A Feeble Attempt

Often, I come here with the intent to write an update about my life, and nothing but prose comes out. I mark it as “poetry.” I am not a poet, but I like the way some words go together. Like:

“A prim mistress
Cast-iron lung
And sheets of ice lay melting

Over a sonogram

Sixteen beat reporters and two tired officers run rampant
Chasing criminals and scoops in reverse
Order in the court”

Occasionally, I hit send and these words get beamed out into the world for anyone to read. Traffic is a trickle, though, and that’s cool, because this prose crossed with words you know forms some kind of connection for a lucky few.


Like Britney, I did it again.

(This post marked as “poem”; Google Reader marked “as read.”)