...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Friday, July 22, 2016

A New Series: "My CD Collection"

I'm going to be turning out one of these once a week until my energy flags.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

The Ear

I have two poems--"Good Job, Path" and "Poem Beginning with a Line from Milton"--in The Ear, Irvine Valley College's lit journal. It's a handsome volume. Pick one up here.

Monday, July 18, 2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016


'One starts to see why “admitting” to a dislike of poetry might be endearing. Poetry haters aren’t rubes; they’re idealists. The genre’s problem is bound up in its soaring ambition, its intent to render the intensely personal tones of a writer’s inner life somehow intelligible and world-transfiguring to all. Poetry—less a set of practices than a sheaf of impossible demands—inspires so many denunciations and so much hostilitybecause, even at its best, it powerfully envisions a threshold it can’t quite clear. Nothing can. Poems are supposed to do everything at once, but just the fact of a poem’s existence crowds out all the other, fairer ghost-poems it could have possibly been.'


Friday, July 8, 2016

On this week's violence...

...I couldn't put it any better:

Thursday, July 7, 2016

Roxane Gay

"I don’t know where we go from here because those of us who recognize the injustice are not the problem. Law enforcement, militarized and indifferent to black lives, is the problem. Law enforcement that sees black people as criminals rather than human beings with full and deserving lives is the problem. A justice system that rarely prosecutes or convicts police officers who kill innocent people in the line of duty is the problem. That this happens so often that resignation or apathy are reasonable responses is the problem. 
"It’s overwhelming to see what we are up against, to live in a world where too many people have their fingers on the triggers of guns aimed directly at black people. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to allow myself to feel grief and outrage while also thinking about change. I don’t know how to believe change is possible when there is so much evidence to the contrary. I don’t know how to feel that my life matters when there is so much evidence to the contrary."


Obviously, I'm not part of that "we" in the second paragraph. It's because it's not me that I wrote this poem, no work of art, which describes a real event that happened in my life that would have happened differently had I been born to different parents.