The secret lives of icicles

If anyone is curious as to how cold it is here in Madison, Wisconsin, here's a clue:

VERY

However, that means I made the cover story of the Daily Cardinal, one of the student newspapers, by being in the right place at the right time and by fucking freezing. That picture of the person who is completely covered except for her eyes? Yes. That's me. *waves*

(Incidentally, that's the hat I just finished knitting, and it kept my ears nice and toasty.)

poem: Dress Rehearsal

Dress Rehearsal

I start with your hands.
Twist them into surprise, fear,
fingernails to elbows to shoulders tipping
like a mast crooked
to unfavorable winds.

Your feet follow in my footsteps
or I follow in yours, blocked off
in neon tape, stage level. You turn
me turning into you turning
toward your my once future lover, dangerous
threesome with a man I don’t know
yet, not tonight. I haven’t met him
because you haven’t. Our feet point
to his feet. I don't know him.

I take your skin and fold it
into my own, your chin across mine
and your frown dragging my mouth
down, weighted fishhooks
at the keyholes. I wear your sagging back
and hips thick with farmwork, thick
and hard as living. Your lungs
fill mine with air you have breathed
like shotgunned cigarette smoke,
and breathe me your secrets,
honey breathe me what you know
so when I am you and we walk
skin in skin across that wood
together we make truth, baby,
together we are truth.

I hereby designate today the Day of the Spam

So, um, in class today? When I was supposed to be listening to lecture? I ended up whipping out my sketchpad and writing three-quarters of a page of a half-baked story in which Dean falls in love with a 'Cuda and cheats on the Impala with her and the Impala vows to get her revenge and it is crack, I tell you, crack. Hence the not typing it up, because typing it would mean acknowledging its existence in a very real way, and yeah, so not ready for that.

( I took a picture, though... )

omg. seriously, brain.