A Girl’s Nude Photo, and Altered Lives”

by Stuart Isett

March 27, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/us/27sexting.html

THE POEM:

new ways to be cruel

Ho alert!

“How naked?”

All naked

and if you think this girls is a whore

then text this to all your friends

a former friend and

some forwarding make

the halls go buzz

fifteen and

maybe a virgin

but a picture’s worth

a thousand cherry pops

and they

popped her

public cherry

as far as

she’s concerned

dirty words and

webcams make

long-distance

loveships go float

(like those between

the boy in 5^th period lunch

and the girl in 4^th)

these mean girls

can be so mean

these silly boys

can be so silly

Silly Boy!

your socks got wet

in the shower

in jail

because

(un)believably

this was

pornography

a public service announcement:

boys will be boys

and girls will be bitches

their parents invented

new ways to be cruel

casualties

will ensue

not scared

2011-04-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Libyan Woman Struggles to Tell Media of Her Rape”

by David D. Kirkpatrick

March 26, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/world/middleeast/27tripoli.html

THE POEM:
not scared

look at my face

look at my back

they defecated

and urinated

on me

fifteen of them

they say

(

)

but look at me

I am not scared of anything

they swore

they filmed

I was alone

there was whiskey

I was tied up

I am not scared of anything

Editing

2011-04-04T14:18:00.003-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“‘Spider-Man’ Is Said to Drop Geek Chorus of Narrators’”

by Patrick Healy

March 25, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/25/theater/spider-man-is-said-to-drop-geek-chorus-of-narrators.html

THE POEM:

Editing

a chorus of electrons

are the ones who have come

and gone

the anorexic boyfriends

the first love

the brother

and grandmother

to be a physicist

is to possess a love

of opposites

for magnets and friction

for things coming

then going

and the gravity that

keeps things in place

for an amount of time

but never forever

a physicist might call a breakup

ionization

I can’t edit a phone number

out of my head I know its

ten digits like I know the scars of

my own stomach and

things that start with 856

will always be eerie

a fourth wall has

covered me up but

who are we kidding

that violent scene

was all me

and so were

those jump-the-gun

wedding vows

one day my husband

will read the poetry

I wrote for other men

the same way

you can take

a chorus of geeks

off the page

but the damage

will have already

been done

in my new romance

things that start with 3

are the new things that start

with 2

a physicist might hypothesize

a 20-something

googles before screwing

and a 30-something doesn’t

a fourth wall covers me up

the way editing doesn’t

quite seem to work

without lots of time

or medication

got drunk at Christmas to

edit the twelve months

since the last one

out of my system

this year I will be loved

in neon yellow

and apple red

forget

2011-04-04T14:17:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Bearing Witness Beyond the Witnesses”

by Marissa Roth

March 24, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/24/arts/design/holocaust-museum-in-los-angeles-makes-hard-choices-review.html

THE POEM:

forget

pictures of dwarfs and witches

on the walls of a barracks

to comfort children who

understand Snow White

but not the smell of flesh

that has replaced their parents

Dr. Mengele likes the way

she connects dots and

shades rounded figures

orders contours of gypsies

to capture their frames

before he undoes them

in experimentation

the question

decades later will be

can we remember

too much?

the shoes

they all say to one another

with their eyes

on the streets of Washington

empty leather where toes

once froze or perspired

ten years later

people have begun to get married

on September eleventh

or go on

first dates

my father worked on

the hundredth floor

it bothers him that

people have moved on

in seventy years

will people forget after

remembering too much

or forget after not

remembering enough

pigtails

2011-04-04T14:16:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“U.S. Returns Young Girl, a Citizen, to Guatemala”

by Sam Dolnick

March 23, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/23/nyregion/23citizen.html

THE POEM:

pigtails

a plane that came

without the daughter

of a father waiting

at the gate

before knowing

he knew

it would be a long trip

back to Long Island

she is a very little girl

they plead a

husband and wife

who shouldn’t be here

like so many who

came for the streets

paved with gold

pudgy

Guatemalan arms

four years in the

growing she’s

got Asthma and

her breathing’s better

back where her parents

came from

she wears her hair

in pigtails

one for

each country

married with children

2011-04-04T14:15:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Unmarried Pastor, Seeking a Job, Sees Bias”

by Erik Eckholm

March 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/22/us/22pastor.html

THE POEM:

married with children

in a rare unfair

evening out of the

ribs between

Adam and Eve

a man alone

can’t get ahead

like the woman alone

can’t get on up

to that deluxe

paradise in the sky

they asked Elena

if she was gay

straightened out

the curves

on Hillary

in pastel shades

of suit

too many doubts

when you’re not tied down

they pair halleluiah

and pedophilia

that’s how the Catholics

get their fix

and give us the remains of

joblessness

I haven’t met

my children yet

say a prayer for

married with children

amen and please

need a wife

to get through

to these sheep

a new religion

2011-03-28T19:42:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Mullah in Debate of Tradition vs. Modern Schooling"
by Jim Yardley
March 21, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/21/world/asia/21cleric.html

THE POEM:
a new religion

no place for the ghetto in education
or education in the ghettos
of India where
on either side of a dusty road
are yesterday and tomorrow
and in the middle a mullah
whose beard itches with
the controversy of change

no place for able bodies to untouch
in this set of schools
this is the land of the Quran
in a peninsula of many gods
and some people are tired
of the old ways

they know to go on
you must go on
to

the way a lover takes
another lover to
move beyond the last

his education becomes
a series of curves and
lessons of limbs
from one woman
to the next
until only one remains
by choice or default

his love becomes secular
or a new religion

rant

2011-03-27T20:11:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Student Quits At U.C.L.A. Over Rant"
by the Associated Press
March 20, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/us/20rant.html

THE VIDEO:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7XAJo3rQn8&feature=related

THE POEM:
rant

the blond with
all-American pre-
faux boobs and
too-straight hair
can't concentrate
on her political science
or prejudice cause
ting tong ling xing's
on her phone in the library
every fifteen and
doesn't she know
in America we
just don't do that
we post our
rants for the world to see
as we try to be funny
won't stop until
hordes of Asians
bludgeon themselves to death
with books or shame
how many months ago was it
that Tyler dove to his end
Americans have an amazing
capacity to forget

too much
(self-created) information
to remember it all

privacy went out of style and the kids
go home with strangers not to feel alone
look in the mirror not to drink alone
think an opinion can't be thought alone

can so we do
do because we can
shouldn't but do
according to
what's out there
for the taking
for the making
the shakenbaking
but
information can backfire
fire pants on the ass of a
girl raking words off a
loose tongue with a not-
fluxing flux capaci-nor

leaving

2011-03-27T18:56:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Escape From New York"
by Charles M. Blow
March 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/19/opinion/19blow.html

THE POEM:
leaving

ethnic cleansing is
not known for its
subtlety

it tends to happen in
loud waves of flesh and tears
to people across the ocean

we live in the former grid of
a renaissance but they
are leaving
for the south
and they suburbs

they are leaving
behind a
white
rich
wasteland
of
electric guitar players
who
resist the urge to
sway
even at
appropriate times

pale pot smokers
in their door-manned
cubes of ownership
don't know to
fear the law
the way
a black man does

he expects to be
stopped at least
once a year
in certain parts of
the city for walking
the way his body
was made to walk

my tall blonde
beauty of a friend
is dealing pot
out of her
Bushwick apartment

she'll never be
stopped and frisked

the black men who
don't buy from her
will

home field advantage

2011-03-27T17:54:00.003-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Social Science Palooza II"
by David Brooks
March 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/18/opinion/18brooks.html

THE POEM:
home field advantage

two sets of bones
whose skin is
slowly learning to
detach itself
wait for God
or death

the backyard is no longer a field
for play or barbecue

its advantage lives
in fingers that fetch tea
for weaker fingers in
toes that warm other toes
in bed after all these years

they want to die
minutes within each other

synchronized suicide is
Plan B

they promised it in blood
but lovers are known
to break the pacts
they swear by

old cards no longer in tune
with keys in B flat or
A minor soundtracking
a day in faux pas
they've forgotten
when sounds are sad
when others are happy
and soon they'll forget
to be disgusted with
things that are
moral-adjacent

they want to rely on the kids
who promised to visit
but forget to visit
every weekend
(they're out learning
to take turns speaking
in mahogany circles)

their version of
winning has
evolved with
their marriage

they will find a way to win
in death

impulsive

2011-03-26T22:48:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Form and Follow Through"
by David Brooks
March 17, 2011
http://brooks.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/17/form-and-follow-through/

THE POEM:
impulsive

empty glass of cherry beer and
a sober man six foot three
well dressed with Poison
playing in the would-be
classy bar except
someone threw up
not to far away but still
he laughs at her jokes
from two feet up in the air
asks her to
lunch in the after
noon time hour
snow mixed with
cappuccino and the
details that undo
strangers who will
kiss in the elevator
to break the moment
she's made awkward
with two shuffling feet
and shy eyes and
then there's the roof
and Manhattan looks good
in the arms of a man
so soon the sides of
it all merge into
the atoms of some might say
black crows
or is it just
impulsive people
make messes of their lives
in general
and
waiting is a
sticky business
wait for the one
and you're wrong
end up waiting for
no one but the one who
came and has gone
so you start waiting
for yourself and
claim it's an
Independence Thing
which you have to learn
since
our parents didn't
stay together their parents
weren't happy and
nobody thinks in terms of
eternity anymore
clauses swim in our
bloodstreams
we got soft or
maybe just
selfish over the years
listening to our bodies
ignoring the data
always thinking we're
the exception because
our parents told us
we were special
didn't tell us lust
makes a baby love
makes a family
or maybe they did
but a body forgets
the details of its roots
to undo the space between
no-more strangers
making could-be love
or lust

baptized in oil

2011-03-26T21:00:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Christian Coalition Visits Hill for Energy Discussion"
by Sarah Abruzzese of Greenwire
March 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/gwire/2011/03/16/16greenwire-christian-coalition-visits-hill-for-energy-dis-15192.html

