February 1998

02-01-98Scanner Love; Beanie Baby Beware; Dirk needs Caffiene 02-02-98 Superspy espionage account break-ins 02-03-98 Grounds for justfiable manslaughter 02-04-98 The anger never ends/T.S. Eliot poetry 02-05/06-98 Valentine's decisions; Don Pablo's marriage 02-07-98 Creepy romance, Krisco drive-bys 02-08-98Skating Skanks, Hamster gourmet 02-09-98Valentine's survey, Canadian cuckoos, Playboy Playmate Pia 02-10-98Self-conscious ness, Amber, Talk-show freaks of nature 02-11-98 Money matter; Krisco's backslide; Irritation factor 02-12/13-98New issue dilemmas; Votes of Confidence; Valentine's frenzy 02-14-98Valentine's Day!!; Krisco goes berserk; Saga of the practice that should have been 02-15-98 Morning Glory Madness 02-16/17-98 Krisco goes to work; Unwanted services 02-18-98Journal Syndrome; Online Friendships, Nose-picking Award 02-19-98Cookin' with Krisco, and Other Unhealthy Things 02-20-98Horseglue; Superspy Alex 02-21-98Psycho Moms; Creepy Crawlies and their Diaries 02-22-98Cathy's Party 02-23-98HTML Problems; Death of a Frienship 02-24-98Creature Comforts; Ego Blows 02-25-98Love Songs for the Insane; Shiny Happy People 02-26/27-98Krisco Convos 02-28-98Tree Demons; Fine Arts Features: Home Meet the Cast Win An Award Winds of Chaos About Me Other: Sign My Guestbook View My Guestbook Webrings Links E-Mail Me!

She is all there. She was melted carefully down for you and cast up from your childhood cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies She has always been ther, my darling. She is, in fact, exquisite. Fireworks in the dull middle of February and as real as a cast-iron pot. Let's face it, I have been momentary A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor. My hair rising like smoke from the car window. Littleneck clams out of season. She is more than that. She is your have to have, has grown you your practical your tropical growth. This is not an experiment. She is all harmony. She sees to the oars and oarlocks for the dinghy. has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast, sat by the potter's wheel at midday set forth three children under the moon three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo done this with her legs spread out in the terrible months in the chapel If you glance up, the children are there like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling She has also carried each one down the hall after supper, their heads privately bent, two legs protesting, person to person, her face flushed with song and their little sleep I give you back your heart. I give you permission-- for the fuse inside her, throbbing angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her and the burying of her wound for the burying of her small red wound alive-- for the pale flickering flare under her ribs, for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse, for the mother's knee, for the stockings, for the garter belt, for the call--- the curious call when you will burrow in arms and breasts and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair and answer the call, the curious call She is so naked and singular She is the sum of yourself and your dream Climb her like a monument, step after step She is solid As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off. Programming Note: Words from the poem For My Lover, Returning to His Wife written by Anne Sexton.

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