SUBJECT>Re: short poem, long title POSTER>Laurel EMAIL> DATE>1108795520 EMAILNOTICES>no IP_ADDRESS>dhcp024-166-083-251.neo.rr.com PASSWORD>aaFRbor6/KzWk PREVIOUS>83567 NEXT> 83688 IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

I prefer the second half of the title as the title. The happiness being a warm gun--isn't that a song lyric? There are no basements in New Orleans doesn't cause me to wince the way the warm gun does. Can the poem stand the ommission of the warm gun and happinesss? If so, ditch 'em, Danno.

I liked the repetition so much that I kinda wish it'd been rolled out one more time. The end comes up so abruptly. I know you won't go for it, but the she's in heaven, she's in the ice of criss-crossed stars could be the last lines after brain. Oh, stop that. No cringeing allowed (it looks wrong with the e...but hey, it looks even wronger like this: cringing). No rolling of the eyes.

So, I'm thinking you should create your own poetic form. I just received my big fat order of books from Amazon (thanks to a generous Xmas gift certificate from my little bro who ain't such a bad guy, eh?) yesterday, and among them is a book by...oh, his last name is Witte, I think. He was up on Verse or Poetry daily recently--wonderful poem about a dead mouse.....and.....long story longer...sigh....um....he created his own form, a triad kinda thing that's pretty nifty.

I'm shutting up. I'm making no sense. I'm going to bed.

Books and books and books, I've got. Six of them, Bibbins, Witte, Beachy-Quick, Yakich, Rekdal and Field.

Gotta go read some Ashbery and call it a day or a night.

Laurel

: Why happiness is a warm gun; or,
: there are no basements in New Orleans

: She doesn't come here often, go away.
: She's in heaven. She's in the ice
: crisscrossed with stars. Today
: because the ceiling cracks,
: that's a part of her breaking
: in. I feel like a barometer. You may, too.

: She's not in the attic
: or in the cement. She's in heaven.
: She's in the ice
: crisscrossed with stars. There are lampposts;
: there are dark children.
: There are no basements.
: She broke a step coming up and saw chalk,
: debris, darling bulbs.
: She wanted to get out of there.

: She taught me this song.

: Know me your boy-arms to a flying horse
: Show me your good side without speaking first
: Go down the levee show me your hearse
: Your good side, your good side

: She went off on a beautiful train.
: I was on it with her, in my brain.