Holiday Wish List #1

This will be the first of a few wish lists I'll be composing during the following few weeks--partly as a reference for loved ones (or for the occasional blog-reading stranger [email me for an address]), but mostly to satisfy my deep itch for cataloging. And also, I like to rank things, so these are ranked.

Subscriptions:
1. Ugly Duckling Presse
2. NO
3. The Hat (323 Degraw #2, Brooklyn NY 11231)
4. Crowd

Reads:
1. Charles Simic - Aunt Lettuce, I Want to Peek Under Your Skirt
2. James Tate - Return to the City of White Donkeys
3. Ben Lerner - The Lichtenberg Figures
4. John Ashbery - Where Shall I Wander
5. Joyelle McSweeney - The Commandrine and Other Poems
6. Andrea Baker - Like Wind Loves a Window
7. Jen Tynes - Found in Nature
8. Linh Dinh - All Around What Empties Out

DVDs:
1. Stanley Kubrick collection
2. Napoleon Dynamite
3. The Graduate
4. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
5. Tron

Clothing/Misc:
1. These shoes
2. Or maybe these
3. Gift certificate to the Gap (keepin' it real)

Please, stay tuned for addendums. And please, based on these particular wishes, provide suggestions of other things I might like to wish for.

Also of Note: I've arranged with my family not to do too much giving this year, with a handful of exceptions of course. I did however pick up one of those things off the angel tree at work. I'll be buying "books--novels (large print if possible)--adventure, sports" for a Gene H. at the rest home.

The Split Levels

I have no musical talent whatsoever, but I oft aspire to be on stage. If I had a band it would most likely be a twee pop boy-girl vocals outfit. I'd be on the skins with a headset mic, and the girl singer would be up front in an a-frame, bjork style. We'd be The Split Levels, and our big hit would be "Makeout en la Foyer".

I think my poems are ripe for those kinds of bands: awkward, understated. If you have musical talent and one of these bands, let me know, I'll hook you up.

Kate Greenstreet's Shelf

So many thank-yous to distribute for showing me your bookshelves. A very healthy response--I only wish I could see them in person, peruse the other shelves, pick up a few things, and drop a few misplaced names.

Another very talented young poet who showed me her shelf is Kate Greenstreet. T and I fell in love with one of Kate's poems during our August reading period and just had to have it. Look for it after this next slowly baking issue.

Kate sent me her shelf via email for she has no blog. There was no inventory attached but this is what I make of it: the leftmost pile: Fanny Howe's Wedding Dress, a CD Wright, and Bert Jansche's Dazzling Stranger. Middle pile: Canary #3 sitting up top which means she wants it handy, Paul Celan, and a big fat Keats. Rightmost: Kafka, John Wiener's Selected, a NO (not as handy as the Canary but should be), and George Oppen holding all the weight.

Also: the Lovely Arc is on Laura Carter's blog crush list (see wed. the 24th). This is the Arc and I's first crush list I think. We're embarrassed, but appreciative.


 

We found a little "crick", or is it a brook? It was babbling, so possibly the latter.  

Al found a perfect Al-sized indention in which to rest.  

Me. 

Looking east. The sun behind the hazy clouds. 

Went for a walk with A and B in the Bridger Mountains north of town this morning. It felt good to get some oxygen in the lungs and remind myself how beautiful this area really is. I should do this more often--I have no idea why I don't. Maybe I will. Anyway, there was more snow than we had bargained for, but we trudged on. I put in some pics above.

Dispatcher news: The last two nights I've slowly started to answer calls. I'm fielding mostly non-emergency excitement but have often come across some moderate level concerns. Fires, assaults, sexual crimes, threats, loud parties, and pot. It's a real rush answering the phone because any of a variety of very scary monsters could lurk behind it. I begin night shift (11pm-7am) next Friday. I'm anxious to see how my new life as a bat is going to turn out.

thanksgiving day post

Karaoke'd last night again with Brian and Allison, and a handful of other karaoke characters: hispanic cowboy, toothless guy, wandering cowboy crooner, man pam, teddy bear sweater lady, big glasses geriatric back toucher guy, bandana boy, and nose exhaler smoker lady. I knocked em dead with The Band's Up on Cripple Creek and then paid homage to The Graduate with a stirring rendition of Mrs. Robinson, Thanksgiving style.