THE POEM:
baptized in oil

on the nth day He and
on the n+1th day He
and He won't do it again
so

there needs to be a
conservative discussion
in addition to prayer

because this nation is
baptized in oil

and this is a
crisis of faith

temples fell down
first-borns were killed
on days n# and n*

from day n
He said no
to taking
spelled it out
in fig leaves
the answer
would never be
drill baby
would be
create
from bones
then take
and hold

fingertips of interest

2011-03-26T19:57:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Harnessing the Power of the Mom Blogger"
by Pradnya Joshi
March 15, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/15/business/media/15adco.html

THE POEM:
fingertips of interest

stolen spots of
space between
stroller here
stroller there
and things cut into fours
other things pulled out
of throats that
are attracted to
suicide without knowing
the word for it yet
to write and trade
reactions that
men in the form of
pinstripes
remark as a
power to harness
afterall the
sheer numbers
are big and tall
like the men
later coming home
but for now
their wives have
the fingertips
of interest

water into inflated balloons

2011-03-26T19:35:00.001-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Radioactive Releases in Japan Could Last Months, Experts Say"
by David E. Sanger and Matt Wald
March 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/14/world/asia/japan-fukushima-nuclear-reactor.htm

THE POEM:
water into inflated balloons

the remains of plants that don't know
how to feed themselves anymore
drifting through broken island air

a little girl in the road and a
thousand cranes that
don't lift her up on paper wings
comes to mind on the minds of
men huddled in circles of memory

what is the weight of a gram of fear
what is the definition of 'off' in
the feeling of on are the questions

as a slow method of self-abuse
asserts itself in a
cool down like a
half mile at half pace

and the relief of sea water
meets the fishermen
trying to pour water into
inflated balloons

earth and air at odds
with the people who have
built themselves on the things
that can fall apart

it is a different kind of
again

a kinder version of
tragedy

ambiguity

2011-03-13T13:41:00.000-07:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Studied: The Allure of a Man's Uncertainty"
by Pamela Paul
March 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/13/fashion/13Studied.html?ref=todayspaper

THE POEM:
ambiguity

maybe baby just maybe
he likes you a little
might like you a lot
and suddenly ambiguity
is the new sexy

that tantalizing yes
or more yes
running through your mind
gets you through the daily grind

and the more you think about it
the more you think about him
convince yourself it's the name
and not just the game

five foot five and sweet as pie
don't believe her she'll convince you why
she's a catch the realest of deals
rsvp to see how love feels

he loves me he loves me not yet
there's a chance he's the one
and I'm the one too two ones and
the only people in love are fools
who learned to play by the rules

this pre-cool life

2011-03-12T17:14:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Facebook Users Who Are Under Age Raise Concerns"
by Matt Richtel and Miguel Helft
March 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/12/technology/internet/12underage.htm

THE POEM:
this pre-cool life

too young to
be old to old
to be young

got some
preconceived
notions of this
pre-cool
life
and they all tick for
time speeding up

little boys want to go to war
little girls want their mothers' clothes

little men and little women
want each other
before they should

later they will wish they were twelve
when they have
accidental twelve-year-olds
of their own
who will want to grow up
as fast as they did

crawl

2011-03-12T15:10:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"An Unpredictable Test of Japan’s Resilience"
by Robert J. Geller
March 11, 2011
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/11/an-unpredictable-test-of-japans-resilience

THE POEM:
crawl

stress plus stress
and plates will converge
to make cracks
in the plans of people
on their way to work

cracks in the system
water in your ears and
fire in your stomach

buildings will tumble
vehicles will wash away
a man and a woman
forget how to stay
together so inevitably
someone will leave

we taped the windows shut
to keep the water in the streets
out of our house
when i was five

packed my bag full of
pictures and books
to sell when all our money
fell into the earth

i asked her what if we
ever got separated

my mother said very seriously
that she would crawl to me

herself into you

2011-03-12T14:26:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Precipitous Fall for ‘Spider-Man’ Director"
by Patrick Healy
March 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/10/theater/julie-taymor-spider-man.html

THE POEM:
herself into you

nine years and
no comment
later this scene
is set these lights
are out on history's
most expensive
mother
taken away from
her family
too ambitious
too much of a
stubborn
perfectionist
to take care of them
anymore
but time makes you
and people get
so
hire a father
to make the kids
alright and explain
that DNA gets left behind
sometimes when your mother
poured herself
into you

My New Harlem

2011-03-12T12:35:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"United at Tables in Harlem"
by Sam Sifton
March 9, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/09/dining/reviews/09rest.html

THE POEM:
My New Harlem

gay Asians sipping Merlot and
rainbow-ed fam'lies downing
all American pie
at Red Rooster in
the new Harlem

this is a dancer's kitchen

and this chef doesn't cook down
to anyone

corn bread n fried chicken
on the same stove as
skillets with too many words
strungtogether

this is my new Harlem

buy an Ipod for twenty bucks
from the addict on the corner
he'll make it ten cause he
needs his fix

get a latte from the
corner coffee shop
over wireless and
sprinkles of white
and yellow

I live with a beautiful
black man

we both know I
stick out

get looks at the laundromat like
a fish out of water
like a one-woman
gentrification sensation

A Message From Brigitte Gabriel

2011-03-12T12:18:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Drawing U.S. Crowds With Anti-Islam Message"
by Laurie Goodstein
March 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/08/us/08gabriel.html

THE POEM:
A Message From Brigitte Gabriel

I lost my Lebanon
in the rubble of
a bombed village

I do not want to lose
my America

This cancer is contagious
It's extreme and mainstream

They want us dead
because they hate us

Do not say
the wormy apples
are but a few

Do not to
the mother bent over
her dead child's body

Do not to
the father standing where
his house once stood

They want me dead
They tell me so in notes

They want you dead
and they are here

can look like

2011-03-09T18:28:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Afghan Leader Calls Apology in Boys’ Deaths Insufficient"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/07/world/asia/07afghanistan.html

THE POEM:
can look like

scattered on the floor
like fallen leaves in a
wartime fall
the apology of
a tired man of men
weathered by the
accidental deaths
of children buried
underneath the feet
of a tired people

children can look like
something Elses
turn into
incidents and
excuses
leave behind
mothers and sisters
orphaned of men

from an aerial view
a body looks
less innocent or guilty
than would be ideal

easy for a helicopter
to get confused

nine threats can look like
nine boys

nine boys can look like
nine threats

talk isn't cheap

2011-03-06T12:09:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Talk Doesn’t Pay, So Psychiatry Turns to Drug Therapy”

by Gardiner Harris

March 6, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/health/policy/06doctors.html

THE POEM:

talk isn’t cheap

big bear hibernating

in a Prozac coma

words cost too much

for a needitnow man

get that Volkswagon mechanic

to tune things up with capsules

in green white and blue

mother of three and her husband

won’t get out of bed

sorry but

regrettably

this office is like

a bus station and we’re at

capacity

at some point you have to

make a choice

and I’ll see you

in a month

at some point

just want that

instant high

sometimes it’s not appropriate

to talk

it’s not an addict thing

it’s a brainbroken in
justsuchaway thing

and you don’t like paying

somebody to listen

Miss Margot gave me

an Ifeelsad checklist

scored a severe out of

a little more severe

so now I swig my Lexapro

and things feel good

better than a voice

talking at me would

cause

I know what she’d say

know all the right moves

sometimes drugs just

do what no person could

talk isn’t cheap

like they like to say

brains aren’t so complicated

that way

there’s a formula to our distress

little pills turn the no’s into yes

could have played it off

like an accident

people trip and fall all the time

but now trains get you where

you want to go

we teach our sons

2011-03-05T13:29:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Video Trains Boys to Be Suicide Bombers"
by Alissa J. Rubin
March 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/06/world/asia/06afghan.html

THE VIDEO:

THE POEM:
we teach our sons

small friends
lined up to say
their final goodbye

this is not your father's
cowboys and indians

small body wrapped in black
meets a hand that begs stop

big kick of dirt and
bodies pretend to
go down
to the beat of

My beloved is going to fight
so he has long hair

He carries his machine
gun on his shoulder
which looks so fine on him

He is going to battle
Going to fight

it took planning to
unsettle the dirt

took skills beyond
a child of eight

required
rehearsal

this is not your
child's recess

this is a holy war
this is a struggle
for God

bigger than a boy
bigger than a man
men can be replaced

we teach our sons
courage

we teach our sons
pride

in this country
you have to
grow up to die

dispose

2011-03-04T19:58:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"The Disposable Woman"
by Anna Holmes
March 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/04/opinion/04holmes.html

THE POEM:
dispose

eyes wide cataract-ed with
1 and a little piece of a million
green backs on beds with
the bare goddesses you
don't pay to open up
you pay to up and leave

dear bad boy rebel
dear folk-hero rockstar
we love you in a
weird sort of way

twin blondes with
twin chests and
baby twins of a
restrained ex
morning kisses
with cigarette breath
second handing
spongy lungs
these are the
terrible forty-fives
that keep a man
up all night

women are meant to be
hugged and caressed
he says fingering his
wife's head in a chest

wrap it with a bow
send it to mom
there are seven
sins on a list for
this jolly sinner to
tick off before dinner

that gun went off
on accident

that body hit the floor
no contest

time to do the math math math:
one body is equal to
or less than
fifteen minutes
is equal to
a sliver of
a wealthy white man's
money, honey

lock me in the bathroom
of your Winners' Idea Factory
just don't scare
the horses
or the children

