First Post

Yes, this is my first post. I can tell you're already skeptical on consistency-- me leaving, and coming back on Easter Sunday, then on Independence Day, and finally, in an array of fireworks, I simply commit Internet-Blogging-Suicide with the plagiarized statement: 'No Exit.' This statement is true. This statement is false. I'm too lazy to change the font style so it correlates with what exactly I am trying to say--I'm sure it will be altered on a Cincinnati snowed-in day when I am bored. I will try to post a poem every week. This is, hopefully, the first of many. Somewhere Else Other Than Here This morning, his living room is diluted From an awakened sun coming through the blinds-- As if a cool glass of milk Is being passed under a water faucet. Birds outside are discussing religion, Perched on urbanized trees: The chain-linked fence, The cables running between electrical poles, The brown dumpster. He knows each From the differences separating them: The subtle, burnt red of the Fox Sparrow, The blue-grey of the American Kestrel, The chickadee qualities of the Carolina Wren. The opposing, passe supplication Revealing itself Through the contrasting united silence of the apartment building Denotes the day. Sunday morning, and the workers Who typically complete the building's effect-- Mailmen, garbage-men, leasing agents-- Are somewhere else other than here. The silence of these handy-men Is heard even past the avenues. He returns from revelry, Back to the morning. To his sugar and to his cream, To the running shower, and the steam Travelling under the door-- To the morning kitchen-ware before him: from a spoon, milk mixes with coffee-- with a spoon, milk stirs coffee.