Thanks to Tony and Tony and Shanna for playing along and showing me their shelves. These shelves are beautiful but I'm not satisfied with just the three. I have seen just enough for me to crave more. Who else has a shelf to show off? And if you show it off, let me know so I can gawk.

I hope you are with your loved ones today. Allison and I will be missing our families completely this year (it looks like it for both holidays) but we'll be with good Montana friends today watching football, a few Thanksgiving episodes on our Friends dvd (Allison's idea), and playing some cards or something. I made pumpkin pie cheesecake.

Have a killer thanksgiving.

My Top Shelf

When I visit a home for the first time, I'm usually most interested in their bookshelves. They are my flames and I am their moth. So here's mine. Maybe I can encourage a few fellow bloggers to show me their top shelves.

Top left horizontal row (top to bottom): the new McSweeney's (a gracious gift from my mother-in-law who likes to buy me poetry books and I like to accept them), a few anon press publications, a Skein (handmade, very rad, edited by Seth Parker[I'm in the next one and very excited]), a 6x6 with the rubberband spine, a free lunch, and a Mid-American Review.

Top right horizontal row (top to bottom: the new Field, Canary #2 (#3 is on my couch right now), Skanky Possum, Zukofsky, Ted Greenwald, and a graphic arts book from the 70s that I like to cut stuff out of and paste on things.

Vertical row (left to right, just like we read): some old Greg Kuzmas, 4 or 5 print mags I'm in from 2 or 3 years ago, the beats, Jonah Winter's Amnesia, some Stephen Dobyns, 4 James Tates, Prigov and Foos from the Ugly Duckling Presse (I did a review of the Foos in Octopus #4), the big black one in the center is Charles Simic's Voice at 3 am, and then 3 more Simic's, Michael Heffernan, another Skanky Possum, an older McSweeneys, Tony Tost's Invisible Bride (this one's signed and is precious to me--I have another that is beat up), David Berman's Actual Air, Matthew Rohrer's Green Light (here's my review of it), Komunyakaa, 2 Ron Overton's from Hanging Loose, Geoffrey Dyer's Dirty Halo of Everything from Krupskaya, Lyn Hejinian's My Life in the Nineties by Shark, Fanny Howe's Tis of Thee and Lohren Green's Poetical Dictionary from Atelos, a couple Lawrence Raab, K. Silem Mohammed's Deer Head Nation from Tougher Disguises, Jalal Toufic's Distracted from Tuumba, Bukowski (more on the lower shelves), a couple Hayden Carruths, a couple Albert Goldbarths, and then 4 Russell Edsons including his novel (I bet you didn't know about that) The Song of Percival Peacock.

Now you know what books not to get me for Kwanzaa. I'll make a list of what I do want, after Thanksgiving.

Now let me see your shelves.

 

Octopush-cart Prizes

I'm sending Tony and I's selections to the Pushcart people today. It was difficult, to say the least, to pick only six when every poem in the damn magazine is there because one or the both of us fell madly in love with it. So, here are the six we came up with collectively, and unmentioned are the 50 or so runners-up.

1. Ronald Johnson - Blocks to be Arranged in a Pyramid (Issue #3)

2. Matt Henriksen - Alien Bugs Prints Its Way to Freedom (Issue #3)

3. Julie Larios - The Architect Isozaki Designs a House for Lewis Carroll (Issue #3)

4. Aaron Kunin - chapters from The Mandarin (Issue #4)

5. Emily Rosko - Less Art, More Monkeys (Issue #4)

6. Thibault Raoult - Dispatch (Issue #4)

I wussed out and decided not to link the issue #4 stuff. I'm going to keep that monster under the bedsheet for a just a bit longer. I assure you though, he is a large and beautiful creature.

And speaking of Tony T: He's under the bright lights in NYC tonight. If you're in NYC, you'd be a fool not to go. You'll be able to tell your friends you saw him when he was young, and still handsome.

Back from my ride along with officer Dan, the protein man. A good testerone rush for me. Lots of machismo, speeding up around the mountainous corners to catch the I drink lotsa beer trucks. We tried our damndest to find someone who was breaking the law, but the beat was pretty dead. Officer Dan let me search the back end of a Silverado topper with my heavy skull-cracking flashlight though, but all I found was some dirty laundry (the literal kind). I was nervous as hell, but acted tough. Dispatchin is more for me than coppin. I can wear sweatpants and snack on animal crackers and drink hot tangerine tea all night.

