DO NOT ADJUST TO HALF

More Little Feat on the brain, but it is more of pastiche of lyrics than a single song (Sailing Shoes, Rock and Roll Doctor, Rocket in My Pocket).  Did I mention that I have managed to misplace Waiting for Columbus in the shifting sandpiles of stuff? This is a bit of a hardship, so I must make do with Hoy!Hoy!. 

So my local pal Rick informs me that there is a new mosquito in town, the Asian Tiger. Normally, I am in full support of most anything with Asian Tiger in the title, well, save for sports-related things. I am being tortured however. And, to make matters worse, it rained last night. I mean, we need the rain and all, but given the disaster area of boxes and planters and what not in my yard, it could be a welcoming refuge for breeding blood-suckers. My ankles and feet are all red from bites already. I will think about this tomorrow, at Tara. Probably no mosquitos in Palm Springs.

Ima keep this short as I should be preparing for a drive to Palm Springs and dinner with the Hughes-Choy clan. I bought a beautiful caramel apple pie from my talented cousins who love to bake and did a land office business selling their wares. 

It is probably good that I am not yet driving as I just put on the second pot of espresso. Finding it was taking a long ass time to percolate, I found that I had neglected to add the water. 

HALF A LOAF

The whole loaf's loft

is halved in profile,

like the standing side

of a bombed cathedral.

The cut face

of half a loaf

puckers a little.

The bread cells

are open and brittle

like touching coral.

It is nothing like the middle

of an uncut loaf

nothing like a conceptual loaf

which stays moist.

I say do not adjust to half

unless you must.

— Kay Ryan

SOFT

In harmony wit the rule of irony—

which requires that we harbor the enemy

on this side of the barricade—the shell

of the unborn eagle or pelican, which is made

to give protection till the great beaks can harden,

is the first thing to take up poison.

The mineral case is soft and gibbous

as the moon in a lake—an elastic,

rubbery, nightmare water that won't break.

Elsewhere, also, I see the mockeries of struggle,

a softness over people.

—Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010