Now.
So I'm going to read for you-- so I love this book.
It's Wave Books.
The two books are Wave Books.
They print all their books on a 100% recycled paper,
which I love.
And the rituals are on black pages
and then the resulting poems are on the white pages.
So I'm going to read the "Ritual" and then
the resulting poem.
"Anoint Thyself.
For John Coletti and Jess Mynes.
Visit the home of a deceased poet
you admire and bring some natural thing back with you.
I went to Emily Dickinson's house the day
after a reading event with my friend, Susie Timmons.
I scraped dirt from the foot of huge trees in the backyard
into a little pot.
We then drove into the woods where
we found miniature pears, apples, and cherries to eat.
I meditated in the arms of an oak tree
with a pot of Emily's dirt, waking
to the flutter of a cardinal on a branch
a foot or so from my face, staring, showing me
his little tongue.
When I returned to Philadelphia, I didn't shower for three days,
then rubbed Emily's dirt all over my body.
Kneaded her rich Massachusetts soil deeply into my flesh.
Then put on my clothes and went out into the world.
Every once in a while, I stuck my nose
inside the neck of my shirt to inhale her delicious, sweet
earth covering me.
I felt revirginized through the ceremony of my senses.
I could feel her power tell me these are the ways
to walk, and speak, and shift each glance
and a total concentration for maximum usage
of our little allotment of time on a planet.
Lose and --"
Can you all hear me?
The sound just dropped.
"Lose and waste no more time, poet.
Lose and waste no more time, she said to me
as I took note after note on the world around me for the poem."
All right.
So this is the resulting poem.
And it's titled "Emily Dickinson Came to Earth
and Then She Left."
"Your sweaty party dress and my sweaty party dress
lasted a few minutes until the tomato was gone.
Someday, they will disambiguate you but not while I'm around.
Our species won, Emily.
We won.
It feels so good to be winning.
The flame of victory, pass it around.
It never goes out.
Dinosaurs ruled Massachusetts.
Dinosaurs fucking and laying eggs in Amherst, Boston, Mount
Holyoke, then you appeared, high priestess,
pulling it out of the goddamn garden with both hands.
You, Emily, remembered the first time comprehending
a struck match can spread a flame.
It feels good to win this fair and square.
Protest my assessment all you want but not needing to dream
is like not needing to see the world awaken to itself.
Indestructible epiphanies consume the path.
And just because you're having fun,
doesn't mean you're not going to die.
Recrimination is the fruit to defy with unexpected appetite.
I will be your outsider if that's how you need me.
Electric company's stupid threatening letters cannot
affect a poet who has faced death."