no subject

Well, my gran woke up last night, and they say that she's doing better but there's no way of knowing yet. So we're just waiting.

Now more than ever I want desperately to leave campus, to be back home. I'm so burned out with my work here, and now there's real need for me up north. Nine more days till my train leaves, and I don't know how I'm going to live through them. Time is refusing to pass normally.

Just read "Childe Harold" again for class, and liked it much better this go-round. Byron is irritatingly melodramatic, but some of his imagery really is lovely. Might read Dorian Gray again--the Boy just finished with him, and we had a long talk last night about pomo endings adn reaction to art as the point of art and all that whatnot.

poetry spam

A fairy-tale poem:

Cinderslut

I thought that I'd be able
to take the shoes off
after the ball, or
after the wedding.

I remember choosing them:
They're beautiful. Pinch
like hell, but it's only
one night. Beauty
hath its price, mama said.

For him I was a statue,
perfect, and their marble feet
are happily devoid
of nerve endings to prick and pain.

But the trouble
with marrying princes is
that you have to become
a queen

and every child knows
that queens
dance and dance
in their burning shoes
until they fall down dead.