The Iowa Source

My Blog

Description of my blog


Untagged  1 Mar 2017
rustin
Homeless Man Living in an Abandoned Library by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

The books are all mine now.  It's too bad about the electricity, because it gets dark in here at night.  There's no climate control, so it can be pretty brisk in winter.  The books have fared well.  The rodents have done minimal damage, but strangely have chewed through the collection of Emerson which was kept on the bottom shelf of that section for some reason.  There are thousands of volumes in

Untagged  1 Feb 2017
rustin
The Philosopher Savant Meditates by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

Your mind goes on around you,

practicing piano in the apartment below

or standing in the cathedral of time,

meditating its stained-glass window,

its mandala of red and blue,

frankincense twisting to deletion.

Wind gushes against the blinds.

You listen not for completion

nor what’s forward, nor behind.


Untagged  2 Jan 2017
rustin
Roach Motel by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

 

I must do this to survive, Cardinal.

No breathing allowed, Mr. Bee.

I tripped on the stairs made of you, Maple.


Es muy Piso Mojado, Mr. Snail.

I will take my sleepwalk, Cloud.

The world is the mirror

and the world is purified.


Throw your hands in the air

and run. We'll be eatin'

what's on the shelf, Anne.


The puppy wants to jump

into the redwoods. The lamp

holds up the wine of

Untagged  26 Dec 2016
rustin
Revision for New Year's Eve by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

My Father Didn’t Dance With Sylvia Plath

BY RUSTIN LARSON

New Year’s Eve, curled in the swiveling chair
in my parent’s TV room, “Garfield’s 9 Lives” cracking up
Katie, my five-year-old, and Ariel in my hands
as my father stalks from the left and growls

within his cavern of flu “are you reading
one of your competitors?” the proposition so weird
I spill cola on page 41, “The Moon and the Yew

Untagged  1 Dec 2016
rustin
Schloop: a novel. Chapter 2: Pizza buffet by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

In first grade my hands would sweat pools of liquid onto the fake blond woodgrain of my desk. Math classes made me tense. They warped my spine and made my neck hurt. Lift up the curtain of stars and show me the King's magic exit. They served chili in styrofoam cups and offered tiny half-pint bottles of milk. We ate on mess hall tables that folded up and were wheeled away through the gymnasium

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