Diaspora

Juliana Spahr (from Chicago Postmodern Poetry):

1) Where did you grow up? Was poetry and writing part of that mix?

Chillicothe, Ohio.

There was little poetry and writing. But we didn't have a television so I read a lot of books. Mainly novels. And a lot of newspapers, news magazines, etc. Although books of any sort were hard to find at the time. The public library didn't have a big collection. The only bookstore in town was Christian. (This is still true.) In high school I used to hang out at
the community college library but I couldn't check stuff out there so I would go there in the evening and just read for a few hours.


Au contraire, Juliana! There is the completely trivial BookWorld on Bridge Street. Not much poetry, but they do have a section devoted to paranormal romance.

(thx to Andy at Leaky Pillow for the evidence)

Debbie Downer Does Dallas


Every twenty minutes I win an auction,

and computer science triples

only to impress female computers.


Something smoking sat up

and wrapped around the dusty party

decorations.


It's summer;

an exciting time to be neighbors

and the rotting corpses they discover

Part One

Whoa, old documentary on Bronx gangs in the 70s. 8 parts in total, but what else are you doing? Stop watching True Blood for a minute and watch this.

They came, they saw

Mayor Daley's Graffiti Blasters woke me up this morning like a rooster with a bee in it's mouth to burn a child's scribbles off the outside wall.

Down with chalk monsters, you rat-tailed hoolergans!

Meanwhilst, the pot holes on milwaukee are being covered up with promotional posters for CHICAGO 2016.

House of Representin'

YOUNG & RECLUSE

Wanting to woo knowledge

Like it's a squirrel/ on the rail

With your ring in its mouth;

Stuffing kernels of it

In your cheeks and down pockets

For 5000 years/ at the nude picnic

Found a dollar in the sand

And your stance on animal astrology

Brought an impressed investor

Success lasts for two syllables

Sorry I meant that/ besides

No one wants to read an epic poem

About themselves/ really

You look great in that sad party hat