Back to being a poet: Pushcart announcements tomorrow, if you're lucky.

cracking skulls

This evening, as part of my dispatcher training, I'm going on a ride-along. Apparently, the officer I've been assigned to eats nothing but protein bars and drinks nothing but protein shakes, and has a device on the front of his Ford 350 that obliterates deer when hit in order to save damage to the front end of his unecessarily large vehicle. Sounds like we'll have a lot to talk about.

Regardless, I'm excited. I've never done anything like this before. I've watched COPS, but. Watch out Gallatin County, Montana, this sensitive poet type is ready to crack some skulls.

One of the very coolest independent poetry magazines, I think, is Fence. I learned yesterday that Fence took one of my poems, which in turn makes me very cool. I got that letter in the mail with my handwriting on it on my way to work--my stomach dropped. I held it up to the sun to see what size of paper it contained--do you do this?

Anyway, I am having an encouraging run of luck. I am very happy. I like to write poems.

my 2 cents about Tate

Some very interesting things being said by Josh Corey about James Tate. And by Jonathan Mayhew. Tate's been one of my favs since I started reading poetry in undergrad. He was the one who actually turned me onto the whole idea of reading and writing poetry. As Corey mentions, Tate's poems are the poems to give to people who don't think they like poetry. They are incredibly easy to read, and fun. They are like candy. And to further the metaphor, we can't eat candy for dinner every night, but it shouldn't make us a less sophisticated eater if we enjoy a handful of skittles before bed. Tate is the poet who inspired me to write--"hey, I can do this". And after 5 years, I'm realizing what he does, even though it may look it, is not at all easy.

Another metaphor I find fitting: Tate is like a slight of hand magician doing the same tricks over and over again. We know it's not real magic, and we may even know how he does it, but we watch every time. It's addicting. And there's nothing wrong with reveling in it.

You should buy Tate's new book Return to the City of White Donkeys. Do it. It's just like all the others, and it kicks ass (Mr. Tate, will you send poems to Octopus?).

Sorry for getting a tad emotional on you last night. I was in the moment and decided to bring it. So it was brought. And thank you to good friend Will for the sentiment-it's reciprocal.

Anyway, yesterday and today are my days off. This is my weekend, so to speak, and here's what's been going on:

Yesterday morning I went to a new county employee orientation. They talked about health insurance, sexual harassment, retirement, and so on. I didn't really pay much attention--most of it blew right past me. But they did give me a really cool keychain that has a thermometer on it.

Rented Super-Size Me and watched it with Allison. She was sick and didn't go to work. Thumbs up-Wesley Willis rocking the sound track. Won't McEat for a McMonth.

Went to Albertsons and bought 3/4lb pastrami, brick cheeses (medium cheddar and muenster), wheat bread, string cheese, gala apples, sour cream and cheddar lays, a variety pack of teas (in order to know which one and luck and will subsequently invest in), lots of different diet soda (sprite mostly) for they were only 2.38 a 12 pack, beer, peanuts, good-for-you frozen dinners, 2 ply tp, and cucumber melon bathsoap. I forgot to get hamburger.

Went to Cactus Records in downtown Bozeman again with an agenda. Bought 2 records: 1. Futureheads - Sire Records. Really really good post-punk. The Clash, The Strokes and The Cars have had a baby together. Track #5, "Meantime", is killer. I can't get it loud enough in my car. 2. Hayden - Badman Records. I have all the Hayden records, so I figure that I've come this far. Very good. Comfort music. Goes next to my Red House Painters, my Iron and Wine, my Bonnie Prince Billy, my Pernice Brothers, and my Mendoza Line.

I missed Wednesday night chess club for the 5th week in a row.

The hot tea of the week: cranberry apple zinger. A 6 out 10 teabags rating.

Meals: 1. Old Chicago last night with friend Brian (owns a Wesley Willis original painting). Stuffed Chicago 7. Newcastle Brown Ale on tap. 2. Pastrami, cheddar, mayo on Wheat sandwich. Cheddar/Sourcream potato chips. Diet Root Beer. I ate this while watching the new Family Feud. I could have beaten the Martinez family by myself. Things you see too much of on TV: and the Martinez clan chooses "sports" before "sex". Please.

Still to do:

1. Jump on the band and the wagon, get with Tony, and choose Octopus Pushcart nominations. Must do this soon because Tony leaves for NYC to read with Joyelle McSweeney. They will read at the Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church at 8pm on Monday the 22nd. It will be T's first time to the city. I'm excited for him. Go out and see them for God's sake.

