Scribble and Strum

Found this in the recent New Yorker.
I love poems like these.

Thread

I lack the rigor of a lightning bolt,
the weight of an anchor. I am
frayed where it would be highly useful—
and this I feel perpetually—to make a point.

I think if I can concentrate I might turn sharp.
Only, I don’t know how to concentrate—
I know only the look of someone concentrating,
indistinguishable from nearsightedness.

It is hard for you to be near me,
my silly intensity shuffling
all the insignia of interiority.
Knowing me never made anyone a needle.

Great piece. Mmm. The hidden monologues of unnoticed things.

Ha! I love it. (I nearly choked when I saw this one...it lost something in the shrink, though.)

I've been playing along with The New Yorker's caption contest for a while--in my brain--
but I haven't actually sent in an entry until just now:

Click for pic
"The holidays are when nepotism collects."

Eh? Pretty good, right? We shall see. The cover of this week's issue blew me away.
What empathy, delivery... This really touched me and put my winter blues into perspective:

"Silent Night"
by the bold Anita Kunz.

This song I'm hearing...hits me hard... It's--no. I'll let it sing for itself. Download it and others, if you'd like, from a generous helping of free music by the sugar-voiced Laura Cantrell. My favorites include "Rain Boy", "Churches Off the Interstate", "Nightclothes and Headphones"... Well, I really dig them all.