mmmmdcclxv

I shall not fall

at the feet of a foot-
long sandwich, even
as hungry as I now
am. Even as I have

picked specifically
each pre-flavored
meat and slightly
overaged hip con

diment. I have
asked for the 

softest, whitest 

roll within which 

this cluster of flavor 

shall soon be smashed.
I shall have patience, 

for I see now the 

order I built with
my very own choice
words from the mind-
numbing, stomach-

churning profusion
of options and watched
a person wrapped in
cellophane stack

each item exactly in
the order that I had
uttered, each one

mouthed signified

each of the items

in the order they

were given to the

bread that, com

bined together are

now being profession

ally spatula’d from 

an oven that has 

heated this work

of art into a warm,

slightly crusty and

tanned exterior.

and this tailor-

made delicacy 

will be a thou

sand times

more satisfying,

more nourishing
and delicious, in
essence it will

be superior in
every way, to
this tall, thin
layer-cake

that I have,
for patience’s
sake, for the
sake of hunger,

concocted
while waiting
for the pure
poetry that

is this scrump
tious sandwich
I shall now sink
my teeth into.

mmmmdcclxiv

2 things 2 easy

Are you too hard on
yourself?  I find that,

generally, people are.
Nobody else exists,

you know?  No one
but you.  Once you

figure this out, I
could say the same

about myself.  But 

until then I offer you

a small and loving

pair of ideas that are

not only simple and

a piece of cake to

remember, but have 

often assisted me on

occasions such as the

one into which we both

have no doubt inadvert

ently stumbled.  They are: 

avoid permanence and 

steer clear of perfection.

I know I’m not really
here. But could you

kindly let me know
if these words help?

And of course they will!
Now try not to forget we

never met.  And do stay 

tuned for more hot takes.

mmmmdcclxiii

Needless to say, we attempt to finish

an entire day. Sitting on our
bed, each in our pajamas, no

a thing happens. Okay, obviously.

mmmmdcclxii

Today I am

And I actually believe
he is telling the truth.
Which is the root of
all cavity (I’m at the

dentist at the moment).
In my mind, I’m at my
dentist’s office sipping
nitrous.  Pardon the inter

lude.  I’m hungry, my nose
is dripping, and I’m waiting
for the exterminator.  Skept
icism is an ally.  Do not, like I

do, believe anything I say. Would
you please pose for me all sexy-like?

Bottom-Heavy w/o a BBL.

mmmmdcclxi

He calls me over my soldiers

and forces the Bay Bridge into my mouth and
down my throat. I remember how happy I was
the last time, my jaw nearly torn in two, that feel
ing that I’d so helped my countrymen out of their

beds and onto the battlefield. There’s no melodic
metaphor that could bring us an ounce of justice.
He tried suggesting we fit together better than must

ard and ketchup, but I hate ketchup, suggested am
munition and gunpowder instead. No complicit
benzo bar could ever put me more at east than the
knowledge that our bold actions, laden with high-

minded intent—that the fruits of this war will provide
confidence and nourishment to our kind for generations.

mmmmdcclx

I’ve created

for myself a fiction to slip into every
once in a while.  And I don’t have to 

tell you how that can be a bit problem

atic.  But I’m an optimist, and rather than 

focus on the negative, I’d like to, for a 

moment, celebrate my fictional space.

Except, how many jobs might I have in
quired about in the time it took to slip
back into my routine here?  Shouldn’t I

go deposit this check?  Plan my wedding?
Take that trip outside of the city, something

I’ve been wanting to do for years, yet haven’t

done in too long, embarrassingly, like driving 

up or down Highway One, should it still be in
place by the time I get to it? There are

neighborhoods in my beautiful city that
I haven’t walked in longer than it has been

since I have driven outside of it. Understand

ably.  But all of the reasons that I might come 

up with that have prevented me from doing
so don’t outweigh the benefits of just getting

up, getting myself out the door, and doing it....
These thoughts aren’t going as planned.  May
be I need a new therapist.  Or maybe I just need

to retreat further into myself and this fictional
world into which I can collapse so neatly.  I’m
just kidding, of course?  Just trying to be funny,

I’m good for that, right?  A little bit of humor never
hurt anyone.  Except.  Name a bully who doesn’t
consider themself a comedian.  Surely you can.

mmmmdcclix

Evrybodywantasugadaddy

Unless you already have one, of course,
or are one, which, in either case, poor
dears, lucky sots, etc. What a dream,
it must be nice. Naivete saved my day,

that’s all I have to say on that subject.
No, actually, I’ve got plenty more to say,
but I’ll not go that long. First, I’ve had the
misfortune of living on a shoestring for

about a decade now while at the same
time having kids come at me calling me
Daddy constantly. And for those uninitiated,
let me just say I do mean constantly. Or you’d

probably be surprised? I learn to live with it.
But worst is the disappointment when each
and every one of these guys learns, as inevitably
they will, that I barely have a dollar to my name.

