Friday, July 27, 2007


A nine is a type of gun. Today’s poem had the execution of a deer with a blade as better than a gutshot bleedout and I wonder. Same dude I could have asked if he thought Iraq U.S. guys blown apart were heroes.

Nine is similar to a German word for No. Is the Pope… Is the Pope saying no to Vatican II? Is the Pope saying yes to throwing the Mafia out and using Latin as magic to combat the forces of evil? I wonder.
Nine is similar to Nin, the name of Anais, who was Henry Miller’s friend. I’ve just listened to a tape of her reading in ’72 at the NINEty Second Street Y (from her diary.) It reminded me that I liked Miller for more than just the sexy parts, these both writers are expansive, is the only word I can come up with now.
Nine is similar to Nin, the first name of a poet lady who fulfils promise. I heard her read, and her blog reminds me that we all need to do better than puppy dogs. And this is me trying to make friends as deemed…
Nine is unlike 5’6”, 215, a bleach blonde bomber with a streak of mean. This is my Roller Derby Queen. It’s the music anyway from Jim Croce, who I remember died in a plane crash, and where I was at the time I heard. My skates were black leather with yellow outdoor wheels and laces. I lost them in a move.
Did I mention I’m in pain?
Nine is the first part of the number 9:42, that comes up in the I Phone commercial. It came up in another poem that haunts me. Maybe you want to see what the number means to you.

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