Although a lot has happened over the past month, I’ll keep this update brief. First off, my publications in When Time and Space Conspire, The Stray Branch, and Nicholas Gagnier’s Swear to Me are all out in print. Belated thanks go out to all the great journals and independent poets. Secondly, the links to my ebooks The Red Robe and Bare Bones have been removed from Larkspur Horne. Currently I’m going through some receivement of payment difficulties and until they are resolved (if ever) I’ll ask you to avoid purchasing them. I am tremendously sorry for this.
The plan is to begin posting regularly once again. I’ve built up a lot of writing over the past month, so there is plenty to go around. Be sure to pop into Poet’s Corner to see poems there as well.
I am happy to be back. Here’s a poem I wrote while I was away. It’s time to move on.
The Emperor of All Maladies
I thank Time. She is dead.
God’s broom has come and swept her dust.
Basically, I am still drinking coffee, still making gestures
with my eyebrows as if they were hands. But, with her,
I’d lick the nubs of her ears, and she would laugh.
She would buy unnecessary amounts of berries.
Travel roads she had walked her whole life as if they were new.
She’d feed the pigeons, to the annoyance of our neighbors.
I loved her, would watch her with heavy eyes as she would button
the top button of my coat.
When the Emperor of All Maladies came
she maintained her hospitality. I would shout, accuse, toss things, be rude,
but she never erred; made him a bed, showed him the rooms,
kindly bade him to feel at home.
And when he left, and took her with him,
I burned the house down. Dumped the goldfish out to die on the lawn.
Smoked the pack of menthol cigarettes I had kept in my desk drawer
for ten years.
She is dead. Table for one.
I put her bandanna on the seat across from me.
Her memory, telling me with a smile, of how she had a dream
that the paisleys atop her head sprouted shiny black hair,
was merely a crab,
sauntering sideways across the sand.