Tag Archives: school

What I am learning



How often I want to visit social media. And the call to be a “voice,” or something.

I see your phenomenological. I raise you EPIPHENOMENOLOGICAL.

How to decide what is worth your time, energy, and money.

How to use the phrase “ephemeral archive” as much as possible.

Trust yourself. Trust yourself. Trust yourself. There is nothing left.

How fraught these spaces—and really all spaces—are with our personal and professional expectations and desires. And the underlying social, cultural, historical, raced, classed, gendered expectations for behavior.

And the ensuing silence.



Direct from the horse’s mouth, or bastardizations of what poetry professors have said–

-Make collages.

-Some people write with music, but I need to write with words around me. I find words.

-Then using a number system, I went through and killed poems.

-I would ask my dates, “Are you happy with your job?”

-Cut this word out.

-Image cul-de-sac.

-This voice feels authentic.

(This last one bothers me.)



By showing up, I inherently pressure the Institution.

Better get used to it.



I realize my life is rather “boring,” that most of the time I am looking for ways to spend time somewhere writing or with people talking about writing or listening to people read or perform writing. That when I look around Boulder, there is not much I feel drawn to do. (Mostly, one has the choice of school, the mountains, shopping. Boulder in three words.)

I think the secret now is to embrace this. How much more time can I reserve for writing– without becoming a complete recluse?


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Filed under education, essays, journal, non-fiction, writing/writers

young students deliver police report after homicide shooting

young students deliver police report after homicide shooting.


cars whizzing by at speed of light

whipping down neighborhood streets

round corners

kids get mowed down quicker than lawns

i dodge carcasses and

ghosts on my drive to school


andrea- short-haired, scarred face

a beauty with brain

tumor battered eyesight

accident prone and

crackling laughter for days


drea and her friend

stare from bus stop

man gun-in-hand enters scene

in a passing sedan

he slows to meet his mark


my two black girls

greet sirens and meet policemen

complete homework, return to school

nothing has happened

they say.


i learned recently of the form called the american sentence.  17 syllables, haiku-like, ginsberg-inspired. find out more here. the first line is an american sentence, based on a shooting that happened outside my workplace as i was finishing up my work for the day and students were still leaving school.

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Filed under education, poems, race, violence