And what’s the shame in that, you might be a bit
dimwitted to ask. Well, nothing really, except that
you get to be the lucky guy who gets to teach those
from whom you’ve the gumption and the inclination to

garner a modicum of attention some real world
lessons. And trust me, you don’t want to be the one
doing that. And if you do, please send me yr deets
post haste so that I can forward these folks onto you.

mmmmdcclviii

Snow-Covered Boston Today.

The snow also ate New York. I
have not written for several
seasons. Here is a head filled
with bottles of Pine Sol. Re

member when such things
came in glass receptacles?
Please note that this is just a
reminder of how I learned I had

Covid for the first time. Other
scourges were soon to follow.
And memories of heads filled
with bottles of Perrier, instead.

Here is a glass of New York. Strum
your guitar because you like cake.

Frozen Chocolate (no candles)

mmmmdcclvii

Marriage. The presumption

that you can be bothered, that
you’ll laugh most of the times
I laugh. Yesterday’s mad dash
becomes next year’s potato

sack race toward another
broken record. Steaming
at the fact that he wore
that damned suede

jacket again. In reverse,
of course. Afterwards,
to the sauce. The
sauce that pickles

the liver; the sauce
that mummifies.

mmmmdcclvi

I caught the glass

flag of scripture as it floated
between the two buildings,
yours and mine. Mine, sleek
and slim at 182 stories and

yours, ornate and Gehry-like,
at 190 stories, looking like a
new animal every day. We had
had just walked to our offices

and gone to our respective
floors. I saw the fragile ob
ject floating flaglike through
the tiny window I have at my

cubicle, through which I can
see into my boss’ office, which
comes in handy when I catch
him asleep before his 5:45pm

appointment. As an added
bonus, I also caught your eyes
staring out of your 180th floor
office as you followed that

glimmering glass flag while it
floated between us and then
out over the boiling bay before
exploding into a swarm of color.

We immediately called each
other on our office phones
to ask what holiday the day
might possibly be. Neither of

us had been able to read any
of the text that seemed at first
to be of our very own language,
yet upon scrutiny was decipher

able to neither of us. We were
so caught off guard, giddily
unaware of what was being
celebrated or advertised.

mmmmdcclv

It was cold war

last night.  Today, it’s a
nightmare of humidity.
Defenseless pigeons
swing around the

prison bars outside
shop windows in the not-
so-fancy parts of the city.
Earth to Pants, come in

Pants! whose genitals are
nearly frozen.  Humans,
defenseless to weather’s
extremes, freeze and then

melt on the slick sidewalks,
are buttered, over-easy.

mmmmdccliv

Things go downhill.

Indeed, its circumference
was staggering. Debates
about the health benefits
of walking upstairs versus

those of walking down the
same set of stairs. We were
watching the couple’s hands
for nearly two blocks. One

playful hand from each person
connected the two in ways we
imagined electric, universal
(as in the couple became a

universe unto itself). Then,
as was our custom, we each
took a seat upon one of the
benches facing the fountain

and concentrated.

mmmmdccliii

Even the sterile campus

bleeds its dawn.
Smoke bells.

It’s impossible to
describe how

pleased I was
with the new

apartment.
We live for now;

past tense is
but forgery.

mmmmdcclii

Perhaps I should walk

back to my shoes. I was
getting ahead of myself.