I knew going in
it's hard to win
when the
occupational hazard
of the day is a
man's haphazard way
of decomposing
with a confident laugh
and a garrulous half-
full flask and a
full shot of apathy

just dispose
of me

A Message From Your Commander in Chief, a Big, But Busy, Football Fan

2011-03-04T19:55:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Obama Tells N.F.L. Owners and Players to Settle Dispute Without Him"
by Sheryl Stolberg
March 3, 2011
http://thecaucus.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/03/obama-tells-n-f-l-owners-and-players-to-settle-dispute-without-him/

THE POEM:
A Message From Your Commander in Chief, a Big, But Busy, Football Fan

headbutt your heads
together and
work it out

as it turns out
I've got a lot of other
stuff to do

Plan Z

2011-03-04T19:54:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“More College Graduates Take Public Service Jobs"

by Catherine Rampell

March 2, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/02/business/02graduates.html

THE POEM:

Plan Z

it’s the generation

not into ration-

ing the dreams our parents

planted from age two

in small bodies brand new

my lover said you need a Plan Z

while his Plan B broke him apart

and away and now I’m

back at square one in that depart-

meant to be is a funny thing it’s

hard to ascertain they say

you just know I think it’s

more than that takes work

that men of twenty-three

don’t have the maturity to

big-picture see lump goes

the category I’ve just made

out of clay doesn’t mean it isn’t

an apt one in and at play

walls made of ivy

aren’t what they used to be

everybody’s living at least

their Plan B

I barely use my fancy degree

working three jobs to

take care of me

it’s the generation

not into waiting for

things to come through

things we’re entitled to

my mother said wait around

things will fall into place

my father said stay here

where I know you’re safe

I said there’s no time to wait

for things that don’t just happen

in your own chosen fashion you’ve

got to mold them in the clay you

make yourself from sand and water

burned in the fire you made from

sticks in motion

people made of good quality

aren’t enough for me

everybody’s just fucking

their Plan B waiting for

love till they’re thirty or more

I barely use most of

my heart these days

confront me

2011-03-04T13:30:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

"Jury Can Hear Dying Man’s Words, Justices Say"

by Adam Liptak

March 1, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/01/us/01scotus.html

THE POEM:

confront me

confront me with your

clause in a box with a jury

in a room with the law

confront me with your

claws in my box with your warm tongue

in our bedroom with the lights out

confront me with your

closet full of exes and

bags sagging with age

and its shit

I can take it

things happen

fair and fast

things happen

to and for us

the purpose of

our statements

is a me and you life

me and you death matter

testify your version of the lines

that make shapes to pin me down

with their corners

testi-moan me your version of the truth

in a scatter plot that lets me

scatter my pieces up and away

before dawn

bodies go down

before dawn

bodies go up

before dawn

confront me with

your body going up

your body going down

I can take it

Poems February 11-28

2011-02-27T17:44:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Raising a Milkshake to the Bride and Groom"
by Joyce Hor-Chung Lau
February 28, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/28/world/asia/28hong-kong-mcdonalds-mcweddings.html

THE POEM:
McWedding

I was never one of those girls
who knew their wedding colors
from age five

Never knew the names and sex
of my future children
and how far apart in age
I'd space them with care

I never made assumptions

Single motherhood is
still my safety

But I know for sure
if I'm lucky enough to
walk down the aisle
it will not be
a McWedding

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Studied: Lipstick on Her Collar? Men Say, ‘O.K.’"
by Pamela Paul
February 27, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/fashion/27Studied.html

THE POEM:
permissible cheating
(a haiku)

she cheated on him
'twas a katy perry thing
he's cool, thinks it's hot

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Gay Male Secretary for the White House"
by Ashley Parker
February 26, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/26/us/26social.html

THE POEM:
social secretary
(a haiku)

he's gay and social
call him the secretary
the first of his kind

~

THE ARTICLE:
"The Food Crisis"
by The New York Times Editorial Board
February 25, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/25/opinion/25fri2.html

THE POEM:
grub shortage
(a haiku)

food prices soaring
rioting for bananas
or for grains of rice

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Dr. Ruth and Nate Berkus on Clearing Clutter"
by Joyce Wadler
February 24, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/24/garden/24qna.html

THE POEM:
new furniture

the Holocaust and orgasms
don't go together
but she is not
consumed by one
or by the fact it took
her parents she
keeps a washcloth
from those days
sewn into a mitt
but doesn't keep it out
it's a time machine
not for everyday
memory making
she knew the bones
but knows the body
and its crevices that
ripple in all the right ways

there is a woman whose bedroom
is full of a no-more man's furniture
so she and the new-man
have sex in her car

Ruth says shut your mouth
give the bed to charity
and fuck on your
new furniture

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Midshipman, Then Pacifist: Rare Victory to Leave Navy"
by Paul Vitello
February 23, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/23/nyregion/23objector.html

THE POEM:
no

the letters that launched
a thousand lawyers
are two n and o
if given the order would you
a one syllable threat to
the whole system and
four years of
all-collar money
to build a man
who can lead but
look out it's a
one syllable
three-leaf clover'd
wrench in the
equation in
lips off'ring prayer
for the
accetable quota of dead
which begs
the tattooed question
what would Jesus do
what did Jesus do
did he tell the Romans
to lay down their arms
andis letting others fight
a second hand way to
clench a fist
the first word he spoke
I spoke you spoke
an n and an o
making no
no I would not

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Diet: High Fiber to Combat Death and Disease"
by Roni Caryn Rabin
February 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/22/health/research/22diet.html

THE POEM:
fiber!

this kind of health
goes
right
through
y
o
u

~

THE ARTICLE:
Special Report: Fashion
"Thinking Out of the Box"
by Suzy Menkes
February 21, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/21/fashion/21iht-rcentral21.html

THE POEM:
The Future of Fashion

volume becomes a model
whose face is washed in paint
whose body is a place to
display fabric and the threads
that holdit together
boxes are designed
out of

they become
boxee boxes
or the shapes
formerly known
as squares

the future of fashion is
voluminous

its liquid will balance out its
flesh hangers
and dry land

~

THE ARTICLE:
"House Votes to Continue Army Sponsorships in Nascar"
by Viv Bernstein
February 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/19/sports/autoracing/19nascar.html

THE POEM:
Recruitment

rubber meets the road
in matters defense

They've caught on that
the boys that like fast cars
are the men who'll
defend our right
to own them

They know 149 out of a hundred and fifty
won't listen at the mall

but they'll listen to speed that noisemakes in circles

they'll put their name on the line
for things that go zoom
in bright reds and blues

young warhawks in the making
their daddies will be proud
their mammas will cry

out here in the midwest
boys get older sooner

it's in some of their blood
to sign up to die

it's some people's job to
figure out how to
remind them so

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Planned Parenthood Financing Is Caught in Budget Feud"
By Erik Eckholm
February 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/18/us/politics/18parenthood.html

THE POEM:
a way

at stake is
sixteen and pregnant
without a camera crew without
a baby daddy or magazine
cover me up with answers
I don't know yet

that three percent is looking good
that ninety-seven is what i should
do with my self my future
i'm not some pimp's girl i'm
somebody's daughter and
i'm about to be somebody's mother
need mine but she's got her hands
full with my brothers

this isn't some scripted chain of events
i'm improvising this shit

shoulda made him use a rubber
shoulda a lot of things

this wasn't planned
but i need one
Mister Man doesn't want
to give me any help but
I can't do this all by myself
don't even want the
easy way out just a way
into all of this

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Remaking Wookiee: Chewbacca Becomes a Character on ‘Star Wars: The Clone Wars’"
by Dave Itzkoff
February 17, 2011
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/02/17/remaking-wookiee-chewbacca-becomes-a-character-on-star-wars-the-clone-wars/?scp=141&sq=february%2017,%202011&st=cse

THE POEM:
a wookiee haiku

guy back from London
greets his best friend with a Rrrrrrrowwwwr
translates to guy love

~

THE ARTICLE:"Lawsuit Says Military Is Rife With Sexual Abuse"
by Ashley Parker
February 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/16/us/16military.htmlTHE POEM:

nuts for a little pussy

he entered me from behind and by surprise

covered my mouth so I couldn’t scream out

these men go nuts for a little pussy

no matter how it comes about

no matter if it’s not allowed

bring on the gays we’d be

safer in their company

than these man

starved sexually

I’ll tell my husband

I’ll tell the higher-ups

We’ve had good past enough

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Would the Bard Have Survived the Web?"
by Scott Turow, Paul AIken, and James Shapiro
February 15, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/15/opinion/15turow.html

THE POEM:

On Spec

piano and drums mix in

our Harlem apartment

from my roommate making music

while I write poetry

to the beat of his

innermost insides

we compose on spec

for the audiences we

bet will come

sooner than later

the time signature of

our careers will be written

in savvy and sweat

it is not that extraordinary

to be brilliant

Shakespeare was a

pop artist

Warhol was one too

Chaz and I are artists

but we really need you

~

THE ARTICLE:
"What’s Your Six-Word Love Story?"
by Tara Parker-Pope
February 14, 2011
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/02/14/whats-your-six-word-love-story/

THE POEM:
Quatre Anneés

Il y a deux anneés:
Club Rainbow one man down. Yay!

Il y a une anneés:
Two girls, chopsticks, rice, and love.

Cette année:
Good God, who will Brad choose?

L’Année Prochaine:

New York: concrete jungle of love.

