Dear Andrew,

I'm sorry I missed you. If you read my blog, you'll see this. That wasn't I on FACEBOOK. Twas my hubby. He was kindly tending my farm animals on FACEBOOK. If that's not a transparent confession as to relationship dynamics, I don't know what the fuck is. Because all my farm animals would be dead by now and my farm would just be this barren stretch of ground with the whistling wind going through the empty silo, the corn crib, and such. If it were under my care, I mean. Remember the funny Bernadette Mayer poem about wanting to be a farmer, but knowing it will never happen. It's in the purple book with the butterfly on the cover. Looking all feminine and cunnus-like. Bernadette grieving that she'll never be a farmer. Well, if Lee didn't tend mine it would be a sorry pic. Broken out windows in the farmhouse. Little crack vials under the chickens' feet. I don't do crack but you get the picture. Dereliction. So he keeps my FB farm alive, which I think is only fair as he hoodwinked me into creating the damn thing lol. He was nice enough to tell me though that you had messaged me there. And for some reason I don't feel like signing into FACEBOOK right now. Usually when I do it's like a Vaselined hummingbird whizzing through Venus's atmosphere. It's like three seconds or less. APPROVE. READ. SMILE. GOODBYE. I enjoyed chatting with you before very much and nobody chat messages me there because everybody knows I'm crazy and probably many think I'm stalkerish too, but that was only when I was drinking. And you had to pet me first. If you petted me I might have stalked you. Now I don't stalk when people pet. In fact, I find petting condescending. Don't pet me. But you can talk to me. But is talking any fun without petting? I don't know. That's what the Younger American Poets do all day long. On FACEBOOK and everywhere else. Poets petting each other all day long. I am not a Younger American Poet. So it would be wrong for me to spend my time petting, don't you think? A Younger American Poet wakes up and goes to the computer and either emails or IMs another Younger American Poet. The email or IM says "Feel like petting?" Usually, the other Younger American Poet answers, "Sure. Why not?" And then they have a pet session. They pet like wild animals with a gentled streak. There's nothing wrong with that, of course. Younger American Poets are often cute and they should pet now as much as they can, because later they may find petting difficult. They will later be hemmed in by a maze of conceptualisms they didn't even realize they were deploying as they thought they were merely petting and having fun. But ideas were snapping together and into place like LEGOs below the surface drama. They thought they were dancing but they were probably blocking later war moves. Friendship was merely an aroma. Friendship the Aroma? Or friendship the Armada. Which do you prefer? I prefer the Aroma. We aren't really that far from the primate behaviours. I see a lot of grooming on FACEBOOK. Have I groomed another primate online? Oh, once or twice I suppose. You don't realize you're doing it. You're talking to someone and suddenly you realize with a little horror that you are braiding the hair on their back as you search for small lice or parasites to pluck out from their matted fur and crack between your sharp, sharp primate teeth. But I see the art and the artist as separate (which is Verboten in American art culture) so I treat them separately. You can get into a lot of trouble for doing that. You are not your art. I think that should be on a bumpersticker. But it makes people's blood pressure go up. It seems problematic. What was I talking about anyway? Oh, petting. Maybe it's good to keep just a little petting. Don't you think? Heavy petting is definitely out though. I pet back. I am a reciprocal petter. In French, pet is fart. I don't know why I just said that. Why do people say anything? Because they are like birds in a music box. They have to. Some of the birds should just fly out of the damn music box, because it's clearly making them crazy. I am happy in the music box, I think. I think I will grow happier inside the music box with time. If you close the lid I will stop playing.