you can't buy coconut water in amherst; sorry t.l.

Coconut 13—with new poems by Rae Armantrout, David Lehman, Ariana Reines, Teresa K. Miller, Kate Colby, Carrie Olivia Adams, James Belflower, Anne Marie Rooney, Kristi Maxwell, Jason Zuzga, Megan Kaminski, Christopher Higgs, Nellie Haack, Claire Donato, Ravi Shankar, Emily Anderson, Laynie Browne, Jonathan Doherty, Kathleen Jesme, Matina Stamatakis, Mike Young, and Terence Winch--is now live on the web!!!"

I have read through most of the issue. It's sweet. There are some very good prose poems. Nevada is represented at least twice, via mention of Las Vegas and Sparks. Go Nevada.


stroke of the cowboy dusty acoustics

Why Do We Need to Know - The Cinnamon Urns

for L

I've considered buying Tazers as a gift for all my friends
In the battle of the tanktops, may the best Bolshevik win
Men you look so sullen with your laundry bags in tow
Spider bites or distances: which is worse? Well, I don't know.
We don't know. Maybe God knows. We'll ask him tomorrow.

Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
I've got a stroke of the cowboy in my soft soft heart
And you've got your face in the pillow

Kiss me in the cemetery I've heard it's good luck
If I go missing at the diner then I stole a semi-truck
One door was marked PATIENCE that's the one we hit with eggs
"I don't believe in God" I told the lightning on the lake.
What a funny thing to say. I never know what I should say. Is that okay?

Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
Why do we need to know?
I've got a stroke of the cowboy in my soft soft heart
And you've got your face in the pillow



Every now and then I will read what's new in an online magazine I love. Juked is one such magazine.

Here are two new things on Juked that lit dreams and landed whoas in me:

Gang, a story by Martin Cozza
Lovesick, a poem by Howard Good


i'm going to work for the new WPA and sing union songs in my unfettered mustache of grit

"Customers on IndyMac Federal Bank listen to Burbank Police Sgt. Matthew Ferguson's instructions as he reads names from a sign up sheet while they wait in line to pull as much money as they could from the failed financial institution in Burbank, Monday July 14, 2008. The bank was helping ten customers per hour and the list was at least couple of hundred names long soon after they opened their doors."

via AP

My new book about the economy's emotions will be called



it's funny until someone gets hurt, then it's sophisticated

Five Star Literary Stories, an awesome site that reviews online fiction (Aaron Hellem's story from NOÖ was recently reviewed) just published Sharon McGill's review of my story "Ten Gallon Bucket of Fries," which appeared in WordRiot three years ago (holy shit). Ms. McGill's review is gracious and insightful. Many thanks to T.J Forrester for the site, Sharon McGill for the review, and Jackie Corley for originally publishing the story, which will be reprinted in Online Writing: The Best of the First Ten Years (I'm not sure if that's the best link).

Now look at the picture via Nadim Sabella.


nobody moves to perth


"Bewilderment is the new sincerity" -- Heather Christle

All the new bewilderment is about hay fever tablets.
In this it resembles the blind men running from the
elephant. In this it resembles nude appliance repair.
We're pulled aside and told we're loved, but listen:
the mustard gas has to go. If I keep feeling this way
I will have to use a lot of emoticons. I will have to
stop lying to my children about the history of blues.
No more oyster ice cream, illegal haircuts, arc welding.
Stricter regulations on confession distribution.
Stop with the codeine-in-the-milkshake "accidents."
All the old bewilderment was about jealousy between
umpires, twenty-seven facemasks dunked in blood,
piled in the sink. It seems like only yesterday
we hired these relationships, and now look at the
mics on us, even when we're not under emotion.
"I like that--is it new?" "No, we know someone who
already likes it." Now we're even sold our minutes.
We can talk on the phone in the handicap shower.
If I keep feeling this way, I will need a mitten
my whole body over. All the new bewilderment
mops in the blue hour and respects donuts,
dismantles the game into aesthetic experience.
We're rushed from the gym and told "Lay here
and dream of time machines very hard." Okay.
We're given six unlabeled jars and told "Pick
the new honey." That one. If I keep feeling this--
wearing, I mean, a pillowcase and a white belt--
we will drop the bones in the heart slot just to
buzz, buzz, even as we're not supposed to buzz.
I have invented a new kind of poetry that alludes
to Operation, which is also a new kind of feeling,
which was already our new kindness at work.
When the batteries run out, promise that you'll
melt me in my sleep and stir me up with blue acid.
Keep the lights on through all loss. Don't forget:
brilliant also means that none of us can see.


the french have a word for that


I am walking through the basement
of an all womens' college dorm,
carrying my underwear, photos of a
duck & dolphin, and a sheet labeled
midnight. Today I ate my share of
thunderstorms and hickory potatoes.
"Can I talk?" asked a 12 year old.
I said "Only if it's interesting"
and he said "By whose standards?"
Would you still love me if I were
awarded Most Likely to Applaud Too
Emotionally? You can have two
desserts, I don't care. I feel
______ because a 12 year old said
"If a poem has audience participation,
you should." We have to hire mollusks,
zombie Kenneth Kochs and @ signs to mop
up with whipped cream and cheese malice.
Go away if you're not happy. This is
Rule #1. Fun fact: I am very real,
and I have certain secrets of
cinnamon and ambulance and moss.
Now I am going to take a shower.