2. Make hotel reservations for the AWP.

3. Find an abandoned hi-tech and free-of-charge copier to make copies of manuscript so I can send it out for previously mentioned contests.

The Toast

My dad is a swim coach and teacher in Council Bluffs, Iowa, which is just across the river from Omaha. He has lived there now, and has done his thing, for roughly 45 years. In this time he has really been able to plant some roots and touch a lot of people. A lot. Last weekend, about 200 people threw him a roast. They got up and talked about him, talked about his family, his good deeds, and poked some fun at him. 200 people found him important enough to go out of their way and contribute to his toasting/roasting. I wasn't able to go: new job, no plane fare--and for that I feel like a real turd. They mentioned me several times, and his relationship with me (and my 15 year old sister, Kelsey), showed a few old-timey photos, etc. I haven't talked to him yet--another thing that I feel pretty bad about--but my mom mentioned that he missed me that night.

Pops, if I could touch a quarter of the people you have touched so far in your life, and if I could be a quarter of the man you are and have been, than I am doing something right. I'm sorry I missed your roast, but I'm at the very front of the line when it comes to the people that love you.

The 4 Rings it Must Enter

Giving the tired first manuscript a neck and shoulder rub down before work tonight. It has to go back out there and fight Clay's, among numerous others. Here are the 4 rings in which it must enter before the end of the month:

1. The Poulin, Jr New Poets
2. The New Issues
3. The Bea Hawley
4. The Walt Whitman

Go get em. You're the man-uscript. You're the man-uscript.

Just back from dispatch. Midnight. It is dark, but not stormy. I've recently discovered the world of hot tea--I even went to Albertson's to pick up a 16oz thermal mug. My very first hot tea was two days ago (hot tea and karaoke in one week!). It was straight up Lipton. I've already begun to experiment with the sexy middle-eastern hindu type teas. Tonight was honey vanilla chai with one half and half. This excites me. And, needless to say, my body is not used to this level of caffeine and I will not be able to sleep tonight. So I've been tinkering around with the image of my blog. Adjusted a few knobs and gears. I went with a yellow and orange border to celebrate the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. I'm not necessarily a big fan of the holiday, or at least the impetus behind it, but I do like to eat and gather. And I have no problems with the colors that represent it. So there's that for your enjoyment. I've just decided that I will also be adjusting the colors to correspond with other holidays and national events.

I also changed my profile photo. I took my own picture when I got home tonight. I was jealous of A-Rob's and Tost's. I too wanted a black and white, self-taken, cool ass photo. And I must say that here I'm looking fairly cool ass. Jealous?

I'm quickly learning that Didi Menendez is cool. And that she must mistakingly think I'm actually cool, and not just frontin'. She made a portrait of me and some others here. To my knowledge, this may be my first portrait--other than the doodle of myself I used to make in Shakespeare class. When called out on my mini self portraits by Dr. (dang, who was our shakespeare teacher?), I quickly put a crown on it and claimed them to be King Lear.

I'm going to go write a poem now. Stay up until it is all out. It is going to be about a factory that only exists at night. I think it is in a forest. I'm not sure what it makes yet. I'll let you know.

My new job

Dispatcher job is like no other. I'm just in the observing stage right now, and I've watched my trainer, Tanya, deal with intense domestic issues, life and death issues, blood from the head, angry man outside the door issues, and then get a chuckle out of a couple guys mooning some mormons, or crazy paranoid frequent caller lady call in about someone stealing all of the spandex pants from her trailer home. They only come out at night. Its a bit like playing a video game overnight: putting out fires one at a time--the clock is ticking. We should get scores.

It's an ideal job for snacking on animal crackers and drinking hot tea. We can wear sweat pants too. I'm excited to go back tonight.

My sleep cycle will allow me to stay up all night on my days off. I like to write poems late at night, so this will be fun. Can't write (can't drink either) when the sun is up.

5 things

There are five things I want to tell you:

1. I start my new job as a dispatcher today. I'll work from 3 to 11pm this first month (and after that I'm likely to get the overnight shift). I'm told that this first week I'll sit in a comfortable chair and observe the others. That's 40 paid hours of sitting and watching. This is a good job. I am a bit anxious, but they really seem to be big on easing the newbies in slowly.