~

THE ARTICLE:
"No Argument: Thomas Keeps 5-Year Silence"
by Adam Liptak
February 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/13/us/13thomas.html

THE POEM:

Epic Silence

big stick and an epic silence

man looks like a big black hole

the kids used to tease him

about his drawl

it’s hard to grow

up in southern Georgia

chair lean

ponder the ceiling

dust the sleep out of

old eyes

hard to get a word in

on this firing squad

he stopped trying

five years ago

some women attempt

a silent birth

others go on

silent retreats

or talk with their hands

man looks morose

on his knees asking

the ceiling for answers

ceiling won’t talk back

his robes swallow him up

sometimes

only in public

behind closed doors

lips part loose like

a woman or

the red sea

decisions are made

inside of a man

he pokes a stick

through silence

until he hits

gold or

something good

~

THE ARTICLE:
"The Parent Trapped"
by Katherine Ellison
February 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/12/opinion/12ellison.html

THE POEM:

hell

easy for hands to put

emotion in motion

two hundred sets of

thumbs at throats made

of the same bits and pieces

of physical traits and

mental states but

the carpool just got

to be too much

their father just left

they don’t understand

he’s not coming back

I’m too tired

created what

I don’t want

stopped praying for patience

when it stopped coming

Dear God, send me to your hell

this one’s done a number

on me

~

THE ARTICLE:
"Mubarak Refuses to Step Down, Stoking Revolt’s Fury and Resolve"
by Anthony Shadid and David D. Kirkpatrick
February 11, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/11/world/middleeast/11egypt.html

THE POEM:
shoes in the air

soles of shoes in the air
voices chanting leave leave
leave and a man who won't

It's not about me
says a rock at
the bottom of a glass

power makes your
blood good and drunk
blow into this
on your way out

bloodshot eyes
looking at his
no-more people

phoning it in liver
drinking the stuff
that will kill him

Imaginary World

2011-02-27T17:35:00.000-08:00

THE POEM:
"In Tokyo, a Crackdown on Sexual Images of Minors"
by Hiroko Tabuchi
February 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/10/business/global/10manga.html

THE POEM:
Imaginary World

the maid is making popcorn
and I hose her down from
head to toe

I get excited down there
while corn pops up
everywhere

is this real life
or life in cartoon
hips that are swirls
of ink and eyes that
never blink they stare

my wife is an
elementary school student
in a teeny white
bikini

her mother looks on
while she poses for
my camera

don't you know
creativity thrives
on 'anything goes'

don't you things are
Developing Now
over seventy minute
montages of plot-
less girls in
costumes and
compri-musing
positions

call me a pervert
don't be absurd
this is a completely
imaginary world

I Have Sinned

2011-02-27T11:25:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Forgive Me, Father, for I have Linked"
by Maureen Dowd
February 9, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/09/opinion/09dowd.html

THE POEM:
I Have Sinned

Bless me Father for I have sinned
It's been fifteen logins since
my last confession and I've been
asking questions of myself
like Have I been guilty of masturbation?
and Have I advised my sister to have
an abortion?

I logged in as a priest and they
didn't ask me if I've been acting gay
they asked me if I've been flirting away
because the web has a soul now
a viral soul on its axes of
sin x and penance y

I hear those hymnal tunes praying to the gods
of theology through technology on the
organ bodies swaying to the beat of
an eagle's wings flapping in tune

A married man shouldn't
masturbate a teenage girl shouldn't
be anything but chaste because
sex and vocation are
incompatible if you're a woman and
you want to marry the Church
it says so on the screen

Century twenty-one sex on tv and in
the palms of some hands in other hands
the glow of Christ in little booths of
I'm sorry and and forgiveness

An old German pope said
get with the times an old
German pope said the Church
isn't past its prime forget those
scandals forget those holes
we're climbing ourselves up from
to number 42 on a list that reeks
of modernity take that all you
anti-Catholics all you sinners
all you no-confession-go-ers

Bless me Father for I have sinned
It's been five stanzas since
my last confession I've been asking
myself questions like
Do I believe?
Will you love the bastard I will conceive?
When I grieve, do you grieve?

turn on the dark

2011-02-27T11:24:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Good vs. Evil, Hanging by a Thread"
by Ben Brantley
February 8, 2011
http://theater.nytimes.com/2011/02/08/theater/reviews/spiderman-review.html

THE POEM:
turn on the dark

$65 million and
a few laughs in
unintended places
later I am on the street
post-turning on the dark
in an unplanned moment
of opps meets technical
difficulties and I think to
myself what a wonder
that this town is full of
songs that don't
meet their potential
in scale and soul and
fourth walls that
are broken by
being human in
spaces where we're
meant to be the most
human and the most
spectacular at
intersecting points in time

when this hurt is gone

2011-02-23T18:02:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Outré Dance Music That Revels in Otherness"
By Jon Caramanica
February 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/07/arts/music/07robyn.html

THE POEM:
when this hurt is gone

In a California ranch Emily
lets me play the
new anthem from
a tough Swedish blond
saying when this hurt is gone
I've got to get myself together
over and over because she loves
me not the song
and we both hope this is one of those times
when hearing something
enough times
makes it true

Em says she doesn't like that one part
because she thinks I'm clever
that's her only beef the other bits about
my mind being gone are all they're
lyrics screwed on just right

robins in the California sky
I run up hills lined with palm trees
and in San Francisco I think of
the pictures I would take with
the man I might still love
with the Golden Gate Bridge
backdropping two frames

Emily says love without respect
is just nostalgia

She says you're quiet
I don't tell her sometimes I cry in the car
between places and that's a lot
of places because we drive everywhere
in this city and I cry because I thought
everything would just get better
by running away to here and I cry the night before
I have to go back because I have to go back

They gave me some pills
they're little and white
just like me
just like Robyn

I feel better
like there's not a heavy child
sitting on my chest
at all hours of the day

I am Harlem-bound
to the company of a
young black musician
who greeted me at the door
with a guitar and a smile
my daddy likes him
and so do I

I am Harlem-bound
to the company of
three jobs and I can
pay my rent with my
passion what a dream
coming true for an
artist of twenty-two

too damn high

2011-02-23T15:25:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Get Married, Save Thousands on Tuition"
by Tess Townsend
February 6, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/06/us/06bcmarriage.html

THE POEM:
too damn high

~ a series of haikus on the blasphemous cost of education in this country, our United States of America ~

college is the new
high school diploma so I
really need to go

but i can't afford
to pay thousands of dollars
solution: marriage!

will you marry me?
out-of-state tuition is
outlandishly high

let's get hitched tonight
avoid debt and maybe have
sex if we want to

it can be fake or
as real as a bill for my
first semester-eek!

one true thing I know
tuition is too damn high
for a single girl

so say you'll be mine
on paper pretty puh-lease
I'll be a good wife

less white

2011-02-23T14:53:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"In Census, Young Americans Increasingly Diverse"
by Sabrina Tavernise
February 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/05/us/05census.html

THE POEM:
less white

dj jazzy jeff and the freshest of royal in a T-shirt and
baggy pants black and proud singing parents just
don't understand and it's truer now than it ever was
'cause things are shifting take-off lifting away from the
white picket fence in the burbs of american i get a
white family two kids tv garage and a dog sure but
no sir mind the gap between grandpa and the
paper boy he says see and he says si and they don't
see eye to eye

all those rainbow colored youths roygbiving themselves
into the skylights of our cities they're black and yellow and
brown and multi-everything n sexing each other
to make multigrain babies who'll grow up to be even more
a-grandpa than their own parents just don't understanding

little apples

2011-02-23T13:40:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:
"Abortion Rate in New York Defies Easy Explanation"
by Anemona Hartocollis
February 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/04/nyregion/04abortion.html

THE POEM:
little apples

two out of five little apples don't make it to
the big apple where things move quickly
and there's not much brainorsoilspace to
grow expensive shrubs or trees

forty one out of every hundred acres
full of pulled-up roots and sunflower weeds that
won't grow up in rain won't grow up
in between the pieces of concrete sidewalk
where hustling pairs of shoes walk on by
the walk ups where no one stops
to smell the roses Apartment 4A is
growing on its terrace

it's not the teenagers for once you can't
blame it on those stupid kids

it's a lot of things

it's the law of the land it's the
schools that don't teach it's
the people that don't care it's
the men and the money that
aren't there

four into ten eight over twenty
is a lot of little apples with and
without worms

As if you could forget

2011-02-21T18:41:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Cameras, and Rules Against Them, Stir Passions in Delivery Rooms”

by Katharine Q. Seelye

February 3, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/03/us/03birth.html

THE POEM:

As if you could forget

flash and frames of

blood and shit

a body opening

itself for another

trapped in squares and

moving sets of images

like a real-time flip book

to remember forever

as if you could forget

the way things got quiet

amidst the screaming

and how things went quickly

the way you wouldn’t expect them to

it’s one of those times when

you forget to be hungry

you expected to be hungry but

your body had other things

on its mind

some women want to

put their vaginas

on the internet

share their bloodied

canvases with the world

their doctors have mixed feelings

don’t want their work up on the web,

like unedited manuscripts

in new hands

new mothers and their

tiniest achievements

one whose soft skin is

not yet battered

the other who has been

through the kind of hell

you so easily forget

The Gender of Our Language

2011-02-19T16:25:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Where Are the Women in Wikipedia?”

Why are there so many more men than women contributing to a ‘free encyclopedia that anyone can edit’?

February 2, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2011/02/02/where-are-the-women-in-wikipedia?

THE POEM:

The Gender of Our Language

He says I know this and here are the facts, man

She’s more inclined to say it’s my opinion that such and such

On virtual paper in a public [space] a man feels

entitled to say the things he knows are true

in long-winded spurts of 411s and here’s the deals

Maybe it’s nerd avoidance

Maybe it’s a manner of

good manners

and the women that

have them

They’re in the kitchen, fighting again:

Sam says you always do this and that

Lily says I feel like you don’t x and y

Sam: Examine the Evidence in Table E sub 1!

Lily: Examine the dimensions of my EQ!

S (throwing something): Grr!

L (tearing up): Question!

Maybe it’s a matter of control

He believes he has it and

She knows better

They’re in bed, making up:

Sam says I love you

Lily says You make me feel so safe

Sam: I got you this gift

Lily: I framed your diploma

S: proof of my love in words and limbs

L: a combination of sighs and kisses

S (entering her): Grr!

