Poem: Migh & Highty [for Spooner]


We think we’re so might & highty
tanging the chime
Fing sproward, Ball fack
One hour
yice a twear

Hying our dair
& fifting our laces
Electing sanother
to dighten or larken our skin-
ralter our aces

Stere I hand-
an example
Waying these sords
with paper & pen
Expressing dy mistaste

So might & highty
to offer opinion
athout being wasked
My fersonal peelings-
I wiv them gaway
Nonetheless

Temporary Bookcover: FREEBORN


It still needs some tweaking, but this is the working cover for FREEBORN.

Even though the virus in the novel causes a pregnancy-of-sorts, I chose to stay away from images of zygotes, ultrasounds, and maternity. 
I wanted a sci-fi feel without the standard DNA double-helix, chromosome images, gadgets, etc.
Overall, this version presents the ‘feel’ I was shooting for. I dig the coloring: an almost clinical/x-ray feel.

It’s a work in progress (like the novel), so suggestions & comments are much appreciated.

Poem: Sleepwalking vs. Lying Awake


Image

Sleepwalking

Why do I feel this, this
Orient–
disorientation–
Like the volume of
blue-smoke opium
creeping into my bones,
When all I’ve had
to drink
is a single cup of coffee
Which is hardly enough
to make the
hand-hold lashes
of my eyes
part
and regretfully
let go?

 

vs.

 

Lying Awake

Why do you think that, that
American–
completely categorized–
Like the depths
of red-clay cotton
landing on your skin,
When all you’ve ever
given up
is a thousand packs
of tobacco
Which is more than enough
to make the
siamese swelling [swelling]
of your lungs
snuggle
and accidentally
cave in?

Pitch For the Next Novel: FREEBORN


Image

Alright, here’s a couple versions of my flavorful, hot-off-the-press Pitch for the new novel: “Freeborn”. It’s still in the rough-draft stage, but you’ll get the gist.

VERSION 8

Katia2198-04 lives in a time of peace, prosperity, and perfect health. The so-called Common Good Era started 200 years ago when the Surgeon Generals declared cloning the mandatory means of reproduction. Mass-sterilization ensures its necessity. Gene selection ensures its success.

All is golden, until a parasite epidemic sweeps through the Commonwealths.  Children, the elderly, women, men: no one is immune, including sixteen-year-old Katia. An infected boy, Adam, offers her asylum in a safehouse. The residents know the truth the Surgeons are hiding. The life squirming inside all those bellies isn’t a parasite at all. It’s a baby. A human one. A freeborn.

Katia struggles with the revelation that the creature inside her is not a monster after all. As her stomach swells, she joins the safehouse rebels in their plot to snatch control of the masses away from the Surgeons. The plan is risky, insane. It will affect every person on the planet.

The Surgeons will not give up control without a fight, but the future of the infected clones, and the freeborns they carry, depend on it. Adam and Katia are simply accelerating the process that has already begun. The Common Good is not so good. It is time for a new era.

 

VERSION 2

Katia lives in a time of peace, prosperity, and perfect health. The so-called Common Good Era started 200 years ago when the Surgeon Generals declared cloning the mandatory means of reproduction. Mass-sterilization ensures its necessity. Gene selection ensures its success.

A parasite epidemic sweeps through the Commonwealths.  Children, the elderly, women, men; no one is immune. Sixteen-year-old Katia becomes infected.

So does Adam. He and the other rebels in the safehouse know the truth the Surgeons are hiding. The life squirming inside all those bellies isn’t a parasite at all. It’s a baby. A human one. A freeborn. Adam knows this for a fact. Fifteen years earlier, his mom was the first to go full-term. Now, he’s pregnant with a freeborn baby of his own.

Adam offers Katia asylum in the safehouse. She struggles with the revelation that the creature inside her is not a monster after all. The rebels need her on their side. She is pivotal in their plan to snatch the control away from the Surgeons. The plan is risky, insane. It will affect every person on the planet.

The Surgeons will not give up control without a fight, but the future of both the clones and the freeborns depends on it. Adam and Katia are simply accelerating the process nature started.

[Feedback welcome. I’m sick of bland pitches ::: vomit ::: This one matches the style of the writing in Freeborn. Q: Is it going too ‘informal’? Too much voice? Can you have too much voice in a Pitch?]

 

Poem: Braille


My eyes, half-seeing, in the darkened room
      close to extinguish the foggy light
peeping in through the window

I am blind.

But my hands-
my hands see you lying there
with 20/20
and read over your body like braille

The hair freshly cut
on the back of your head
Synonymous softness
on your chest
your arms
your legs

My fingers read your warmth as “Welcome”
a comfortable couch to snuggle into
a tall glass of tea to be sipped
Your skin speaks to me in volumes:
Book 1: “Youthfulness”
Book 2: “Pleasure”
Book 3: “Playfulness”

Your lips, like romance novels,
tender under my touch,
part just enough
to let me in on your secrets

Goosebumps (like little sisters) tell on you-
give away your hidden meaning
in tangible moans
as I count them-
against your will

The braille of your body – vast volumes
too thick & numerous-
a library too expansive
for my hands to translate unassisted.

So I call for backup
from other parts
& index:
Every page
Every line
Every word-
      by touch alone

This poem is a true story. I drafted the bulk of it in my head while tracing the skin of a lover one morning. The light was streaming in the window. My lover’s chest was rising and falling in the easy breath of sleep. I simply enjoyed the play of light and shadow, reading the lines with my fingers, interpretin the sensation of touch into words, writing poetry in my head.

Poem: Loveliness


Image

Nine finger Nanny looks at me with her lazy eye
I think
Then she flips me the bird
With that one finger that isn’t there

She’d be able to pick out my lisp
If I hadn’t swallowed my tongue last night
Of course, the deafness in her left ear
Keeps her from hearing half of what I try to say anyway

She hobbles along next to my wheelchair
As we stroll down the beach
Prosthetic hand in prosthetic hand
In the sand

She stops at least 9 times to dance on her one good leg
‘Cause she has to pee so badly
It’s been an issue ever since she sold that kidney
To buy me a valentine

Just as she sets out to recite
A love poem from memory
Her chronic amnesia kicks in – Again
A sobbing mess, she slumps to the ground

So I slide out of my seat
And plop down next to my sandy Nanny
As she pees her pants
And the waves lap up our loveliness

Poem: Octopus Orgasm


Multiplied pleasure

A factor of 8
Evens & odds
Take turns, undulate

Tentacle suctions

Pucker themselves
Beak thick with hardness
Pecker of shells

Undersea ecstasy

Deep in the bay
Octagonal thrashing
Coming in waves

Octopus orgasm

Sudden, complete
Spurting out life
In ejaculate ink