Searching online for Robert Creeley's homage poem to Robert Bly and Federico García Lorca (which I could not find) I came across this Lorca poem

Malagueña

Death
enters, and leaves,
the tavern.

Black horses
and sinister people
travel the deep roads
of the guitar.

And there’s a smell of salt
and of female blood
in the fevered tuberoses
of the shore.

Death
enters and leaves,
and leaves and enters
the death
of the tavern.

Filler Post

This post is, merely, a place-holder post so October 2011 isn't in sole possession of least blogged month. Thanks again, Trud & Jerf, for doing so very little.

Tattoo by Wally Stevens

The light is like a spider.
It crawls over the water.
It crawls over the edges of the snow.
It crawls under your eyelids
And spreads its webs there--
Its two webs.

The webs of your eyes
Are fastened
To the flesh and bones of you
As to rafters or grass.

There are filaments of your eyes
On the surface of the water
And in the edges of the snow.

KFC Hammer Time

This commercial reinforces so many negative cultural stereotypes that I shouldn't like it as much as I do:

Finally, Some Relevant Material!

When Shawn Kemp blew up, and other warning stories