http://dansagarin.com/strome/
some good stuff on there.
there is a number of small things /
all these poems I have been posting recently I am going to compile into a collection and call it Atlas. the poems are about travelling through different places and seeing weird shit. most of the poems are erasure poems, meaning I grab another source and erase words from the source to create my own thing.
Yet the implicit danger of the sign seems to get washed away by the pristine, vivid-blue lake below, which from the vantage point of the rim 1,000 feet up, looks like a massive, rock-lined bathtub.
Researchers here are going deep into the giant volcanic hole with aquatic robots and highly sensitive sonar. The lake, formed by a massive eruption 7,700 years ago, is one of the world's purest bodies of fresh water and, at 1,932 feet, one of its deepest. Most interesting to scientists, it's had little mixing with the outside world--no feeder creeks, no rivers, just snowmelt and rainwater.
Songs may speak clear
t, almost John’s whole truth
into
and
and their become more and
tender and absurd that would
enough, he to hand
and that
"He lay in the
ally, anything can be
of pause.
pried open." There are several possible for
he has been, and still is, on
display, his "pride" in his "long wonder"
scrutiny. The world, however, no longer a single lover,
has been taken from him), of a woolen lover, of a prying open, a sycamore
four and five. "Do it" means do to: it is all things done to
-like, but in tone, calm. search for such such for much
I am going on a big night out on the town
He picked up his sandwiches and his cookies and slung the rifle
He looked like a cartoon of a person laughing
He just wanted to get out of the goddamned truck
He spread his feet and closed his eyes and leaned his head way back and breathed deeply
He wore a heavy wedding band and on his right pinky another gold ring with a flat face
He heard his heart and felt the flush on his face but he never once stopped
He sat down on a stump and wiped his face
He folded his hands across his stomach
Then he stopped and lay there
He looked into his empty cup
He turned and let the air play over his back
He said. "Frank. Frank."
The clouds were low and heavy-looking and the wind blew in shrill gusts
It sounded like a dry branch cracking. The post splintered along its right side
The New York Times is running another story on the plight of the wealthy in getting into college.