L (tearing up): Ah!

Some women don’t like edit wars

They prefer to be social

and discuss things in

round collections of people

They apologize

more often and

when it’s not

their fault

Being correct is a man’s business

Being right is a woman’s

The gender of our language

The sex of our speech

unfolds across the

world’s wide web of

screens and marriages

apple

2011-02-07T15:24:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Bush’s Daughter, in a Break, Endorses Gay Marriage”

by Michael Barbaro

February 1, 2011

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/01/us/politics/01bush.html

THE POEM:

apple

something about apples

and trees comes to mind as

a bush catches fire in a

not so holy Old Testament

kind of way

to say

join us

in college the gays

loved her

they made assumptions

about her daddy

but invited her to

their parties

they voted for

the other guy

but danced with her

in public

she swore he

wasn’t a bad guy

it’s just

most people don’t

separate a person’s

opinions from

his politics

she traded

New Haven for

New York where

everyone should

have the right

to marry the

person they love

because

New York is about

fairness and

equality

people across the country

will do the math and

disagree on

the distance between

this apple and its tree

JANUARY: our history

2011-01-31T10:43:00.003-08:00

*note: Emotional distress and general Hot-Mess-ness forced me to make up all of January's entries in the spring, as opposed to compose them in real time. Please enjoy "our history," one poem inspired by all the the January articles listed below:

THE ARTICLES:

"Career Shift Often Means Drop in Living Standards"
by Catherine Rampell
January 1, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/01/business/economy/01hires.html

"Sustainable Love: The Happy Marriage Is the ‘Me’ Marriage"
by Tara Parker-Pope
January 2, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/02/weekinreview/02parkerpope.html

A Bronx Elementary School, Surrounded by Prostitutes
by Yardena Schwartz
January 3, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/03/nyregion/03bronx.html

"Iran Invites Some Nations, Not U.S., for Nuclear Tour"
by Mark Landler
January 4, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/04/world/middleeast/04tehran.html

"Do Word Changes Alter 'Huckleberry Finn'?"
January 5, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2011/01/05/does-one-word-change-huckleberry-finn

"China’s Push to Modernize Military Is Bearing Fruit"
by Michael Wines and Edward Wong
January 6, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/06/world/asia/06china.html

"Religious Leaders Call for New Efforts to Lower the City’s ‘Chilling’ Abortion Rate"
by Paul Vitello
January 7, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/07/nyregion/07abortion.html

"The Handwritten Letter, an Art All but Lost, Thrives in Prison"
by Jeremy W. Peters
January 8, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/08/business/media/08jailmail.html

"Study Finds Family Connections Give Big Advantage in College Admissions"
by Tamar Lewin
January 9, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/09/education/09legacies.html

"For Poor, Bail System Can Be an Obstacle to Freedom"
by John Eligon
January 10, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/10/nyregion/10bailbonds.html

"Depth of the Kindness Hormone Appears to Know Some Bounds"
by Nicholas Wade
January 11, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/11/science/11hormone.html

"At One School, a Push for More Play Time"
by Sharon Otterman
January 12, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/12/education/12kindergarten.html

"Autism Fraud"
January 13, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/13/opinion/13thu2.html

"White House Memo: Girl’s Death Hits Home for Obama"
by Helene Cooper
January 14, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/14/us/14obama.html

"Did Your Horoscope Predict This?"
by Jesse McKinley
January 15, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/15/us/15zodiac.html

"Local Intelligence: Rosie the Riveter Memorial"
by Hank Pellissier
January 16, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/16/us/16bcintel.html?

"Transforming Africa Through Higher Education"
by Nazanin Lankarani
January 17, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/17/world/africa/17iht-educSide17.html

"Mind: When Self-Knowledge Is Only the Beginning"
by Richard A. Friedman,
January 18, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/18/health/views/18mind.html

"Getting Someone to Psychiatric Treatment Can Be Difficult and Inconclusive"
by A. G. Submerge and Benedict Carey
January 19, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/19/us/19mental.html

"A Racy Show With Teenagers Steps Back From a Boundary"
by Brian Stelter
January 20, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/20/business/media/20mtv.html

"A Firm Commitment to Casual"
by A. O. Scott
January 21, 2011
http://movies.nytimes.com/2011/01/21/movies/21nostringsattached.html

"For Women, Sundance Is Sunnier Than Hollywood"
by Brooks Barnes
January 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/22/movies/22sundance.html

"Can Wal-Mart Make Us Healthier?"
January 23, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2011/01/23/can-wal-mart-make-us-healthier?

"Does College Make You Smarter?"
January 24, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2011/01/24/does-college-make-you-smarter?

"Sons of Divorce Fare Worse Than Daughters"
by Roni Caryn Rabin
January 25, 2011
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/25/sons-of-divorce-fare-worse-than-daughters

"Can India Leapfrog China?"
by Katrin Bennhold
January 26 2011
http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2011/01/26/can-india-leapfrog-china/

"Tussling Over Jesus"
by Nicholas D. Kristof
January 27, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/27/opinion/27kristof.html

"Writing the Play His Curiosity Led Him To"
by Felicia R. Lee
January 28, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/28/theater/28lopez.html

"I Was a Tiger Daughter"
by Verna Yu
January 29, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/29/opinion/29iht-edyu29.html

"The Search: A Sign of Hope for More Hiring"
by Phyllis Korkki
January 30, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/30/jobs/30search.html

"Teacher, My Dad Lost His Job. Do We Have to Move?"
by Michael Winerip
January 31, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/31/education/31winerip.html

THE POEM:
our history

you weren't a firm

commitment to casual

it wasn't one of those
open sesame firestorms
it was the opposite in

white and rice and

flowers and firsts

we will have questions like

did your horoscope predict this
and where do we go from here

they took the n-word

out of Huck Finn

we will wonder if

changing one word

can change everything

when I do becomes don't

will the way we have always told

our history substitute its
own words for ones with
shorter syllables

they say

the happy marriage is

the me marriage

that

sustainable love

is some part selfish

this isn't some
career shift that makes
bodies standing ups go downs and drop

lines like questions like
what is our your new address and

the signs of hope for hiring are

out-of-state meant for greener pastures

in other zip codes where

a postal code is a post-us abode

you know sons

do worse than daughters

when these things happen

we'd rather tussle over Jesus

than over the two of you

come or stay and

let's play leapfrog--

you be China I'll be India

you can teach me things

from The Economist

and I'll keep you young

we both know self-knowledge is

only the beginning and I'm

too young to know

getting someone to psychiatric treatment

can be difficult and

inconclusive

is that why

in sickness

wasn't in

parentheses

I will go to a school

in the Bronx

surrounded by prostitutes

they will cut our recess short

across the ocean

China is modernizing its military

to bear fruit

Iran is snubbing us

on a nuclear tour

Africans are

transforming themselves

through higher education

here we sit in the

not-aborted mess

we made a point
to create

I will be lonely

I will find a penpal

from prison

he will write to me

and to Maxim every week

we will keep the art of letter-writing

alive

one day I will get myself arrested

just to get you in the same room

kindness is not boundless

it is bound by

a perimeter of

its own chemical make-up

divorce is an unraveling of hormones,

we will learn

I will go to college

your name will help me

as we always knew it would

she will change her name back

the process will take a year

bureaucracy doesn't allow a woman

to just
move on

even Rosie

would have taken time

to detach
(all those rivets)

will college make me smarter?

probably as much as

Wal Mart can

make me healthier

I will get older

and study your wife

as a woman

instead of a mother

I will understand why

she dances in Utah

but not in Hollywood

why she called herself

a tiger daughter

curiosity will make us write

writing will make us remember

remembering will make us wish

wishing will make us dead

the public death of children

will make you scared

to lose me

all over again

I will believe you love me

as much as I don't believe

vaccines cause autism

I will form the opinion that

the opposite of fraud

is faith

I will not be a racy teenager

I will save my crises

for my twenties

when it will be

my own problem

the world will become very big

as it becomes very small

we will become closer

as we grow further apart

I will never choose between you

by learning to choose myself

I will tell our history

a new way each time

Isabelle

2011-01-30T13:15:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Isabelle Caro, Anorexic Model, Dies at 28”

by William Grimes

December 31, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/world/europe/31caro.html

THE POEM:

Isabelle

elle etait une fille tres mince

elle avait 28 ans et elle vivait sans un prince

(parce que)

quand on a une probleme comme ca tres grande

et un coeur tres faible comme le lui

l’amour ne peut pas endurer longtemps

2010

2011-01-30T12:23:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“The 110 Things New Yorkers Talked About in 2010”

by Stuart Emmrich

December 30, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/30/fashion/30Year.html

THE POEM:

