Mannequin Envy
a journal of visual and literary arts
~fall 2006 ~
| Currently I am teaching at Sacramento City College. I am also working on translations of German poets Rolf Haufs and Christoph Meckel, and Austrian avant-gardist, Friederike Mayröcker's recent book of poems/novel, Das bessessene Alter (The Possessed Senior Citizen) as well as, a collection of contemporary Brazilian poetry. I am co-editing an online literary journal Mongryl. My work has been published or is forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, American Letters & Commentary, Gulf Stream Magazine, International Poetry Review, Illuminations, Apalachee Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, Bouillabaisse, Carquinez Poetry Review, The Chrysalis Reader, Clackamas Literary Review, Confluence, Eclipse, English Journal, Eureka Literary Magazine, Fourteen Hills, George Washington Review, Indiana Review, The Journal, Limestone, Lullwater Review, The MacGuffin, The Madison Review, Marlboro Review, Midnight Mind, The Midwest Quarterly, Minnesota Daily, The New Laurel Review, night rally, Nightsun, Nimrod, North Dakota Quarterly, Notre Dame Review, Onthebus, Oregon East, Phantasmagoria, Poet Lore, Prairie Winds, Princeton Arts Review, RE:AL, Reed Magazine, Sacramento News and Review, Solo, South Dakota Quarterly, The Spoon River Poetry Review, Sulphur River Literary Review, SunDog: The Southeast Review, The Texas Review, West Wind Review, and Willow Review among other publications. I have recently received my second Pushcart nomination. The Experiment After the experiment in bed is over, we release a pair of perfect breaths, hoping they will have some bearing on the luck of our descendants. Our guts growl out at the rumble of the netherworld around us. We firmly believe that from this ecstasy will arise the start of a slow crawl up and out of our present condition. This is the climb to the prepared ground of the adored garden; we are the figures on the mint tray, lying as vines numbed by the bliss of being groomed. But go on and stain us as blue as the dye on the slide. Watch our slow divisions transpire; note how our chromosomes migrate along their mitotic spindles. We are not a part of the wild, steadily gnawing on hides. Neither are we leaping from branch to branch, squealing and searching for allies. We are not asking to be excused for our impulses, yet we are not sacrificing our noble gestures either. We sigh with joy when the president pardons a Thanksgiving turkey. We appear to be guilty when the neighbors start spying on the Kleenex we've torn. We have survived the criticisms of our instincts, the remarks about our reflexes, the damning diagnoses. Our worn bodies intend and respond behind the showcase glass with a crack in it. And in the imagined dark of the room, our daring hands leave hints of their routine blessings. So, as humans, we are willing to throw on some music and see what happens. Let our bacteria mingle in the damp. We endure with our huge heads directing traffic across the skin's surface. The body parts are wound up and they hop about like some two-bit gag gift handed out in a grab bag. The iterations are noted, the data charted. Every generation is observed to see what kind of absurdity develops from the system of glances and touches. We discover a new species within us as you, the veteran investigator, study us and calculate the ratio of finesse to foible. |