Before getting to the real "meat" of this entry, I have to share a marvelous quote I re-discovered while recently re-reading Virgina Woolf's memoirs, Moments of Being (if you haven't read them, you should): "I see myself as a fish in a stream; deflected; held in place; but cannot describe the stream." - V. Woolf, "A Sketch of the Past."

Okay, now that that's done . . .

I've lately stored up some text messages on my cell phone. A few months back, I gave a reading in Chicago where -- bereft of more clever ideas -- I turned voicemail messages and text messages into poems and read them with all the somber intonation the genre (often) demands.

I'm now a much older, much more savvy reader and will probably never do another reading like that.

That said, I am not above publishing "text message" poems on Holy Smokes. In rendering these small bits of verse, I change none of the verbiage -- the artistry lies in the way in which I break the lines. Hence, carving pure poetic genius from the crude wooden blocks that are text messages. (Also, I give them titles.)

WOULD YOU
would you
like me to carry
your heaviest things
up/down 3 flights
of stairs? that seems
to be what i do
these days.

PLEASE
please CAPITALIZE
America in future texts or
you minus me plus sunlight
inspired yellow air gas will equal
distant dissapointment that will
both bite and heal
at the same time.

GET THE CAT
I'm saving that one.
"Patrick, get the cat."
Oh the sweet irony
of being beaten
with a cat.

READY
are you ready
to rock?
(the bookstore.)

VIVA LAS VEGAS
Vegas?
Are you
going to be
Celine Dion's
wigmaster?

IN IOWA
In Iowa,
we are not
allowed
to say
"global warming."

Deeply poignant, no?

Link of the day: THIS.