verbalassuag: 1,2,4,12,14,16,17,20,23,26

[1] The
sense of humor to know that life is a confusing mess and that we do
the best that we can; a willingness to take my hand while skinny
dipping on a rainy, stormy night because some things just need to be
shared while holding hands; starting a letter with the words,
“because nobody else has ever asked me let me tell you this …”

[2] All
the phobias that involve those that I love; indifference; an
inability to see that erotica is a form of spirituality and that
through it we try to be the best that we can.

[4] It’s called “Tatterhood,” from Ruth Manning Sanders’
“A Book of Witches,” which involves two sisters, one sorta dull
and beautiful and one sorta ugly but rides around on her pet goat and
more importantly they love each other. When the beautiful one gets
kidnapped Tatterhood sails off to rescue her. I adore all stories
where the unconventional girl is the hero.

[12] The tenor sax (the one instrument that, thank you
Dr. Freud, I’m still struggling to understand), the duduk (an
Armenian wooden flute with 9-holes), anything with a cello.

[14] I went through all of primary school as a C- student.
Literally everything that was AP was a curse. Then one day in college
I was told I was dyslexic and suddenly the world made sense. Now I’m
a nurse and am in love with sonnets. What else can I ask for?

[16] There’s an old saying that in any poem there’s only
one good line; I look at my worst line and use that. There’s another
old saying that no one will challenge you on what you name your
child, provided it’s not “adolph” or “untitled” since who
would ever name what they labored over that?

[17] No tats, but both nips have rings in them. I got them when
I was an exchange student in London and bled so much that I passed
out in the bathtub.

[20] For 9 years I was a gym-bot and
loved working out. I was a skinny thing and was astounded that at one
point I could see my abs. Isn’t that what everyone wants? Then my
thyroid gave out on me and for 2 years was unable to even walk
upstairs without laboring for a breath. After a long battle, and with
the proper medication, I’ve been able to stabilize myself to the
point where I’m working out again. Yet, sadly, I’m soft and can
“pinch an inch” as they say. Hell, my glorious ass sorta shrank.
What can a boy say? We are constantly faced with challenges and
change happens even to the best of us. And yet, more than all that,
what has devastated me is that when I broke off my right front tooth
my lisp (which was always part of my persona) because so pronounced
that after they fitted me with a new one it got to the point where I
don’t perform at open mics anymore because … you know, a lot of my
poetry has “th”s in them.

[23] Putney (London, as an exchange student), Gyumri
(Armenia, in Peace Corps, where I broke off my tooth), Las Vegas (NV,
for grad school), Arnold (CA, for field archaeology), Grand Marais
(MI, as a light house tour guide). I now live in Grand Rapids (MI, as
a hospice nurse).

[26] It was a poem called, “the male whore,” in “The Taste
of Latex” (1992) out of San Francisco. Even now I still chuckle at
myself and say, bravo!