(co-author)

Help me write a haiku. 
I'm not good at that. Try. Just say something. 
Something. 

( )

that place where
the music stops.and all we are breathing
is sound

(angst)

I was eight wounds
walking. I was pillows pressed to mouths, crying
love me, love me, love--

(conditions)

But I will only
love you more. But I will
love you more.

(turbine)

Perhaps the trouble
is too much time spent writing
about men.

I am a turbine whirling
round and round, always planted
in the same place.

Would that these windmills
could cartwheel across green fields
to new pastures.

There I would write only
about Things That Matter
like God and Hunger

and the soft fuzz on the back of his ear. 

(it was delicious and for the most part I do not regret it)

I have eaten ice cream,
which I rarely do, which gives me
a bellyache. Still,

(milk alone turns to butter)

I am a bucket.
Water sluices over my head.
Mouse legs churning.

(another kind of poetry)

"And it reaffirms a grand view of a universe ruled by simple and elegant and symmetrical laws, but in which everything interesting in it, such as ourselves, is due to flaws or breaks in that symmetry."

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/05/science/cern-physicists-may-have-discovered-higgs-boson-particle.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

(overheard in the kitchen, sunday morning)

where the fuck is
the gorgonzola? (wrappers rustling.)
what the heck. (the dogs wag their tails.)