Then we walked up the
steps to the Fillmore

glitches. Smoke bells.
Ten words to jumpstart

elocution. At the top
of the hill, I opened

my mail. There was a
small book in a manila

envelope. I read the
first four pages aloud 

to him and then we leaned 

back into the grass and 

watched the clouds pass 

over us for several hours.

mmmmdccli

I don’t want to turn

the page because the clouds
will be gone, my nose pressed
against the airplane window.

mmmmdccl

Also, we got a new coffee table

after three years. I removed
all of the spices from the
cheap rack and placed them
each into the tall white cabinet

in our kitchen. The one I found
in a trash bin somewhere and
you repainted bone white. When
I first moved to East Coast, I lived

in the attic of a lady’s home in
Jamaica Plain. She ran a nursery
(children, not plants) in house. And
on certain nights of the week, she

would go trash picking in nicer neigh
borhoods and would sell her loot in
the fashion of, say, Fred Sanford. For
the first time in nearly a decade, I now

live in an apartment of my own that is
charming, is airy, and seems grateful to
have me. Or is gracious, as apartments
go. I was happily walking my new neighbor

hood a few days after moving in, or, well,
it took me a month to move completely in,
but I was sleeping here as soon as I could...
anyway, walking around in a state of free

dom I found a short two-tiered shelf, with
simple black metallic legs and supports
for two square wooden planks, like new,
that now stands next to my bathtub, in my

very own bathroom; these are two typical
household features I lived without for
eight or nine years previous to moving
here. I wash my dishes in a bathtub

for the first time in my life, now, but at
least I have one that is mine. As well as
a cute table upon which my motley
assortment of dishes, pots, pans,

glassware, and silverware can now
sit, either waiting to be washed (on 

the bottom shelf) or drying (on the 

top shelf over a thirsty placemat).

mmmmdccxlix

kitchens

we told
every
one

in the
kitchen
that

we
didn’t
want

any
more
kittens.

mmmmdccxlviii

Kerplunk!

The sound of the
martini. Whoosh!
The sound of a blis
ter on the bottom

of your foot. My
martini! Brrrr! The
sound of Mars or a
Martian on Jupiter.

Ptooey! A marble
flipped by a thumb.
Bzzz! The sound of
the ATM machine

when it runs out
of money.

mmmmdccxlvii

Why I Do My Boo

ime ee to the moon
and let me lem-
on ung the stars
et me pee on
places they call 
jupiter or mars....
in other words
i write songs
in other words
darling piss me
        ! ! !

mmmmdccxlvi

From Me To You

Miles or kilometers? Or
kilometres? You’re
taller than me no matter
what number you round

off to—in centimeters,
of course. I keep my
weather app in Celsius
just to try to begin to

understand you better,
but each time I press
the little storm cloud
on my phone, wondering

what to wear, I get con
fused and switch it back.

mmmmdccxlv

Other Tenors

For reasons I’ll not disclose at
the moment, I’m seeking other 

tenors.  I’m not too heady about

it, I don’t expect a party or a

fabulous chorale with sym
phonic accompaniment or
anything. Mostly, I’m just
looking for some company,

a bit of harmony in the echo
chamber, let’s say. I’d no
idea I was saying these
things aloud, had comp

letely forgotten it was my
pivotal soliloquy, until
someone yelled “Preach!”
and everyone in the grand

theatre was on their feet with
a roar of resounding applause.

mmmmdccxliv

From Da 8 Ball

All signs do not point to
yes. None of the signs
are pointing to yes.
Why won’t it just say

no fucking way,
this dumb-ass
magic ball?

mmmmdccxliii

You’ve Got This!

My first inclination is to doubt,
to question, pretty strong dis
belief, Really? I don’t think so. Is
the problem here that my guiding

principle is generally logic? I
mean, historically, scientifically,
if we were to go that route, my
experience over the past several

years is astoundingly stunted.
Even I know reality is more com
plex than how I’ve just put it. I
can’t quit the power of positive

thinking. I just cannot. So I’m 

torn, as usual. I’ve been through
this too many times to bother even
explaining. I’ll either make it or I

won’t. I know this. But I have to
believe this one thing much more
than I need to know anything, and
armed with that I must find within

me the fire that I know is there, blow
it up to maximum capacity, and with
my all, package that energy into an
unwavering focus, climb like mad to

where I must go. And by all means en

joy the climb—feel the burn, as they 

say—and once I’m there, well, it only
gets better. Because I’ve got this. Right?

This Ain’t a Pep Rally!

mmmmdccxlii

Faded Quilt

 
Birds killing each other.
Watching through the
window of this skunked-
up room. Suddenly, boom!

