Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Colin Herd Poetry, And Etc

Read this last night, and I can't get it out of my mind:


by Colin Herd

william forgot his towel so he
used me instead, (i must have

been slung over a hot
radiator for hours because i was
rigid with fear and there were eight
hot creases on my stomach...)
meanwhile thumbs are tacked into my
armpits. how rubbish it would be
right now if i laughed. am i chafing

i'm sorry i will try to be more soft.

More phenomenal poetry at Velvet Mafia -- Dangerous Queer Fiction.


I was in a book drought for a few weeks -- nothing seemed appealing. Now I'm nearly finished with Metro 2033 (review to come), I've got two more waiting, and I just added two to my Amazon wishlist.

I've just finished a large editing project. I say "large," but it was four chapters. However, it consumed me for two weeks, and these last few days, as I saw the finish line in sight, I kept plowing on, even when I was tired. Recipe for disaster, but we'll see -- my beta reader will give it a yay or a hell fucking no, re-write this. But said politely.

And I've updated my submissions over at Duotrope. There were two things I'd completely forgotten about. I think that's good. I see a lot of aspiring writers hang their hopes on one project, and bullishly stick with it. I do think the old advice to keep writing, to not become too emotionally involved with your projects, is a good thing. Does this mean I don't hold them near and dear to my heart? No, I do, I do. But instead of one kid that I'm hoping grows up to be an astronaut, I've got a dozen, and if some of them don't do as well as the others, well, I love them too. But it's not all pinned on one kid. If you see what I mean. I don't even really like kids.


Poem: Lie Still

Shut your mouth, he says, lie
Some women wouldn't like this
Sex and feminism and power
games, mental games
Am I healthy if I like it like this on
the bottom
waiting for him to finish
not waiting, enjoying
the sweaty, sticky skin, his hot breath in
my face
Be quiet, he says, god you're
you're so fucking
I'm going to

When he rolls off it's
my turn
I don't mind, I can finish
myself, thinking
thinking about
him over me, rubbing, planing
Yes, that's it
I take his hand, put it on me, but he's too tired
and anyway
I can finish
God, it's so

1 comment:

  1. Having a load of 'kids' is the smartest. You never know which one will get picked up--your favorite, of course, but still. Great idea.

    And love the poem. Without saying too much, you can really see the picutre you have written about.