Day 5, 4th round in 30:30

Blah. I'm back on the 30:30 treadmill, puffing and panting to get out that daily poem.

Poems list to date —

1. Dear Dog
2. the last surviving pencil falls like a banana
3. A Driving Student Idealizes Rain
4. A Driving Instructor's First Copy of Jane Eyre
5. michaela (from Encyclopidemania)

The last prose poem was commissioned by Mayday... in response to her libelous poem about yours truly (attached below to attract ambulance chasers).

arsenic (as)
     wikipedia entry for arlene ang


she was born erna glean under a paris green moon. 33 minutes past every hour,
the midwife changed her name using ruddy scrabble letters and a retired ouija board.

at kindergarten, ang developed a hunger for the slightly sweet, discovered the true
objective of a boy called nigel. ethel appeared to her in dreams, shrouded in lace.

in year seven, high on blackberry wine, she learned the meaning of mees' lines and
donned her trademark purple coat. she never failed a single marsh-berzelius test.

ang dropped out of school while reading the canterbury tales backwards at a speed
of 3.3 words per second. after that, the rain never tasted the same, except in venice.

she adopted a golden sheen, married a series of weed killers in churches of dubious
reputation. supposedly, this stimulates production of red blood cells, keeps out the cold.

her fingers began to reach out for words. soon all surfaces were covered in letters,
perfect closing lines. her breakthrough opus left a metallic taste in the cleverest minds.

former length problems have been resolved. though polysyllabic words still follow her
around. in interviews, ang repeats this one line: a regular muse melts at 817° celsius.

she publishes under pen names (BIC, montblanc) but never under duress. her heart
belongs to digby. today, she lives in italy and smells like garlic when she evaporates.

For her information, I don't evaporate into a smoke of garlic. I just sizzle into it.

And as can be plainly seen by how her looooong lines run havoc all over the page, it's she who has a problem with length.

Recent publications:

Just received word that Forklift, Ohio's 15th issue is ready for shipping. My poem, How to Give Your Poem a Masterpiece Body Odor is stinking up a page in this issue. Can't wait to get my copy — I've got fond memories of reading through their archives while preparing my submission for them.


Wheeeee!! Eclectica's October-November issue is now online — have three poems there:

• One-Room Flat (read)
• After Richard's Swivel Chair Broke (read)
• A Driving Student Takes a Blind Corner (read)

I'm also utterly delighted to be sharing space with so many familiar names in the blogworld: Muskrat, Cheryl and Shanna. Tra-lah-lah!!

Driving update:

Gaaaak. Not doing so well: (1) have re-acquired that odd habit of forgetting my foot on the gas pedal while taking corners; (2) have discovered an irresistible urge to speed around the roundabout in tight, uncontrollable circles; (3) have no idea which direction to turn the wheel during parking without the instructor barking out instructions.

Am rather resigned to flunking the Friday-the-13th exam and console myself with the idea that I have my whole life ahead of me to pass it... and hey, maybe learn how to ride the bike. Yeah. Right.