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Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Summertime, August, Blow Me Down

The black girls on the subway
smell like swedish fish.
Like everything in August.
Summertime, August,
blow me down.
It makes me think of other things
sad and sweet,
gummy things
that smell gelly-fruity.
The bubble's sweet skin stretching,
big and empty within
full of that heat, what it is.
Let that be, that heat sadness,
the thing that I can feel the most.
Subway, blow the heat
onto the platform
the rats tremble on--
born into that
like so many of us, born to
sadness as the height of feeling.
To feel nothing less than the sweet
hot wind that blows
through the station.
Black city dust floating in through pores,
sweet sugar breathing out,
the heat blowing back in.
Let that be
what does it.
That is what
I want to be
what blows me down.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Review for Tuscan Whole Milk on Amazon.com, circa 2006

"I had a problem where my roof was leaking. I poured some Tuscan Whole Milk over it to seal it up and it just flowed right into the hole and didn't do anything. I now have milk constantly dripping down from the ceiling and it has stained the drywall as well. The milk trapped in the ceiling is now rancid and smells horrible. It has also induced a pest infestation problem. The pest control company won't deal with it because the odor is unbearable in the house. My wife and children are now leaving me as well.

This product has ruined my life. Do not buy this product, I suggest some roof caulking or tar instead."