I’m the only one in the pool.
I’ve got it all under control.
“It’s a gas, you twit!” 5am.
Empathy for the enemy. Birch

es and beeches. A massage
therapist is teaching a barista 

how to wallpaper. Pattern-free 

brown. There’s a man splashing

belly-deep at the shallow end, 

a dead bird floating at his neck.

mmmmdccxli

A reminder of the 80s

(as told by the 90s). Goodbye
childhood, so to speak. I do
a little wave, a very short one,
but in the manner of a pageant

queen, as I hop into the trolley
to read while moving uphill for a
bit. This would generally be a good
way to miss my stop, but I’ve been

reading this extra large novel for so
long I know how many pages to the
fraction that I can read between taking
a seat (when there’s actually one available)

and when the trolley arrives at the top of Nob
Hill, which is two blocks downhill from home.

mmmmdccxl

The apartment is gone, like the rest of the day;

a Vitamin Water left in the sink. I’m misreading
my own scribbles again. I believe I wrote done
rather than gone, as in, perhaps, finally clean.
Gone would come later. The bottle is smack dab

in the middle of the sink. I cannot regurgitate the
image. Did I once drink Vitamin Water regularly?
Is that a Southern thing? the Marvel asks about
the phrase smack dab in the middle of. I suppose,

I reply, always turned upside down a bit by the in
appropriate words. Southern for where I’m from, as
told by the man who lives below the Equator, hence
in the Southern Hemisphere. A quick calculation of 

how many miles there are from Peru to Arkansas 

shows me 3,256. Most all directly northward.

mmmmdccxxxix

Last night I drank pixie piss

at Doctor Bombay’s.  A guy with whom I 

had recently gone out once on a lame date 

was behind the bar.  I’m not certain it was he 

who served my drink, but now of course I’m 

wondering if I made some sort of enemy on 

that fated evening.  Oh, please don’t let that 

evening be fated.  I do remember it as if it

were yesterday, that date. It’s still a dull 

echo in my ears.  Or behind them.  It was 

so irreducibly boring and not the least bit
assertive.  He wasn’t.  I wasn’t.  After I saw 

a UFO, I kept building and then rebuilding 

this stack of wooden sentences until all that’s 

left is nothing but a bunch of smoke and mirrors.

mmmmdccxxxviii

A New Bullet In

What’s the word?
                          Oh...war?

His hairline,
always creeping into the
headlines.

It’s cool in here, though.
                                     Nice!

His top story tonight,
as always, was the
furthest from his

blurb? his header? his typeface?

                  his clickbait.  his click-rate.  his broken links.

His murderer was afoot.
Neither of ’em knew
what hit ’em.

The Noose

mmmmdccxxxvii

We are all reincarnated

inappropriately. Union Square
this morning is nothing to write
home about until the Sudafed
kicks in. Living socially versus

snakes in the grass, passing out
next to each other due to anxiety.
How to reconcile missing the
screamers who would awaken

me somewhere near the middle
of most nights. When I’d
sometimes be sleeping. The
secrets they’d scream. To

be so prone to spill every bean,
to let the cat out of the bag
so that the world could go
back to sleep. Relieved, an

appropriate citizen makes her
way back into the catless bag,
her home for the long summer.

mmmmdccxxxvi

Whir Pull Mint Hue

Take me on a journey
into sleep. Mister Sand
man [vibrato on strong]
please turn on your magic

gleam, he sings sweetly,

just slightly off-key. But 

he can’t possibly see me;
there’s nobody here. & 

who’d care that I can’t 

sleep? What if I wanted 

out? When he rings, how

does he know he’s calling?

His method for squeezing
the sap out of insomnia,
my nine o’clock romantic
who puts up with such a

chubby sourpuss? He who

knows to ask Why cup

cakes? You can have an

entire cake! He peacefully

seduces. Reduces me
to a pitiful heap coming
at me with dream-seed
lings. They’re downed w/

an aperitif, a wished-for
liqueur, and a hackneyed
tune (a warm tomb), ’til I
am blanketed with sleep.

mmmmdccxxxv

Weak paycheck

in the recycle bin.  When
I licked his bonus from the
28th floor the entire build
ing shook.  Me me me.  I’m

30.  These are just bits of the
$500.  I sit here on my bed in
my kitchen-cum-living room
getting hefty, reflecting.  I add

Windex to my grocery list.  I’m
not funny but I play one on tee
vee (these dollars already baked).
I like lists.  I used to check items off,

but now I just organize them alpha
betically and employ some as decor.