August 8, 2008

I think it's a plot. Just when it's stinking hot and you just want to lay on the couch with a glass of ice water balancing on your forehead, they bombard us with all the finales of sixty different summer TV shows. And just when you think you might get up and do something useful, you realize it's still stinking hot and you're stuck to your vinyl couch. And WHAM! The Olympics start. What the hell? It's be downright unpatriotic to get up now. So screw it.

A couple new poems were surreptitiously slipped into the Raving Poets post box while I was holidaying in July: an intense bit of metrification from our own Kelly Shepherd; and two little posies of poesy from Ryan Baier, about which he says, "From beyond the beyond / far past the abyss- / just like a Frosted Flakes / commercial-"THEY'RE GRRREAT!!" Ok, Ryan. Calm down. The beach volleyball is starting.

 

Well I'm-a gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler
About workin' all summer just to try an' earn a dollar
Sometimes I wonder, what I'm gonna do
'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues
- Eddie Cochran