Chimera Song Mosaic
Monday, May 19, 2003
My husband’s pen doesn’t know it yet, but it’s about to fulfill its destiny as my middle of the night poetry writing instrument (none of the above sentence is written in code). Why? Because it is the coolest pen in the world. He got it at a golf tournament, and it has “fbconnection” written down the side of it (which I take to be some kind of cryptic message, and even though I could probably very easily figure out which company produced this promotion, I would rather remain ignorant of its origins and allow it to become part of my primitive mythology. Everyone should have a mythology or two).

It is the coolest pen in the world because it emits a cool & soothing blue light that is seductive & friendly at the same time it is potent & scary. It looks radioactive & provides just enough light to illuminate a page—just enough for those late in the night inspirational seizures.

I just finished up one of the last in my struggling series of postcard poems to Catherine. I am months late but determined to finish. This is my second attempt at the project because the first time around I goofed & didn’t know the rules and wrote the poems out in various places, tidied them up on my computer, shrank them to a minuscule font, and pasted them to the postcard before sending them. Here’s no. 27 of issue no. 2 (written, of course, with the pen!):

Pleasures & Poisonous

The copper-lined shoulders are faced-down at the rushes—
merge of hymn & moon & sanctity. This this
this the burden I have hedged from all my life,
the rendering of muscle & proximity.
Meat that can last you through the sermon & ontil the next
era of light flown in from her surfaces, light stripped
of her half-light, light that burns of mercury & of legionnaires,
light that entombs the murderous
memory of nations & the cock’s own remembrance
of mornings & their aftermath. Do you know where chickens
came from?
That is news alone to spread like deafness
across the land—a meat that after you eat it
you want for sustenance.

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