Did you ever want to make Buddha pears?

Maybe  you did.

A very straightforward blog post of new things to read

Juked #5 is all up and online and in your business. I haven’t read it yet, but it must be good, featuring fiction from writers like Liz Prato, Craig Snyder, and Marianne Villanueva, poetry from others like James Belflower, Shawn Fawson, and Sarah Blackman, plus an interview of Claudia Smith by Kelly Spitzer.

I have read the new decomP, and especially liked the flash pieces by Ravi Mangla, Michelle Reale, and J. A. Tyler, and the poetry by C. L. Bledsoe and Jen Shalliol.

I tried to blend in with a car today

Waiting for it to be unlocked. According to Charles Darwin and natural selection, a few tens of thousands of years, and I might have made it. Well, not me, my descendants, maybe, but, anyway.

Girl World

I have a thing up at Staccato Fiction. I’m glad they’re back and publishing again.

I did a remix of my past 16 blog post titles, and Crispin Best did, too. He might post his later. Here’s mine:

Girl World

These chalk moon lashes
These dusty pomegranate dead
These giant heart clouds
mammatus
alive

for you
for the other you
good little librarian head
awake
reassured
hiding whatever fainted fragmentary things
in ironic Saturday milk.

Might as well milk it

Kangaroo
by Cami Park (me)

If I were a kangaroo
I’d have to draw the line
somewhere,
like at beer commercials,
sharing trailers with koala bears,
or writing poetry for money.

Thompson Yulidjirri

Otherwise,
I’d be a downright whore.
Might as well milk it,
I’d say.

I will make these for you

Chocolate Chip, Oats 'n' Caramel Cookie Squares

I think the oats make them healthy.

Under dusty lashes, the long glance

Sarah Ball

I hear the oriole’s always-grieving voice,
And the rich summer’s welcome loss I hear
In the sickle’s serpentine hiss
Cutting the corn’s ear tightly pressed to ear.
And the short skirts of the slim reapers
Fly in the wind like holiday pennants,
The clash of joyful cymbals, and creeping
From under dusty lashes, the long glance.

I don’t expect love’s tender flatteries,
In premonition of some dark event,
But come, come and see this paradise
Where together we were blessed and innocent.

–Anna Akhmatova

Breaking my heart, shrinking my head

Listening to Miniature Tigers today:

Fainted ironic librarian

I dreamed I fainted, which woke me up. Now I can’t decide if dreaming you’re fainting is ironic or serendipitous.  I’m pretty sure the waking up part is ironic.

I got two books of poetry by Rebecca Loudon in the mail. I won’t review them when I’m finished, because I already know that they are wonderful.

I feel a child should follow and stick with their first instincts. Mine was to become a librarian. I am a frustrated librarian.

Things like other things

Things that are less like hammers.
Things that are like hammers, only softer.
Windows that are less like windows. Dirty.

Mouths that bleed like hammers make, but singing. Things that are
trip out through the eyes like being forgotten is.

I cover you with a pillowcase in the early laundry morning.