2. I'm getting a haircut today at Cost Cutters by a very nice woman named Lonnie. I want to look sharp for my first day, and Lonnie has an eye for sharp.

3. I'm missing the Winter Wheat festival at Bowling Green in Ohio this year, for obvious reasons. I've been the past 3 years as both a participant and presenter. It's a good time and I have met so many good people/writers. I'm bummed out because Dara Wier, one of my favorite poets, is going to be there.

4. The very talented Heidi Lynn Staples took some of my poems for her magazine Parakeet. This will now be the fifth magazine named after a bird that I've be published in (Kestrel, Peregrine, The Canary, and Ducky). I'm having a string of good luck--let's hope it carries into the manuscript department. Lots of killer competition out there.

5. The new sixth issue of Pettycoat Relaxer has one of my poems in it, and some really rad stuff from Michael Schiavo, Clayton Couch, Eileen Tabios, and Jess Mynes. Apparently, PR is the new disco of poetry.

My first time

Yesterday was my very last day as an employee of the gift store at the airport, and my very first night of karaoke. I even got a free beer out of the whole deal when I told the KJ it was my first time. She bought me a beer with the words "I Lost My Virginity with Sunshine Karaoke Entertainment" etched into it and I got to keep the glass. I lost it (my karaoke virginity) to the Chilipeppers "Under the Bridge". I wanted to go with something I knew well at first. I was a wee bit nervous. We were some of the very few without cowboy hats. And I sported a shirt that read "I'll never let you go-Prom '94". I thought its creepy aging sad man vibe would be somehow appropriate for Karaoke until I found everyone else was wearing Carhart and taking the stage very seriously. Thankfully, the 8 Pabst Blue Ribbons helped take off some of the edge. Anyway, I set em up with Under the Bridge, then later brought down the house with the Cars' "Best Friend's Girl".
Despite the fact that 90% of the selections were either some Garth Brooks tune or Devil Went Down to Georgia, my selections did fairly well. I figured something John Denver could get those beer glasses raised, but I just don't have the range. Brian brought it home with Neil Diamond's "Forever in Blue Jeans". Brian and Amy can really sing. Here are some pics.

6'3" Brian two-stepping with 5'0" (4'11")Julie. (That lady in the pink to the left, Pam, had her ass grabbed by short hispanic cowboy all night. She consented each and every time.) 

This guy in the purple was trying to hit on Allison all night. She tried multiple times to drop him. It might have been my fault: I told him that she badly wanted to dance with him. 

Amy singing Madonna's "La Isla Bonita", or is it called "Spanish Lullaby"? 

Allison ignoring me and my camera. Pink Pamela is in the background. 

Me karaoke-ing for the very first time.  

Adam Clay's post reminded me to get into gear and make some reservations for AWP in Vancouver next late March/early April. Ahh, Vancouver in the springtime. I've never been, but I hear nothing but great things. And since this year is my year to live in Montana, I'll be able to make the trek by Suzuki through lands I've never seen before--hot dog, I'm getting excited! I've also made very papery thin plans to pick up one B-Shimmy of Missoula and one A-Rob of Eugene (he would have to meet me in Portland) along the way. Anybody else need a ride? Who's going? What are you doing there?

Adam and Matt from Typo, Jake Adam York from StorySouth, and I are doing a little thing on editing independent electronic journals at the conference. That's all I feel comfortable with offering at this moment in time.

Note to self: break into jar under bed full of canadian pennies and pay for conference registration, and hotel room.

Denny sent us the new splash and index pages for Octopus #4. It is the raddest, the fattest, it is the Mayor McCheese if you please, and I know you do (why am I talking like a radio dj circa 1954?). Anyhoo, D is a mad genius, in my opinion. It is very difficult for me not to give you the key to the very lightweight door that hides this web art, but I will resist. Must have patience.

Apparently, my week at the No Tell paid dividends. The Page claims my Telephones II poem was worth a second look. Reb assures me that The Page is big in Australia and New Zealand. I'm pretending that to mean that I'm really big in those places...sigh (me drifting off into a fantasy where I'm surfing, wearing sunglasses, while a beached mob of Aussie reporters waits impatiently to ask me questions about my vacation's itenerary).

I got the new issue of Field a couple of days ago. I've been reading it at the airport where I work. My effort at work is quickly dwindling. I have 3 days left there. There is a girl I work with who baby talks. I learned that if I stop responding to her, she stops talking altogether.

