Driving around Mt. Hood
Two days ago, plane after plane to Omaha was canceled after canceled, marooning me in the great white of the Denver airport. Finding few people not stuck to the fly paper of their “personal lightweight electronic devices,” as TSA puts it, I had a hard time meeting anyone, making conversation, or even wrangling some good old-fashioned eye contact. Instead, I pulled a Sometimes I think, I can see you. The following is from my sixth hour in the airport (of nearly ten):
A thousand holsters for smartphones. Backpacks are healthier than their owners. Teams are in black and chatting. Teams are in blue and flirting. Teams are old and sitting on every wheelchair. Everyone shaves before they meet the airport. Some people are pajamas. Some people are high heels. Those look like high heel pajamas. His iguana face needs a pajama. One hundred people make the same face that says they think they are alone, but the face announces that you are trying to get food out of that back molar without using your finger. Good job not using your finger, I also saw the bathroom stall door. Children are the only stress free creatures in the megamall of escaping upwards. The fastest floater fats along the conveyor belt, the lazy escalator laying down on the drag. You are allowed to be slackjawed as your flight was canceled. They should put a lip plate on boarding passes for when people are setting down their bags or putting their shoes back on or doing anything while they think they’ll need their boarding passes handy. Flight attendants walk like everyone is looking at their legs. I think I just saw everyone look at their legs. I think the X in many airport call signs stands for exasperation. Skeleton man grew a beard and bought a cellphone to talk about digital marketing. He does not know what a digital marketing is. A suit is so heavy when you do not want to be the person in a suit, even dragging like a parachute for a mirror off your rolly backpack. Business suit – attaché. Pilot – briefcase. Stately woman – luggage. Everyman – rolly backpack. There is no fancy name for a rolly backpack. Everyone is itchy in the face. No, everyone is on the phone in the face. Some men are taller when they wear business suits. Old men are younger when they wear cowboy hats. Young men are not allowed to wear cowboy hats. None of these people know what cows look like, except the ones who own mirrors. Why do you need sunglasses? How many of you are drunk? Those two cute Koreans are so drunk they’re wearing face masks to cover up their drunkenness. Everyone likes the lazy escalator because it makes them feel like the Jetsons no matter what. No matter what, the Jetsons will always be the future, because Rosie is still sassier than Siri. Sometimes I think John Grisham invented airports. Sometimes the other way around. Blanket, or poncho? Fashion is only as noticeable as it is on a slow conveyor belt.
My erasure poetry chapbook, Failed Crosswords, is back in stock. There are 25 more of these bad boys available for five bucks a pop (in two colours!), and I think that’ll be the last of ‘em.
I’ll have some with me at the Ink Noise Review at Jade Lounge tonight, but you can also purchase a copy online.
I will be reading a few poems tonight at the Ink Noise Review at Jade Lounge in southeast Portland, alongside Parker Tettleton, Susan Denning, Britta Ameel, Liz Mehl, Sara Guest, Kira Clark, and Lindsay Allison Ruoff. The reading starts at 7PM, and looks like it’s going to be a real fine time.
The Ink Noise Review happens every 1st Friday & 3rd Sunday of each month, and I’m happy to be a part of it. If you live in Portland, it’ll be nice to see you there.
— from Fly by Easton Steele Snow, the man who looked me in the eye when he met me and asked “Do you like poetry?” because he knew we did. Rest in peace, brother.
And she answered the light
A balcony was so many places.
I have just one more copy of Failed Crosswords left, and it includes the original article that the #poem “Teenager’s” is erased from. I’ll have more of the $5 copies soon. Thanks to everyone who snatched up this first run like lightning!
I am still reading & accepting poetry submissions for the third issue of Lexicon Polaroid. The issue is shaping up nicely, and I want to read more! Get your submission to firstname.lastname@example.org by October 31, 2013!
I am in need of people who make video. If you are a video artist, contact me at that same email address and let’s get you involved with our first video issue.
Full submissions guidelines can be found here: http://lexiconpolaroid.tumblr.com/guidelines
For every crossword I do not finish (and they are many), I make an erasure poem out of an article on the same page as the puzzle. What comes of my FAILED CROSSWORDS is a vendetta against Will Shortz, and also this collection of 15 poems.
There are 23 copies available. Each book features poems alongside copies of their original bescribbled articles. Eleven of these chapbooks include an original poem cut straight from the paper!
FAILED CROSSWORDS chapbook: $5
FAILED CROSSWORDS chapbook (w. original poem): $11
That is a fucking steal. Reach out if you’re interested in getting a copy: email@example.com, telephone, facebook, etc.
Read here the poem Or in drag picture above:
party with prostitutes
real housewives never perform a shocker
wild sex and political corruption
based on teenage crema
The Box can accommodate intimacy
with bisexual exploits
sexy Mr. cross-dressing emperor carries himself
like the issues of gender unfettered
the wildest wants playful glam
wonderful in drag
who pines as the galumphing
sips makeshift to dedication
marriage decides who is more intensely drunk
Finally ordered paper & card stock for this #chapbook today. Who wants a damaged ugly rough draft for free?