Favorites

  1. Triple J - Australian radio station that puts corporate radio playlists to shame.
  2. Make Out Club - once the domain of the under-16-ironic-set, posers now rule the day. Still worth a look.
  3. Salon Personals - best damn meatmarket out there. Bar none.

On The Rise

  1. UConn Women's Basketball - Back at number one after losing four of five starters to graduation. Coach of the year comin at ya.
  2. Mary Forrest - keep rockin it girl.
  3. CSS - silly rabbit, JavaScript is for kids.

Sinking Fast

  1. deadjournal.com - what's the sound of many poseurs clapping? Save me jeebus.
  2. Dubya - Economy. Foreign policy. Space Shuttle. Great Caesar's ghost.
  3. Clearchannel - corporate radio at its most soul-sucking. Clearchannel kills music.

Wordplay

virgin illusory

no, I have never made love to the woman I have loved.
then again, love alone
amo amas amat
has rarely gripped me with her wild hands
(her titanium claws)
and love
– the name of Love that I invoke—
that component, that companion,
has long since floated like
will o’the wisp, like
mist.

(illusion)

silent and lonely as the loveless mica moon is lonely—
the brightest, best-loved body of the night
but trod upon by man.
brightest, best-loved,
but not quite celestial, not quite
virgin.
and therefore overlooked day in day out
day
in
day
out.

(Like the moon I have no arms to seize,
just the weakest gravity.)

Feared and lonely as lovely Latin is lonely
with its familiar verbiage
but form and structure so outmoded.
Amas, amat, amas, amat
until eternity
and the beloved virgins crumble into dust
and the dust is scattered along the tracks
and the tracks rust down to ferrous residue.

I have made love to woman, to impossible woman,
but never to the woman I have loved.
the woman so in love with amas amat amas amat onto eternity,
the woman as eternal as the best-loved virgin moon.

© 1996

Year of the Dragon (Lara)

Walk with me, your hand in the warm crook
of my arm,
throughout this dragon’s year.
Speak to me, through me,
sling the syllables, flow smooth like single malt,
like mead poured slow.
The words, they warm me inside out
though not so much as that gentle scent.
Turn your head, Lara, half a turn.
Caress with untamed raven hair that smells of soap and life.
Turn, turn away, look back,
smile. Lara.
Show me a flash of a shared instant,
the briefest image of shared flesh and flavor.
Turn, turn away, look back.
A Mona Lisa smile that first conceals
then beckons forth the night,
reflective in the acid black.
Shall we dance?
Extend a hand, a palm.
Accept my breath, warm upon your cheek,
Your neck.
Bedevil. Lara.
Lara. Again, Lara. I love to speak your name.
Turn, turn away, look back,
watch me as I leave,
perhaps forever if I had your power.
I pause, turn, wait,
envision a future of flesh and flavor.
Stop, swivel. Extend an arm, a hand, a palm, a plea.
Embrace.
Share with me the wonder of the dragon’s year
and wonder what this dragon’s year may bring.

© 2000