2010

this year royalwe bedbugged at every hour of the night as

love wikileaked all over bodies dressed in (more)meat learning

new words like defriend or detag (that picture of us kissing)
on our way to pre-hab where doctors

told us you’re not handicapped like the people swinging from roofs

on Broadway’s slipperyspidery web of casualties

and the kids are not alright no matter what it says in print

this year royalthey said they’d say foreverandever one day
while we kept treading water in a gardened state living

it’s hard to move on when nothing is changing

except for everything around you

there’s no lump in my breast yet is it just

a matter of time the women in my family

lose their skin one surgery at a time and

each other one fightonfight at a time

sometimes they stick sometimes they grow

with time and my ex boyfriend told me

blood doesn’t much matter as we catch up

over Christmas and I again think what a shame

we aren’t it because he’s so lovely

the rent has always been too damn high for

young kids working for tips in rooms

full of immigrants whose lives are

much harder than mine and I wish I

spoke the same language because it’s lonely not

to understand what’s going on around you

twelve hours of the day

my body has changed

this year has weathered it

but men still tell me it’s

quite the slab

but then again

anyone will say anything

when there’s an eager tongue

near a hard dick

but then again

I’ve gotten better at

choosing what I want

while I’ve gotten worse at

getting it

my first thought of January 1 will be

I don’t want to meet this year

downstairs in Brooklyn with my

former partnerinnewyears passed out

post-way too high and my best friends

upstairs singing slow jams

until the break of fast they’ll exit

diner-bound

in the morning

the rest of us will get coffee and bagels

and take the train

back to the problems

we’ll learn to solve

in warmer weather

my friend will tell me that night

my face looks sunken in

I will know I weigh less and look worse

this year has weathered my body

it has stress lines in new places

it has the same scars in old places

down there where I’ve thought about lying

and saying it’s a C-section scar to

get sympathy from men who

don’t know the stories of my frame

just yet like a crazy person or adolescent

who thinks pain reels anyone in because

it usually makes them run and

this year has weathered my mind

along with my body

they tell me I have a

biological pre-

disposition to

thisstuff and I

am relieved it’s

not just me it’s

all of history

all of atoms colliding with atoms

except not in the rightest of ways

and the nature nurture debate is a silly one

sometimes it’s more one than the other

but it’s always both

yes

2011-01-30T12:04:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Is It Rape? It Depends on Who Is Asking”

by Katrin Benhold

December 29, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/29/world/europe/29iht-letter29.html

THE POEM:

yes

it is a shame for some things

to be tricky like love and sex

or sex without love love without sex

sex without a well formed yes

to kick things off

too many of my friends

have woken up

in pools of blood

too many of my friends

have been entered

at gun point

too many of my friends

have not dealt in

ambiguity

there has been no line

dressed in fog or

miscommunication

no question of
one yes turning
into two

there is a game we play

in the theater

it involves a circle of people

who trade places based on

eye contact and the word yes

it builds trust

it takes time
and rhythm

it is a shame for some things

to be tricky like love and sex

and the words in between

or far away

N.B.A. in India

2011-01-30T12:00:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“N.B.A. in India, in Search of Fans and Players”

by Jeremy Kahn

December 28, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/28/sports/basketball/28india.html

THE POEM:

N.B.A. in India

crickets chirping on bats and balls

in Bombay beds of grass

give way to balls of

the spalding variety held in

oversized black and white

mostly black hands as big

in ratio as their bodies’

heights that make tall shadows

next to short brown ones

in this cross-global endeavor

that reeks of capitalism

and sweat

it happened in China

it happened in Spain

their tallest men came to America

and jumped for a living

now our men will go to Bangalor

and Balasore and jump for

their men their women their money

Monogamous Drunkards

2011-01-23T12:26:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Do We Drink Because We’re Monogamous, or Are We Monogamous Because We Drink?”

by Stephen J. Dubner

December 27, 2010

http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/27/do-we-drink-because-were-monogamous-or-are-we-monogamous-because-we-drink/

THE POEM:

Monogamous Drunkards

have fun exploring

the alcoholic abyss

we call monogamy

cause the more times

you come home to the

same man the more

shots you down of

Captain Morgan or is it

the more beer

guzzling in your throat

the less energy you have

to devote to the chase of

multiple sex friends so this

journey ends in the

same bed night after

nightfall so call us all

monogamous drunkards

cause we stay hunkered down

between the sheets our breath

smelling of booze as we

lose ourselves between

the same pair of legs

get to know the creaks of

the same beds and it’s

progressive this way

that we live devoted

to one another until

we drop dead

a hundred and fifty

2011-01-21T23:20:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“You’ve Got to Have (150) Friends”

by Robin Dunbar

December 26, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/opinion/26dunbar.html

THE POEM:

a hundred and fifty

a thousand miles between

pores is four hands worth

to handle

long distance

loveships require

substitutions for

facetoface

love ups since

it’s hard to make

oxytocin production

produceup itself

in the absence of

real eye contact

and the things flesh

can say that

cellphones don’t

translate

love will decrease by

fifteen percent a year

without skin to skin

hereiam

a hundred and fifty

names and stories

is all I can handle

there are two

stories I

couldn’t handle

these days

we click on the faces

we don’t get to touch

and touch the ones

just a train ride away

Jackie Robinson

2011-01-21T21:53:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Archive Shows Robinson As Moderator on Morality”

by Alison Leigh Cowan

December 25, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/25/sports/baseball/25robinson.html

THE POEM:

Jackie Robinson

slurs hide and seek

around diamonds that

men fit into the way

soles fit into cleats

that dig into a certain side

on purpose because

the first of anything

is a threat to

something

I think you have to live

with yourself so

the ethics of business

look the same on a clerk

or on a number 42 in Brooklyn

and a color stands out the way

the absence of color

makes you want to stay in

and draw the blinds

he asks Can a business survive

if all the principals are

looking out for themselves?

and how many

men must a man dodge

before he can be one

one of them

Colored/White

2011-01-21T20:00:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“A Tug of War, With Strings of Lights”

by Cara Buckley

December 24, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/24/nyregion/24lights.html

THE POEM:
Colored/White

Someone had a dream

that one day this nation

would rise up and

live out the true

meaning of its creed

in laundry baskets

and on Christmas trees

I balance my

preference for white lights

with preferring

black men

a deaf haiku

2011-01-21T19:51:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Deaf Player at Cal State Northridge Has a Real Feel for the Game”

by Karen Crouse

December 23, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/23/sports/ncaabasketball/23northridge.html

a deaf haiku

ears that cannot hear

so eyes make contact with the

bodies on the court

All Time Low

2011-01-14T11:45:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Teenage Birth Rate Falls 6 Percent”

by the AP

December 22, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/22/health/22brfs-TEENAGEBIRTH_BRF.html

THE POEM:

All Time Low

Teenage girls are getting better

at getting the pill

behind their mothers’ backs

Teenage boys are getting better at

putting condoms on bananas

Some kids are getting pregnant on purpose

to be on reality TV

They want to be on magazine covers and

make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year

off the fights and formula

But most of them, 9610 out of a thousand,

are getting smarter about zippers and buttons,

at keeping things on or knowing what to do

when they take them off

Maybe it’s the economy

Maybe it’s their health teachers

Maybe it’s liberal girls who

don’t can’t or won’t use tampons but

have unprotected sex and

starred Planned Parenthood

in the phone book

Maybe it’s religion

We play God all the time

Women take hormones to stop the things

their bodies were programmed to do

We sign up for surgery

to correct things

that have gone wrong

We think we can control everything

if we just find out how

It is the heart of this

all time low

Full Nest Syndrome

2011-01-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Full Nest Syndrome”

December 21, 2010

http://schott.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/21/full-nest-syndrome/?scp=1&sq=full%20nest%20syndrome&st=cse

THE POEM:

Full Nest Syndrome

There is a term for

the way we live:

they call it

Full Nest Syndrome

Like it’s a disease

that belongs in the DSM

Like it’s something that needs to be

explained because it’s

got layers and pieces that

fit together in a weird sort of way

My mother says

there are many ways to be an adult

When she was my age she was

married with children

She and my father bought

Shop Rite Brand everything

I take my paychecks to the bar

She turned hers into diapers

She didn’t ask where I slept the other night

when I didn’t come home

She wasn’t involved when I bought

a one-way ticket across the country

Sometimes we go days without seeing each other

I work nights

She works days

It’s weird, the way we live

A collection of symptoms

A collection of people

Some learning to grow old

Some trying to grow up

Solstice

2011-01-14T10:43:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“There Goes the Sun”

by Richard Cohen

December 20, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/20/opinion/20cohen.html

THE POEM:

Solstice

he tells me to look at the moon

it’s disappearing as we speak

he didn’t meet a woman

while gazing at the sky

the way I didn’t meet a man

when I dropped all my change

I haven’t yet explored all the

layers of his life

Haven’t yet learned about the half siblings he doesn’t know

Haven’t yet told him I’m estranged from my brother

Tonight he says he thinks the cracks make things more interesting

after I say cinematic moments are great but sometimes the real stuff,

the unedited, awkward cadence of our lives,

can be better

Later we will explore the

details of each other’s bodies

It will be difficult to kiss while standing up

It will involve my tiptoes

and a deep curve of his spine

We are both artists and it is hard to love us

There is a play we both like that says

to love an artist is to love someone who is

always going away from you,

that inside our heads there is always

something more beautiful

It is hard to disagree with beautiful words

but I do

In Latin solstice means the sun is standing still

People who are not yet in love

are scared to stand still with one another

even though it is harder
to start moving

than to stop

The inertia of our bodies

is a complicated business

Later we will lie with the stillness of the sun

that the shades of his bedroom windows

will keep out

I will not be sure if we are in motion

or if we have moved

Repeal

2011-01-14T10:41:00.005-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Senate Repeals Ban Against Openly Gay Military Personnel”

by Carl Hulse

December 19, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/19/us/politics/19cong.html

A collaboration with guest poet Michael Brienza

THE POEM:

Repeal

Are you gay?

It’s ok!

Shoot some bad guys

and tone your thighs

Ask!

Tell!

Converse!

Are you a guy who likes men?

Is your name Matt and his name Ben?

No more rules to hide your love

We don’t care who you dream of

Ask!

Tell!

Converse!

Some will say it’s still a sin

But this is the change we believed in

This is the new American pie

Men who love men willing to die

Ask!

Tell!

Converse!

It’s ok

It’s alright

Fuck a guy

and then go fight!

crinkle

2011-01-13T20:56:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Tests Detect Alzheimer’s Risks, But Should Patients Be Told?”

by Gina Kolata

December 18, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/18/health/18moral.html

THE POEM:

crinkle

I try to memorize the lines on my husband’s face

They will grow deeper and more permanent

as my grasp of them leaves crease by fold

I tell him I will forget his name, our anniversary

But I will not forget this love—how can you forget a feeling?

