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Every once in awhile, I fancy myself a poet, and this is what happens. Poetry mimics life, so the Platonics say, and like aspects of life, some of these are silly, some are some of the most serious things I've experienced. Feedback is more than welcome and may even prompt near-orgasmic reponse in gratitude.

Epithalamion: Inspired by the handfasting of two friends last month; in my mind this was much longer, but not so many words seemed necessary.

Heat Advisory: Written in a Baltimore August. Posted when I'm freezing my ass off in my apartment.

Little Princess: Not to be confused with the Shirley Temple movie.

Gemini-Cancer-Aries: Sun-Rising-Moon; a study in harmonic contrasts.

Breasts: An odd ode to the Wonder Twins, not as silly as you might think.

Waiting For: A someday my not-so-prince(ss) will come poem. Kind of pathetic.

Ballad of the Deconstructed Lit Student: One is always uncertain when making claims in class. Stirring wacked deconstructionist theory into the discussion doesn't help. This is my song of protest.

Ode to Rice Crackers: A brief silly ode to my favorite addictive salty snack.

Thursday Night: Written a few years ago, on a napkin at a restaurant called Fuel and Fuddle, during the University of Pittsburgh's MFA Poetry Night.

To My Mother, To Whom I Have Not Sung Since You Died: This really explains itself. What lacks in talent is hopefully made up for in intention. This one's now a bit old.

Terpsichore: A little ditty I wrote in poetry workshop years ago, back whenI was one of those creative type people. Thanks to Belle Wharing for revision suggestions–although it's old it's probably one of my best.


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All original materials © 2003 R. Pickard