week of September 24 - 30, 2007

A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast | I'd Like to Bake Your Goods | Stolen Mummies | Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town
Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo | I'm a Jew, Are You? | Lizard King of the Laundromat | I Am My Own Orange County
Paris: It's The Cheese | Poetry Super Highway | Judaic Links | Rick's Bookmarks | Cobalt Poets
E-mail Rick | Other Cool Rick Stuff / Upcoming Readings | Who The Hell Is Rick

Cheers, Dad Loose teeth sink to the bottom of a bowl at night, and heart survives on drugs. The bowels have slowed so he brings his own bran for breakfast when he visits. I buy prune juice. A cup of bran with milk, two large glasses of warm water, the prune juice routine. Two hours later he exits the bathroom, smiling. We joke on the perils of age; I anticipate mine When he is long gone. Now I am pregnant; My O.B. prescribes iron bills that prevent anemia but bind me. So they say constipation is common. I spend my pregnancy, protein for breakfast, fruit and cereal with two tablespoons of bran, one small glass of prune juice, toast my father. The rule is that an introduction is never a farewell. The marks of small anxieties scab over in sequels. They cordoned off the airport for the arrival of the box. She is intact on the second floor with the lavender toothbrush dangling from her mouth primed to receive the call to announce the arrival. Cheese toast melts under the broiler where chili powder sprinkles remembrance. They sealed the box for mailing across miles that someone might discover the contents were not missing. Quest Before Flight The airline permits two bags of which neither should be over 69 combined linear inches. I am looking for a box within such size and when the TSA inspector randomly searches, it’ll be one colorful Kettler push trike found at a garage sale, surrounded by size 2T and 3T like new clothing, two loaves of pumpkin bread, and a pullover doggie costume with floppy ears to be worn on October 31 by a two-year old grandson.. Form follows function. The first mother’s womb oval hat box, car, jail cell, house, bedroom, condo, oven, computer casing, shoe box, closet, piano, toy box, church, school, store, or bathroom. I collect boxes, head housing my brain, chest housing my heart, save a dozen small containers in the curio cabinet, close fitting boxes empty as the sleep fulfilling prophesy of memory and decoration. We find a box at the community mammoth hardware store unloading dock. Grandpa will bring gifts to South Carolina although there are already too many boxes inside this earth box with the sky ceiling. Baggage the underbelly carries will arrive with a red tag circling the baggage carousel. Who will open the box, Uncovering daylight flap by flap?

The Fall The Fall ushers in quietly and secretly, Like a long, lost friend, Someone we thought we'd never see again, The cool breezes remind us of the brisk winter that lay before us, Summer exited without a whimper or a hiss, It just left, leaving us sun-kissed, The Fall debuted with bright blue skies, Variegated leaves that herald flair and style, The hustle and bustle returns, The lifeless city becomes rejuvenated with movement, A dormant Metropolis has been awakened by the crisp winds of the Fall.