He says it doesn’t work like that

This will be harder on him

I tell him send me away

I don’t want to be a burden

He says no matter how hollow I become

I will never be a stranger

In our twenty years together

we have always traded off who is strong and who is weak—

a rhythm of falling into one another

Soon I will always be the weak one

and he will have to be the strong one

I try to memorize the shape of our shadows on the wall as we make love

Afterwards, I wonder if this sickness will make my dreams as anonymous as my life

Maybe my dreams can hold onto the details of us

Like the way he takes his coffee in the morning

the births of our children

the lines of his favorite plays

We will develop a new rhythm

A system of lists and notes

of routine and safety

Will the expressions on my face become hollow?

He kisses the crinkles around my eyes when I laugh

He says that’s where you look to see if someone is

honest to God happy

I try to memorize the way my faces feels in those moments

I hope my bones will arrange themselves in that way on my face as I fall into him

A thousand memories per crinkle

for him to kiss on his new hollow wife

Can Congress Force You to Be Healthy?

2011-01-13T20:25:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Can Congress Force You to Be Healthy?”

by Jason Mazzone

December 17, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/17/opinion/17mazzone.html

THE POEM:

Can Congress Force You to Be Healthy?

you can lead an obese man to the gym

but you cant make him lift

you can take a fat kid to the park

but you can’t make him fit

Great Leap Forward

2011-01-13T20:11:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Mao’s Great Leap to Famine”

by Frank Dikotter

December 16, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/16/opinion/16iht-eddikotter16.html

THE POEM:

Great Leap Forward

Caught red handed holding a dug-up potato

They chopped off one of his ears and

dropped a twenty-two pound stone on his back

then branded him for all of China to see

Somewhere else a father is burying his son alive

Because they said so

Because he stole some rice

Leaping brings out the hunger in a man

brings out the hunger in his wife’s belly

the bellies of his children

Livelihood issues can get you

killed and eaten

as a great nation takes a great leap forward

and leaves thirty million immobile and behind

refer to the grass and mud

2011-01-13T19:52:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Intelligence Reports Offer Dim View of Afghan war”

by Elisabeth Bumbiller

December 15, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/15/world/asia/15policy.html

THE POEM:

refer to the grass and mud

PACKman flavored crises taste like jaws full of bombs approaching in three two one

And this IS not a war we fight in columns and rows it’s fought on hills and if men can carry heavy things up them if men can shoot other men from on top of them if men can walk the miles between two hills staying alive

A body gets TAN out under an Afghan sun gets weathered in all its forms of weather gets tired on the days it doesn’t get to shoot gets frenzied on the days it does gets beaten down by a war that won’t end itself from the inside needs to think about the way space is divided between groups of people not just hills but whole countries and sometimes the lines we draw on maps that refer to the grass and mud between a country at war and its neighbor are the lines to tattoo on lesson plans for victory on the minds in charge not on the men marching in boots for them it is enough to just walk uphill and stay alive

own December

2011-01-13T19:37:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Atheist Ads on Buses Rattle Fort Worth

by James C. McKinley Jr.

December 14, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/14/us/14atheist.html

THE POEM:

own December

it’s the time of year when you’re supposed to believe in something or have someone to love because that’s the same thing but if you don’t then I still love you / -God via a van in Texas is here make you feel warmnfuzzy inside your soul

People in Texas sometimes forget about the atheists

They’re out there

They’re on the sides of buses spelling Millions are good without God because nobody owns December not even Jesus Christ (who wasn’t even born in December it’s an estimate, fools) in New York they’ve got it right don’t let you drive on in until you read it’s a myth so let’s celebrate reason this Christmas season

It’s can be lonely at Christmas time

Even the Jews have their traditions

Even the Asians on the block put up a tree (Buddha had a thing for trees)

It’s the time of year when you’re supposed to believe in something or have someone to love because that’s the same thing and I still love you / -God from a roadside van’s good side can feel tragically inadequate inside your soul

Imaginary Conversations

2011-01-13T19:17:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Los Angeles Confronts Homelessness Reputation”

by Adam Nagourney

December 13, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/13/us/13homeless.html

THE POEM:

Imaginary Conversations

a homeless man shares

pages from his

gay porn with me

over lunch and says

I could be a model

if I had better skin

On days like these

he can blanket himself

with the sun

On nights like there will be tonight

he will blanket himself

with cardboard

In New York

people have to step over

people like him

Their heads lie in the gutters

on the corner of 10^th and 41^st

by the tunnel

They freeze to death

invisibly at first

and then in front page poses

at Grand Central

But here in California

people can drive by it

on their way

through

around and

back from

their four walled lives

In between big dicks

and muscled torsos

he tells me he used to be

in the Army

He has imaginary conversations

with his platoon leader

He doesn’t know

they’re imaginary

Others of my peers

2010-12-25T19:08:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“No Jobs? Young Graduates Make Their Own”

by Hannah Seligson

December 12, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/12/business/12yec.html

THE POEM:

Others of my peers

Most of my peers live in

various academic vaginas:

they crawled back in last year

where it was warm and safe

they protested birth

they like being parasites

Some of my peers are

pretend adults:

mom and dad pay their rent

and they frolic and

flirt in concrete jungles

Others of my peers created their own jobs:

they understood this whole

get-good-grades-and-get-a-job thing

was an empty promise

from a generation of

corrupt educators

My father is a powerful man

and even he hires people

with more plaques on their walls

they he will ever have

The smartest of my peers understand:

with nothing to lose

creativity is a safe gamble

devour

2010-12-25T18:58:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“As Ants Crawl Over Crucifix, Dead Artist Is Assailed Again”

by Holland Cotter

December 11, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/11/arts/design/11ants.html

THE POEM:

devour

the fire in my belly

started in my lover’s

when you love someone

you give each other one another’s

every cough and tick and sputtering cell

for every ounce of love you make

a lovecrane swoops in to

feed another to Eden’s snake

Jesus take on the suffering of my lover

Jesus take on the suffering of myself

Jesus why can I hear you chanting six six six

as you nail us to a crucifix

there is a fire in my belly

eating me from the in to out

Jesus why did you let my lover die

with the ferocity of melting ice

you know it is better to die all at once

ants devour the sweetest parts

of his flesh

my memory lives in

its sour nooks

Jesus why have you forsaken me

these frozen hands

2010-12-25T12:17:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“On Christmas Lists, No Credit Slips”

by Stephanie Clifford

December 10, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/10/business/10shop.html

THE POEM:

these frozen hands

people stuck in

snow covered holes

singing fa la la la fuck

here comes the plastic

divorce devil to make

snowmen and angels

this Christmastime

cash is the route

these frozen hands

should have traveled

transmanifest

2010-12-25T11:58:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Bold Crossings of the Gender Line”

by William Van Meter

December 9, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/09/fashion/09TRANS.html

THE POEM:

Transmanifest

singsonging across the universe

trans melody trans bridge trans one mouth in red lipstick

on the face of a usedtobe man that blows smoke into the face of a

nowiam woman on the corner of a transAmerican street you can
flirt in any body

they’re everywhere

they’re hip n cool

they raise the boys who

grow up to be president

it’s transmanifest destiny

a usedtobe man with her flowing brown hair

grips the base of a member

a few inchesdownonpaper from her little breasts

she knows how to work her body

for the camera knows how to

work her body for money

an alwayshasbeen man on the cover of a magazine

in bodydraging himself into the new

main sexstream because he can because why not

because it’s hip n cool because it’s

transmanifest destinhere

Scarlet U

2010-12-10T20:51:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“The Scarlet ‘U’ of Unemployment”

December 8, 2010

http://schott.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/08/the-scarlet-u-of-unemployment/

THE POEM:

Scarlet U

Brand with an A

Let them say

A huge whore lies beneath these clothes

A loose woman lost in the arms of unmarried men

who learns the tongues of strangers in bars

who lets men inside of her who never promise to stay

A sexual deviant whose body has been hit and scarred

by figures she should have known better than to trust

A single mother in the making

Brand me with an A

The world can forgive an A

A husband can love a woman whose A fades with each day

A priest will bless an A

It becomes Amen at the end of her sentences

But the Scarlet U of unemployment

is not a quick forgive

It gets bloodier in red with each day

she and he

2010-12-10T20:37:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Social Science Palooza”

by David Brooks

December 7, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/07/opinion/07brooks.html

THE POEM:

she and he

She avoids her father’s calls when she’s ovulating

and is relieved to find out her partner left his last girlfriend,

not the other way around

She believes more strongly in God now that

her boyfriend is an atheist

Whenever he’s sad

she recommends he pray,

and when the Knicks lose a game

she swears they should just

touch each other more

He says let’s leave the touching

to us

She’s a beautiful woman and

it distracts him when they play chess

They remember the things

it was difficult to learn

about each other

She studied hieroglyphics to

find his greatest fear

He translated her from silence to read

the past stuck in her throat

She and he together like

social and science

on the ground

2010-12-10T20:17:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Gay Teens Face Harsher Punishments”

by Tara Parker-Pope

December 6, 2010

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/06/gay-teens-face-harsher-punishments

THE POEM:

on the ground

control for different be or she haviors

the shes that go home with shes

the hes that look for hes in the crowd

find themselves on the (non-jagged) ground

more when they want more

find themselves on the (jagged) ground

more when they want less

Laptopistan

2010-12-10T19:52:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Destination: LAPTOPISTAN”

by David Sax

December 5, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/nyregion/05laptop.html

THE POEM:

Laptopistan

I write poems on my MacBook in Starbucks.

I sip on a small Passion Fruit Tea and watch people passing by the window.

Their bodies are imperfect rhymes.

Mine is a cliché in eyeliner that cares

and curls that don’t.

