October 9, 2006

Poem in which I meditate upon Benjamin Franklin’s views on the immortality of the soul and the basics of three ball juggling.

Learning to juggle has three basic levels.
First, throw one ball from one hand to the other.
Let it arch at a point just between your eyes.
This is not juggling, but rather
a preparation to juggle. Rest.

Next take a ball in each hand and toss one.
At the top of its arch, toss the other.
Catch, catch. Or drop, drop. Either way, it helps;
Like Ben’s epitaph: “the work will not be lost,
but appear once more, revised and corrected.”

Now, juggle juggle, juggle juggle.
Toss toss catch catch. Toss toss catch, drop. Breathe.
Before you pick it up, take this time to rest.
You may not remember how you got here,
and that’s fine. It’s not about remembering,
it’s about advancing to the next level.
Breathe. Don’t be afraid to release your breath,
it’ll come back to you – revised and corrected.

Now three: repeat step two, but just don’t stop.
If you find you can’t do well at this level
take some time to revise and correct.
You will return to your practise “refreshed”.
In time, with much practice and much rest,
you will master the art, and perform feats,
toss behind your back, catch blind, breathe freely,
and joyfully manipulate the matrix.

October 4, 2006

Paris Hilton, you’ve changed, baby.

Paris Hilton, you’ve changed, baby.
My Paris Hilton brought cupcakes to class on my birthday.
In the car to school when I dropped chocolate pudding
all over the seat, you told your driver that you did it,
that you broke the rules and that you were sorry.
This Paris Hilton gets arrested for driving her Saab drunk on one drink.

My Paris Hilton would be in a Jaguar, a Viper, or a Hummer.
She’d be in a doublewide Panzer with spinning rims
and a “Norris is my co-pilot” bumper sticker.
It’s not too late, Paris Hilton:
Take a Delorean and steal your old PowerWheels
from young Paris Hilton: “Young Paris, I’m grown-up Paris
and I’m taking your 4x4. You’re hot.
And remember: A true heiress is never mean to anyone—
except a girl who steals her boyfriend.”
This Paris Hilton leaves award shows with Jose Theodore,
an engaged, balding, hasbeen puck stopper.

My Paris Hilton wore pumps to play four square.
When I melted your She-ra doll you didn’t say a word.
You walked straight home and wouldn’t come out.
I had to break my Nerf slingshot
and all my He-Man toys while you watched
just to get you to play doctor again.
And I had to be the patient.
This Paris Hilton makes pedestrian porno at age 19.

My Paris Hilton said “Every woman should have four pets in her life:
a mink in her closet,
a jaguar in her garage,
a tiger in her bed,
and a jackass who pays for everything”
and you believed it.
This Paris Hilton calls herself the iconic blonde of the decade.
But my Paris really is.