National Poetry Month

I didn't know it was National Poetry Month. Thanks, Amy, for the heads up. By complete coincidence I am writing more than ever this month. Usually in my political science class. However, due to the extraordinarily underwhelming reaction I got to the last one, I'm just going to keep the rest close. It's not good, I mean I've read pieces that absolutely makes my toes curl. My writing doesn't even induce a twitch. I've decided there are too many words. In the spirit of loving the art, though, here are some links to my favorite pieces online:

...
No. You know what? Here, just look at this page on year of glad.
I love Oranges, I am a Pirate Artist, and most of all Quiet Calculus.

Read.


And hell, just for fun, here's a new version of He's a grid. The way I meant it to be:

He is a grid

He is a grid, and I am the cursive on our [wedding] linens.
Straight, he is calculated, refined.
A model of even numbers, humming in harmony.
Neither a circular thought nor rounded view within him.
His veins run true north and south.

I am white hot with potential rotation,
Perforated with extremes,
Flexed like a bow.
Acquainted with every state.
My will, to shy away, always away
from the lines of reason.

and so I fold the laundry in triangles while he sleeps.
Boxers like Colonial hats,
jeans in pretzels, socks in knots.
He keeps the bills in his name.

He is a frame bent by
the torque of my attentions.
I am a rebellion, toppled
by his prescription of
coordinated structure.

We coinhabit a tectonic fault.
inspired to radiate away with every revolution,
but snapped back into place with respondent force.
Neither transcends. And only
the ground moves when I kiss him.

-kr

last edit: 10 Aug 2009