Moody music plays overhead. It does not drown out the autistic man who never stops speaking. He is unlike the silent Asian who conducts the music on his ipod for the audience that pays him no mind.

They talk to other people on their laptops,

private people in this public place.

numbers go down

2010-12-10T19:16:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Treating Eating Disorders and Paying For It”

by Lesley Alderman

December 4, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/04/health/04patient.html

THE POEM:

numbers go down

her body is all spine

so her mother feeds her

like when she was

not a year old

but the numbers go down

on the square she steps on

his body is all collarbone

so his father visits him on weekends

to pay the bill for the

four walls and four hands

that make sure for all the hours

he can't

and the numbers go down

in accounts to live on

mom and dad don’t talk like they used to

they don’t sleep together anymore

too many numbers going down

the basic elements of life

2010-12-09T13:14:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Microbe Finds Arsenic Tasty; Redefines Life”

by Dennis Overbye

December 3, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/03/science/03arsenic.html

THE POEM:

the basic elements of life

a door cracking to reveal

the fixed constants of life

are not so planted in the earth

car bon-bon I need something sweet to live

and there’s an ox there pulling a gentle man along the cobblestone

nice try guy in the suit your backs are green your spine is strong

hi dry oh generous soil to build my thoughts into before they mix with water

sultan for the people of arabi uh it takes a leader to show the people how to be themselves

but

people can live without

the things they think

they need

the basic elements of life

Jesus in the desert without food or water

or a microbe in a lab without phosphorus

it’s not for us

we could battery ourselves around

still (in motion) with arsenic

food

shelter

love

the basic elements of life

people can live without

the things they think

they need

core

2010-12-05T20:54:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Runner Crawls to Finish to Win Title for Her Ailing Coach”

by Katie Hafner

December 2, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/02/sports/02runner.html

THE POEM:

core

a man whose body will stage a slow coup

for three to four years until

only his eye muscles will

flex or not to

tell or not tell

the things he

means to say

a girl used to being in front

her torso bent more than usual

as bodies pass hers

kicking it in to where

less is more on paper

but more is more

in muscle mass

in mind over matter

heart to ground pounding too fast and a

memory that won’t chart this part

a body that takes this moment and

crawls through it

in three to four years a pair of eyes

will blink in some pattern or not

for the torso that carries its memories

in its core

A man needs

2010-12-05T20:28:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Keeping Romance Alive in the Age of Female Empowerment”

by Katrin Benhold

December 1, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/01/world/europe/01iht-letter.html

THE POEM:

A man needs

When he could fuck her three times a day—

make her scream so the whole house could hear—

when he could print business cards and

point to his name on a mailbox in the city,

things were great.

But when he couldn’t talk about how great the hours between 9 and 5 were—

when he couldn’t go a day without bouncing alternate realities off her tired heart—

when he couldn’t see beyond the things he didn’t have,

the things she wanted to help him find,

things fell apart.

A man needs to feel powerful.

The female ego is used to abuse.

A woman does not stop loving her man

when she is down.

west coast

2010-11-30T20:45:00.001-08:00

An Explanation:

A combination of being too busy, sad, or otherwise engaged in late November has forced me to play catch-up in a gamely manner of sorts: I have picked headlines from November 18-30, and wrote one poem using all the headlines’ major words.

THE ARTICLES:

“For California, a New Month, a New Deficit”

by Adam Nagourney

November 18, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/18/us/18calif.html

“Axis of Depression”

by Paul Krugman

November 19, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/19/opinion/19krugman.html

“Hiding From Reality”

by Bob Herbert

November 20, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/20/opinion/20herbert.html

“Teaching for America”

by Thomas L. Friedman

November 21, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/opinion/21friedman.html

“A Safe Haven in Cartoon Confidants”

by David Bornstein

November 22, 2010

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/22/a-safe-haven-in-cartoon-confidantes

“The Sound of Lincoln’s Silence”

by Harold Holzer

November 23, 2010

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/23/the-sound-of-lincolns-silence

“A Very Risky Game”

by the New York Times Editorial Board

November 24, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/24/opinion/24wed1.html

“Dig Out Those Pocket Combs”

by David Coman

November 25, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/25/fashion/25COMB.html

“For Retailers, Black Friday Expectations Are High”

by Stephanie Clifford

November 26, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/26/business/26retail.htm

“Winning the Class War”

by Bob Herbert

November 27, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/27/opinion/27herbert.html

“A Women. A Prostitute. A Slave.”

By Nicholas D. Kristof

November 28, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/28/opinion/28kristof.html

“A Stale Food Fight”

by Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser

November 29, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/29/opinion/29schlosser.html

“A Fate That Narcissists Will Hate: Being Ignored”

by Charles Zanor

November 30, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/30/health/views/30mind.html

THE POEM:

west coast

she didn’t love an East Coast man

by coincidence or on principle

the man for her is in California

hiding from reality a little bit like her

she finds a safe haven in cartoon confidants

he’ll find a safe haven in the Science T-shirt she wears out on the town

in her brown curls and the glasses he’ll find

before she realizes she’s misplaced them again

love is a very risky game

sometimes it goes stale

she takes time to decide things

falling in love is a three-year affair

it doesn’t happen over dinner

or even a season

it’s a new month

a new deficit

of things missing

things not here

of things elsewhere

some in Europe

where she left them

on the east coast her best friend is

naked on two axes of depression

crying from left to right

yelling from top to bottom

in most parts of the country, narcissism makes people ugly

but in California narcissists arrange themselves in fit, tan clumps

the first time he saw her, she was sitting next to a group of them at a bookstore

in jeans and a T-shirt

no makeup

no cellphone or computer

just a girl in Converse

reading something for children

there is a woman on 36^th Street in Manhattan

she’s a sex slave

in the city where white kids from rich families and good schools

teach for America against the backdrop of Lincoln’s silence in between words like a house divided cannot and this hallowed ground

it’s a city consecrated by art and money by clothes that don’t hang off a person

on the west coast a man will dig out his pocket comb

before the girl reading a fantasy series

agrees to meet him for a beer and some philosophical foreplay

her clothes hide her shape

he’ll trace it later

she will not be impressed when he does all the right things

he will not be impressed when she pays her half

in the aftermath of a Black Friday and the math of a White Christmas somewhere else they’ll agree a class war in East LA rages on but this isn’t East LA this is an unimpressive bar that they’ll come back to every year on this day to celebrate where something good started where something that looks like a west coast morning feels like a redwood tree’s deep roots tastes like a beautiful fog is physics is science is an equation that you can’t calculate but every force they learned about in school

she says gravity doesn't even exist
he says then how did we fall in love

the things you will come to need

2010-11-29T20:31:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“Diana’s Ring Seals Prince William’s Marriage Plans”

by Sarah Lyall

November 17, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/17/world/europe/17royal.html

THE POEM:

the things you will come to need

sapphire and diamond

on a white finger in Kenya

that says let’s wake up together forever

and watch each other’s faces change

in slow motion so slow we only notice it

in photographs decades apart

a ring of metals on a woman’s hand that say

let’s stop running through these English fields

and build a tree house with our bare hands

a circle of words on flesh that tell the world

let’s grow sideways and all ways on the same plane or at least planes close to one another

so when we change the degrees of our bodies add up to the boiling point of love add up to make
complementary angles out of torsos lying parallel lying perpendicular

something that says if the world turns to ash let me make you shoes out of grass, a dress from leaves, a blanket from my body

says let me invent the things you will come to need

This Raging Fire

2010-11-29T13:12:00.001-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“This Raging Fire”

by Bob Herbert

November 16, 2010

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/16/opinion/16herbert.html

THE POEM:

This Raging Fire

Black children can’t wait

They don’t have time

This is a Call for Change

This is a Public Service Code Red Orange and The Color of Fire Announcement

Calling all fathers home to dinner and while you’re there

put a ring on your baby mama’s ring finger

This is a Call for Change

This is a Public Service Please Read Urgent Priority Mail Announcement

This is a war on two fronts and

your babies are going to grow up into black men in the little crack of dirt between the sidewalk

where his home and the streets meet

Black children can’t wait

They don’t have time

This is a Call for Changing the hard-to-stomach so it makes you ache fact that most of them that don’t graduate do and will end up designing license plates with nametags from their nation that just say “Brute” wearing orange jump suits unless you do something right this this this second

Black children can’t wait

They don’t have time

They can’t take much more of this

socioeconomic abyss their names might as well be on lists that say no you can’t we won’t let you and nobody knows who to blame or where to start but you can start with mom and dad where it all began in the first place you can read to them at night and help them make it through the night

Black children can’t wait

They don’t have time

So please run

Daniel Beaty says

Run to your children

They can’t wait

They don’t have time

Douse them in water

Flood your houses

Drown the things that are

drowning them put out

this raging fire right

this

second

Bones aren't so personal

2010-11-29T10:32:00.000-08:00

THE ARTICLE:

“The Full-Body Backlash”

by Nate Silver

November 15, 2010

http://fivethirtyeight.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/15/the-full-body-backlash

THE POEM:

Bones aren’t so personal

there’s too much room

between ribs and bones

a skeleton can’t hide things

the way a person can

Americans want to be touched

by strangers

On the plane I

shake hands with
the man whose shoulder

will get to know mine

for the next fourteen hours

He goes to the private rooms

at holes with names like

Boobie Bungalow or

The Cockring

Behind closed doors

when money is exchanged

the rules about skin on skin

flake away

At Newark International

he went for the pat down

He waited for the woman

Americans want to be undressed

by machines

There is a woman

She dances at a place called Passions

She touches herself in front of other people

She’s in grad school, wants to be a diplomat

She knows how to work an angle, a corner,

knows how to sell a fifteen-dollar coke,

thinks she could sell ideas to countries

At Newark International

she struts through the scanner

Bones aren’t so personal

and she’s got nothing to hide