Back to Field: there's nothing too hot in there. I really liked Beckian Fritz Goldberg's poems. She won this year's Field Poetry Prize. I still do enjoy Field, but I'm thinking about not renewing my subscription. I might relocate those funds to a year's worth of Ugly Duckling Presse. They'll send me books and 6x6. And they have the very cool Eastern European Poetry Series. They are in my top ten of presses, even if Matvei Yankelevich won't return my phone calls.

This is my shiny-faced family back on the homestead in Iowa. The picture was taken this summer when Allison and I, and Allison's parents, Trish and Chaz, were making the near cross-continental trek from Akron, OH, to Bozeman, MT. From the right: niece Carly, sister Kelsey, me, mother Nancy, nephew Max, sister Jen, sister Sam, and on all fours at the bottom of your screen for some unknown reason is wife Allison.

Kelsey and Sam were in Iowa's state high school swimming championships this weekend. They didn't do as well as they hoped. But they are sophomores and they will be obsessively preparing for the next 12 months to strike back with unabashed swimming fury.

 

Crawling out of the doldrums

Beginning to crawl out of my doldrums thanks to Jeff Bahr's posting of M. Moore's "17 Reasons Not To Slit Your Wrists". It's a suggested read if you're hurt, confused and feel that the walls with sharp little spikes on them are closing in rapidly all around you. What MM says here gives us some permission to lift our chins a little.

Also with the help of the new issue of Tarpaulin Sky. It's a great distraction and has some killer stuff by one of my favorites, Jonah Winter. I have both of his books, Maine from Slope Editions and Amnesia from the Field prize, and both are top-shelf, though if they found themselves in an oil wrestling duel, I'd have to give the advantage to Maine. The stuff he let us put in Octopus is amazing too.

TS is also rocking some other favs: Kirsten Kaschock, Paul McCormick, and Emily Rosko.

By the way, this year's Slope winner is Andrea Baker. I can not wait for that to drop.

My inner old-glory

My inner old-glory will be at half-mast for a while. I'm trying my hardest to snap out of my four more years blues--trying to deal with the fact that I live and do business in a red state. I might be most sickened by how poorly the marriage constitutional amendment faired. I was hoping for something close--in ANY of them. I guess, after all this time, we're still not comfortable with everybody having the same rights.

I had to watch everyone celebrate and high five yesterday where I work after Kerry conceded. One of the celebraters in particular was a single and poor mother of two. How is Bush HER champion? Name ONE possible way he speaks to HER! I didn't ask her. I didn't want to hear her say something about how important it is to her, and to her two no-health-insurance kids that we cut some corporations a break and that we bomb the bejeezus out of everybody left in Fallujah.

Anyway, I quit my job there yesterday. I really did.

My week at the No Tell

I'll be hiding out all this week at the No Tell Motel adjusting the tin foil on my tv's antenna to get the best reception of the countdown to the recount. I'll be watching the political hulabaloo while eating Funyuns on my double. It vibrates real nice so bring a roll of quarters.

I'm often curious about where other poets send their stuff, and in what volume, and in what ratio (print:online), etc. So I'm going to show you mine, in hopes I get a peek at someone else's.

Where my poems are currently being considered - how many poems I sent - and for how long they've been there:

1. Fence - 4 - 6 months, 23 days
2. Jubilat - 4 - 6 months, 11 days
3. Parakeet - 9 (4 simultaneous with Spork) - 6 days
4. Unpleasant Event Schedule - 1 - 6 days
5. Pip-lit - 3 - 6 days
6. Spork - 4 (simulaneous with Parakeet) - 6 days
7. Cutbank - 6 - 5 days

Book Contests:

1. Transcontinental Prize (Pavement Saw Press) - 3 months, 9 days
2. Open reading period (Futurepoem Books) - 1 month, 18 days
3. Honickman First Book (American Poetry Review) - 1 month, 16 days

Just a few days ago, Carl Annarummo from Pettycoat Relaxer took one of my poems. Pettycoat is a very rad online magazine. The last issue was its strongest I think, and I am anxious to see what's next.

The new Diagram was launched yesterday with Octopus alums, Nathan Parker (also slated for #5) and Jeff Morgan. The stuff by Fritz Ward is in the lead so far for most killer poem in my early stages of reading the issue. What Leah Nielsen is doing is pretty interesting. Gives me a bit of a headache, but I keep going back to it.