We'll leave the silver city...

The neighbors are calling to their dog again, Boomer. Does he always get loose? It seems like he spends more time escaping than in their apartment. This is only mildly important because it's hard to write when someone is whistling and yelling every night outside your door.

As you can tell, I finally have internet. It rules. I'm connected again to the world again in a weird mico-macro love affair.

I don't have much to say. I'm reading so much that my thoughts are no longer my own.

Here's a really rough poem, the start of a new gender neutral project.

The value of zie*

I

Let's pretend,

for a moment,

that language is new,

and that pipe slugged 

across the side

of zir head,

hadn't been factory made yet.

Blood held mythical powers

then and a name made

stone out of men.

That was before

needles and gloves

and AIDS.

After Cú Chulainn

was long dead.

Some people

will find any reason

to goose step a flag,

but zis was torn

away. I could 

be imagining this,

but when he hit 

you, I think 

even the metal

let out a hollow fag.

*singular gender neutral pronoun.