Hummingbirds.

 

This is the woodstar hummingbird (at least, this is what google told me). The woodstar is super tiny and manages to roll up into the Emerald hummingbird's territory and feed to their heart's content. The Emeralds don't mind it because it's so tiny they think it's an insect and not another hummingbird encroaching territory. It is the Ariana Grande of Hummingbirds and I may turn that into some sort of poem about all that. 

Will also write about the bananaquit, which is NOT a hummingbird, but thinks it is, and hangs out with hummingbirds and tries to fly like them but doesn't quite land it but they let them hang out anyway. So the _______ of hummingbirds. (I'm not dumb, you can fill in your own blanks.)

Last year I was a little bit obsessed with eels. I guess this year it's hummingbirds. You can read an inexplicably fascinating article about the history of eels here. There was also an interesting article about Japanese eels forgetting humans here. The eel kick lead to an erasure poem based on the garden eel article.

But really you ought to read Tiana Clark's new poem which is not about a hummingbird but SLAPS. And when you're done, check out Samuel A Adeyeme's "Spectacle" in Issue 25 of Kissing Dynamite (which is jam-packed with fantastic work).

Last night as the therapist worked on my shoulder I had an idea for an absurdist short story (think over the top, Citizen Kane on acid) of a very large man who goes to the doctor because his hand hurts and the doctor suggests he lose some weight. The following day the man goes to the doctor and says MY HAND HAS FALLEN OFF! and the doctor says "Your weight loss journey has begun! Great work!" and sends him away. The next day he comes back to the doctor, this time with his entire arm and a shin in a bucket. DOCTOR, PLEASE HELP ME I AM FALLING APART! MY BODY PARTS ARE ALL IN A BUCKET! The doctor (accompanied by interns) laughs maniacally and shouts IF YOU WERE LOSING AS MANY BODY PARTS AS YOU SAY, SIR, YOU'D BE MUCH SMALLER!" followed by more uproarious laughter. 

I didn't write it, partly because I'm not sure how to end it and partly because I'm thinking of doing it as a parody of Solomon Grundy but I'm not sure that will work. (Though it would solve the ending.)

Today I'm struggling with pacing. I wrote a double sonnet but two readers I trust suggested cutting and trimming. I can see their points, but part of the point of making this twice as long as it should be is that it mirrors the topic and draws out the piece (which mirrors the topic)...idk idk. My shoulder really really really hurts today, my shoulder and my neck. It hurts to type, it hurts to turn my head or reach or make a fist. Maybe none of these ideas are good, let's see what it feels like tomorrow.