http://www.notellmotel.org/weblog.php en-us http://www.notellmotel.org/weblog.php http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2053 I feared the blood on the sheet, the knifey zap of letdown, the choking spray of milk. Each time he fell asleep, his death. And when he wouldn’t sleep, his gray, feral eyes. My face: puffy, swollen, as though I’d suckled at the amnion, drowned in the birth pool. And what if I did die, what if he had no mother, no milk. What if we never slept again, and the world became dream and the dream became world. I feared the world, the polar ice caps melting, my son... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2052 The baby’s gone out with Daddy, his stuffed tomato toy grinning up at me. I hear spring for the first time this year: sparrows gossiping, airplanes scraping rooftops. I feel as though someone has removed a bone from my body. My breasts swell but do not leak and I wonder did it happen? Did a boy live like a squirming fish inside my body? Did he slip in and out of me, the bloated moon bobbing in chapped winter sky? And the body sprawled suddenly on my chest, waxy, blue,... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2051 And sometimes I think of my own mother, how we lay in the margarine winter light girl skin to girl skin, her purple nipple grazing my mouth, hands stung with onion, hair floating across my face, the ceiling fan ticking, ticking, and my father fiddling with the camera, slides of me falling onto the windowsill, his olive hands carrying me through the black and white haze of the apartment—nowhere to go, nothing to do, the three of us half-drunk, hungry, naked, breathing together... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2048 This fletcher, a cherub, an archer has chosen a roan and named her Murder, after the crows, for she is a host. This fletcher, a rider, a rotor, a sort of gilled gator now acts farrier, retreads hooves with a clip and a shove. This fletcher retired, his shuck and feather replaced with ruby warble, a signal again to battle, again to toil. A horse to an arrow like a hug to a kiss, prays this aging artisan for his long-wished armistice. Down by the river, Murder like... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2047 The spasm of falling down the stairs ten years ago at a party is upon us. Everyone knows: The careen of spring is a leafy lattice pattern, developing doily of a year, a year that ends as it began, in branches. Every year it’s harder to hear the heart-hurt robin song and the geese grow ever more confused by the snow- sun-snow cycle of things. When was the last time you went to a party and fell down the stairs drunk and feeling everything but injured? Hanging sun-catchers on... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2046 The door flips down, a drawbridge. Hall space, a moat. I am a knight, I have my sword. Nothing so astonishing as a cavernous warren. What light I see an adjustment or acclimatization. What shadows I take away mine, and my mind changed forever in aspect and mechanism. I am a knight, I have my sword. A stinging drowse toward dreaming. What goes marching, what goes counted. What drums beaten. A field of smoke and straining to see the action. A scent of foul burning. What will you do, when... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2045 This is a rainy day phenomenon. A too many books with cobbled streets read treacle-y, bred from a sense of silence. What’s out there? Wind chimes and dust devils. Sewer tunnels. Gravel pits and the buzzing afternoons of summer. But for today, gray valentines spice the tongue. Sheets draw down the windows and shapes go awry. Tea cakes and wedding cookies are stale on the counter and we eye them anyhow. Palates bored on hard candy seek dough, a buttery vacation. Later, we hang like bats... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2044 This is the final day. This is the final day when metallic scraping stands hair on end. Placed end-to-end a hair length forms. Braided end-over-end, a rope. Specifically, a means of escape. There is no need to frighten the children so. You might say these fantasies are merely funhouse mirrors. Nothing is fun without an element of fear. Do you look over your shoulder when you brush your teeth? The lace of waning light through needle pine. Is it past your bedtime? Breadcrumbs and bear traps.... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2041 you    better than anyone understand these provinces where to dig sweet mallow from the earth & the way toothed creatures shift & groan before bulbing     i will address you now motherbeast    the softest places are never the safest     remember they are yet vinegared eggs delicate & seasoned for the tasting... http://www.notellmotel.org/index.php?id=P2040 the sleek cover of skin tells us we are bound & singular     that our pieces are secure to attack the skin is to attack the oneness of the creature to put distance between the self & center     the unsteady beast will tear itself in moments of grief & yet return clean & whole to a nest that chatters or spills sound also has smooth curves the s of a song that agrees to cushion...