pruzzels:

inventory for my almost-perfect saturday night:

harlan ellison – the essential ellison
paul muldoon – the end of the poem
michael robbins – alien vs. predator
thomas pynchon – V.
the data journalism handbook
antologia de poesia catalana
adbusters
post-it notes
moleskine 
white noise from the air conditioner
cold water

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Madame Bovary

A girl is writing in a small cafe

and the night sky is like a black ocean.

She’s scribbling names of famous writers in a book

she shows no one, not even her father

who works at the Mill, and loves her.

When she opens a book set in Paris,

the dreary streets she walks on

turn into cobblestones beneath her feet,

and she wishes she could say, “bon jour”

to the waitress who pours her coffee.

When a lover comes calling in the rain,

he’s a thing of such frail beauty,

that when she sees some boys

she knew in school approaching,

she closes her book

and hides it like a lover beneath her skirt,

protecting it from the loud young men

of this town, who all work at the mill

with their fathers, making paper

for books they’ll never read.

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The Sport’s Bar

A High Definition television

in every corner,

Affixes its beam

The stale scent of beer

breathing through

a dirty towel.

Men with numbered jerseys,

women with numbered hats,

high five

the hammer of pool balls

banging against each other

on worn tables

Every once in a while

a ball goes

where we want

the people shout,

drink,

And then go quiet.

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How to Write A Shitty Poem in 6 EZ Steps

1) Start with a cliche: My first girlfriend was pale as a ghost

2) Compare with popular culture reference: Like Joey from Friends

3) Make a shocking statement: I hate everything American, including me,

and pork n’ beans.

4) Make reference to something intellectual: Sartre farted, then darted.

5) Follow with more nonsense: In the moonlit bungalow of her eyes, I lost my virginity.

6) Bring it all together in the end: She was like Joey from friends, only smarter, and more American, unlike Sartre who farted, then darted back to France, to live in the moonlit bungalow of her eyes, where I lost my virginity, and ate pork and beans. 

Stick a fork in her, because she’s done!

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Pantoum Summer 1977

I’m sniffing gas with my brother, pretending to fix the mower

The neighbor lady is spraying her petunias with a garden hose

More Than A Feeling is playing on the Radio

And Papa’s in his Speedos, lifting weights on our front lawn

The neighbor lady is spraying her petunias with a garden hose

In cut off jeans, and a polka dot bikini top

And Papa’s in his Speedos, lifting weights on the front lawn

Pumping his arms up and down like an Erector Set

In cut off jeans, and a polka dot bikini top

She smiles at my father, and throws back her hair

His arms pump up and down like an erector set

My mother is calling us for home for dinner

She smiles at my father, and throws back her hair

More Than a Feeling is playing on the radio

My mother is calling us home for dinner

I’m sniffing gas with my brother, pretending to fix the mower

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