Yes. The NFL is back, and I'm stoked. If you're like me and don't own a tv, don't wanna buy one, I suggest the Pinnacle USB TV thingy, watch on the computer.
Totally in the hammock. In PJs. That's a High Life Light. I'm not saying I'm proud of it, but it magically appeared in my fridge. What can ya do?
FOOTBALL!
Did you come here for a poem? Okay. Here's a little something by the wonderful Christina Davis out of the Boston Review:
Severance
Chagall's Daphnis and Chloe
I cut away the woman sulking on the shore,
naked, dripping night-dark water, her face too
green.
And the couple fucking
in the upper left-hand
corner.
And the woman hunched over moon with her
flute,
luring the man to her seat in the right side of sky,
where the heart would beat
if this picture had one.
But the man balding beautiful into baby, into
"Christina
are you still awake?" head moon-bright, the man
wading
in an exclamation of moonlight,
now spreading his
arms out,
pressing down on the lake as if to lift himself up
out of a manhole.
I left him there, unattended to, a treasure.
And the
woman
was cold out of element, And the music sizzled in
the coming sun.
And the couple wrestled with clouds and had no
haven.
But the man
unmoored, man-star apart, I send to you, the
selves cut away,
the heart's odd ultimate art. An allowance carved
of the card
you once sent. A token, rinsed of our intimacy. A
wish.
Grow rich, and innocent, of me.
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