...er, I've finally copyrighted this schtuff--albeit halfassedly, but still, um, don't bite. Yo.   
prosety.

Okay. So prosety has been getting some more traffic lately, and I'd like to 'splain just what it is.

I've written all my life, but for the longest had no term for what I did most often: a weird hybrid of prose and poetry, too stream-of-consciousness and laden with various lyrical devices to be legit prose, and too straightforward (usually) and earthbound (for lack of a better term) to be called poetry. So about two years ago I figured out prosety.

This isn't a blog. You can visit the overhaul for that--sometimes it has some decent writing. This site, though, is a way for me to hash out my own writing in a semi-public forum, in the effort to improve it and develop as a writer...poetess...whatever. I have no idea, honestly.

I thought about making it possible for visitors to comment on the various posts, as they can at the overhaul, but I'm a bit too fragile for that just yet, and I also don't want to find myself (much as I did when I had a radio show) worrying "Will they like it? Will this appeal to enough people?" so I figured I'll just operate in a vacuum for a while, and if you really hate it, well, that's an option. Or if you like it, that would be cool too.

One more thing: some of these are quotes that appeal to me at that particular moment, usually from songs or books. Those are always indicated by a reference to the author or songwriter. Anything with no notation is my own.

So. This is my tree falling in the forest.



Friday, April 23, 2004



my second poem to three men

my body, its the battlefield, shrapnel and
bruises arrayed
you hit me in the stomach to see if I could spit it out and no
no thing came
we refuse, we refuse, we refuse
to give up our dead
I won't go for dead
told you some time ago,
we're both looking for the epic adventures we read in our youth:
found me my dragon to slay and I say,
I'll rage against this
with all the rivers I sent you
marshal all to my command now,
rushing rivers to wash me clean
of bruises and metal:
and I love you, I like you, you told me I won't help you here
won't hand you the gun to your head this time
me and me in a room alone, the girls
fighting over the trigger








Wednesday, April 21, 2004



life, it has dragged me down
and if i'm lookin tall
baby they're just knife-edged heels
i'm tipping over















Thursday, April 01, 2004



if it can work its way out through my fingers
my hands have been silent since the drugs began,
and before, even
when i was drinking too much.
got your letter full of broken sentences.
tell me to do it for you.
take my hands, draw me out
pull hard on the vein and unstitch me from within
somewhere where i sewed it up tight and lock-stitched
closed within my heart.
tell me to do it for me.
we are, we are
pounding on the inside
and doors closed
please god, please let me come open

and if i should realize it all
and all good things come to fruition
and me in a house on a hill
and find nothing at the end of it, like i've feared
then let it be a nothing i've worked so hard for
so hard and hoped and hard-won

am i waking up, or falling away?