Cami Park

Questions about life and shit, part II

In Poetry, Prose, Sex on October 4, 2009 at 7:20 pm

bureau de books

It came in the mail today. Well, yesterday, I suppose, but I picked it up today. It was drizzling a bit, but no drop penetrated the tight, classy packaging.

It looks good in person. It feels good, too. The text and the graphic are slightly raised; handling this book is texturally pleasant.

I’m the second piece in, after Jessica, before Greg. I like it. I’m comfortable with my line breaks now, and with my surroundings. I feel cared for, and in good company. I feel kind of important, even. Well, not important, exactly. I guess just comfortable.

Andrew Borgstrom‘s is my absolute favorite, out of so much good, which I’ve already talked about. Whose Goddam Oatmeal Is This?

There is an ISBN.

This is something to have, I think.

My poem:

Where Is Cyrano?
Cami Park

Your eyes are like honey in a cup.

Your cheekbones are
the shoulder blades of an anorexic,
they are like
the wings of sharp birds.

The time I spend explaining things
to you is like
traveling faster than
the speed of light and coming back
50 years younger, before
I was even born.

Explain that one to me.

Fucking you is like
pressing my thumbnail
through the skin of a bruised apple
which is weird
because I hardly ever talk like that.

This is not my mouth.

  1. hi, cami
    misplaced comma
    so i think i want to deliver a book to ani smith’s mom
    might deliver one to your mom
    would be funny for three minutes
    don’t care about awkwardness
    ‘hello mrs. park. i met your daughter on the internet. here’s a book about scrotals.’

  2. Hi, Krammer.
    I think the comma’s okay.
    I don’t think you want to deliver anything to my mom.
    She’s dead.
    But it wouldn’t be awkward.
    And still pretty funny.

  3. Hi, Cami. Thanks for the nice words. Got my copy today. Very textually and structurally pleasant. Feels good. But you’re eight stories higher than me. I can barely see you from here. That can’t be your mouth.

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