Here is a poem not from that thesis I mentioned.

Nail Problem

In the beginning, everyone bites their nails and spits out the nail-bits. If you aren’t quick enough, somebody may come along and bite the white tip of your nails off for you.

Eventually, there is a layer of chewed nail that covers everything, like sharp snow. This is a problem, but it’s not like anybody can help it. Everyone knows this is a bad habit, and gets deeply embarrassed when they find their hands in their mouths.

People begin to mistake most of everything said for something about nails.

How are you?

My nails are just fine, thank you.

Nice weather, today.

Yeah, my nails are pretty sore, too.

The world slowly moves inside and huddles up in dark corners, alone, to feed their dirty habit. Most of the time, they are waiting for them to grow.

I knock on your door, and hear soft clicking, but you don’t answer. I float onward, marveling at how empty the world is, like a ghost after some great holocaust, repeating to myself nail, nail, nail, nail, but meaning something else entirely.

Sorry I haven't been posting at all ever. I have a thesis. I'm working like a wild beast on that thesis. You haven't missed much beyond that thesis. Here is a poem from that thesis I mentioned.

The Park

I come across a lone calf tied to a stake in the park. When I get close enough, it runs at me, as fast as its little underdeveloped legs can carry it, until it reaches the end of its rope. The jerk back is so violent that I think its neck must be broken. The calf gets up as if nothing has happened, and repeats the process. A group of mothers, all pushing strollers, walks by the calf and I, staring. The calf is jerked so suddenly that it flips and lands on its back. Oh, this is just a game we play I say. The mothers don’t say anything. One subtly shakes her head. I laugh nervously. It really is his favorite game, we play it every day, here, in this park I say. The women continue on their walk. I untie the calf from the stake and notice that its nose is bleeding. Its heart is broken. It doesn’t click in the right way anymore. I clutch at its rope as it runs and jerks me forward. I decide that I will keep it. It’s like I see a part of myself in the little calf, lost in the world, looking for some new heart in all the wrong ways.