Wednesday, August 24, 2005

No Borders Here

if you want to read some international writers:

As I'm getting ready for the semester, I'm trying to find all of the resources available and since I've added an independent study of a poet of a student's choosing, I'm trying to find as many places to point them in the direction of "discovering" the voice of another writer, someone who they will connect with. And I'm starting to reflect and remember all of those writers who built a bridge for me, who encouraged me to walk this far, to not look down, to remember where I had been and to lead me to new worlds.

In other places with no borders, last night I learned that to have a bender with someone was Aussie for getting drunk and this morning I woke up and went into my bathroom only to find that one of my ceiling spiders (that's where they normally like to stay when the come over b/c they know I'm scared to death of brooming them down and having them fall on my bed) decided to cross some borders and sit right on my dental floss...perhaps thinking he could be creative and add that to his web. I was slightly bent! and had no qualms about letting him know that he crossed the line.

And for my now deceased house guest spider, an elegy penned by Rock Star poet Rod Smith:

These are spiders. They are happy spiders. They fill the bugles of the nutbrained beaming throughscape most happy to collate.
Other spiders live in the soft languish of the original underpants.
Come, live with the spiders, come, join them, in the long hibernation dream of the original underpants, Mr. Jones.

Some of the spiders are not called anything because they are happy.
This is my new style. How do you like it?
It has caused me great personal anguish.

This is only a section from the spider poems. For the full frontal, click below:

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