Friday, September 30, 2005
NEWSFLASH!
Friendster has made it possible to see who's looking at you. Is this the end of anonymous stalking? Perhaps so.
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
Saturday, February 5, 2005
Saturday, February 05, 2005
"My vocabulary did this to me" has never sounded more apropriate to me than it does at this very moment.
Just an hour ago I was sitting on a sand dune, amid innumerable varieties of desert wildflower, watching a two inch long beetle trudge along. Even the wastelands can be gorgeous. There are pictures and I'll put them up soon.
Friday, February 4, 2005
Friday, February 04, 2005
So I just tried the new MSN Search, supposedly created to challenge google. Well, it doesn't. Not that anyone cares.
More interesting...I've been playing golf! Sans plaid knickers.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Ron on The Elusive Eli Drabman's new chapbook The Ground Running from atticus/Finch.
Wednesday, February 2, 2005
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
I still do not miss the Bay Area. I do, however, miss a few of those up there. I'll be back in 9 days but just for a short while.
The Revised Version
“THE LOVERS I LEAVE TO THE WINTER”
for Dana Ward
Of the icy light on the eyes, I will accept my blindness as it comes over me
and I will accept these white signals.
If I saw something good, I would remember it for yr gift-shop, a cup full
of coins for a small accordion.
In the dark room—I spoke to you as if you were here—a funeral prepared
for our imagined pageantry of loves left.
So I will accept no love at all on this coldest day of the year and adjust
the heavens to make a storm of excess paper, pencils and dust.
There is nothing so simple as a smile among a thousand sad faces but in my
blindness, I am made to feel out for laughter.
I believe in a place where the sun will restore my eyes and I accept that
they will remain an icy blue against so much offense.
There is god in them hills and they are green, they are off limits for hunting
because so few animals are free, the family on their land.
No pasture can release more than a wad of blackbirds into the glacial sky—
tonight, hollow but for the inky swarm and cutout clouds.
Whose traverse could be the will, the winter release its frigid obstacles upon
me, my sentiment and these metal rings.
I will accept the winter has claimed me a casualty and I will accept these tidings
of war as just recourse, sightless but tall.
So please set among your keepsake menagerie these blind eyes and the scenes
not afforded them in sight.
for Dana Ward
Of the icy light on the eyes, I will accept my blindness as it comes over me
and I will accept these white signals.
If I saw something good, I would remember it for yr gift-shop, a cup full
of coins for a small accordion.
In the dark room—I spoke to you as if you were here—a funeral prepared
for our imagined pageantry of loves left.
So I will accept no love at all on this coldest day of the year and adjust
the heavens to make a storm of excess paper, pencils and dust.
There is nothing so simple as a smile among a thousand sad faces but in my
blindness, I am made to feel out for laughter.
I believe in a place where the sun will restore my eyes and I accept that
they will remain an icy blue against so much offense.
There is god in them hills and they are green, they are off limits for hunting
because so few animals are free, the family on their land.
No pasture can release more than a wad of blackbirds into the glacial sky—
tonight, hollow but for the inky swarm and cutout clouds.
Whose traverse could be the will, the winter release its frigid obstacles upon
me, my sentiment and these metal rings.
I will accept the winter has claimed me a casualty and I will accept these tidings
of war as just recourse, sightless but tall.
So please set among your keepsake menagerie these blind eyes and the scenes
not afforded them in sight.
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