Wednesday, January 28, 2015

mmcccviii

Don’t Double-Boom

“Yes, I’d love to,” I replied,
one warm October morning,
thinking “He’s just my type.”

Autumn gave it up for a winter
wherein we wore penguins on
our chests.  Mine, slightly hairy

and mostly grey.  Yours, smooth
as a wet whistle.  Back home, we
poured colorful gumdrops into a

tiny Spanish bowl.  “Hola, seƱor-
ita!” he’d smile as he’d say.
“Would you like a gumdrop?”

To which I’d reply, “Always!” –
not knowing any Spanish.
“Forever is a mighty long

time,” we’d both think.  How
alarmed we would have been
to know during those faraway

moments that, even then,
such synchronicity already
existed between the two of us.



Sunday, January 25, 2015

mmcccvii

Hooting Through the Dark

My elbows
like cream
dissolving

in the fog
until I have
no arms.

At home,
the calloused
magnum

lying atop
the refriger-
ator raises

an interest-
ing point.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

mmcccvi

Hearty Hardy

Which one of us thought it a
joke?  Perhaps the both of us.


          All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
                                                               —Oscar Wilde

I might as well throw that in,
like a bad bag of potato chips
or a stack of clean towels lying

still (still lying) (still lying, are
you?) in the bedroom after
last week’s wash...


...seven [lucky] years after
kneeling at his smooch-
besotted gravestone (more
like a monument, actually)....


Where were we anyway?
(Where was I, do I mean?)
Oh.  On Harrison Street.

But none of us were gig-
gling.  Neither of us were
giggling.  But a toothless

smile spread clean across
your beautiful bescpectacled
Face it, Del, you’re a hoax

hidden within a petty
theft.  Within a lie you
don’t even believe to belie,

to be a lie.


P.S.  All winks go to heaven.  

        {Wink! Wink!}


Friday, January 23, 2015

mmcccv

Poodles Are Never Off-Topic

          We left, as we have left all of our lovers
          as all lovers leave all lovers
          much too soon to get the real loving done.
                                                               —Judy Grahn

“Last chance!” I write.  I explain.
But I can do neither.  Instead,
gritting my teeth, spitting out
expletives, through them, I begin
to weep.  “Applause!”  The neon
directive flickers to life a few yards
in front of me – a few moments
before it’s supposed to do so.
Am I really to taunt death this
soon?  “Forever is a long ways
away!”  The audience nervously
signal intermission.  “Gladly, I
think, gauze in hand, ready to
be mummified (or to mummify?).
By the end, everyone relates to the
disembowelment.  “Disembowlment
most relatable and statisfactory,”
the critics either praise or debunk.
I sink into prayer.  It is a soliloquy
most foul.  I had placed myself
intentionally within reach of
this predicament, this per-
spective, for years.  Was I
aiming deliberately for it?
I pray never to wish again.
The set, the entire universe,
disappears into a quick fog.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

mmccciv

1st, you need a
reason for existence.

I wake up one morning,
feel like such an

*ugly human being.  Do I
care?  Of course I do,

trammeled, as it were
(I so hate this part)

I think, pummeled as I
am (I so hate this part),

with every other fist
in every other sea
(the great blue sea)

along with all of the
fishes of this heresy.

*idiot, a miserable failure,
rotten to the very core.

Dare I care?
Of course I do.

(At least I think I do.)

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

mmccciii

A Hundred Frothing Wolves

‘If I should die
before I wake—’

If I were too
awake / If I

were to awaken
Too awake

A dozen times
a dozen times

a dozen hours
of sleep

I do not pray
I do not pray

All day all day
I do not pray

A thousand times
a thousand

times a
thousand

visions
never take

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

mmcccii

Too easy
to figure
out, I am

drawn in
to the mystery
of you.



Monday, January 19, 2015

mmccci

sentiment
hyperbole

hyperbole
sentiment

Sunday, January 18, 2015

mmccc

I rise at dawn and write because it’s
clear, though it’s cloudy
this a.m., the sky approaching
purple, like language in an awful poem,
making me anticipate an awful day
                                             —Tim Dlugos
          
          |  Put graphic of same
          |  quote from The Collected
              Poems of Tim Dlugos above
              this typewritten text.
                                           It is a poem.


Friday, January 16, 2015

mmccxcix

             d’you think people change?
                 —Martin Corless-Smith

Talk about evolution!  TGIF!
                      (:Tickle Giraffes in France!)

Thursday, January 15, 2015

mmccxcviii

Remains of Jonestown bodies found in Del.
                 —news headline found at SFGate.com

I wasn’t aware of
this, but now a
lot of things make
much more sense.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

mmccxcvii

               Without her husband
                      she crossed every week
                              because certain groceries
               were cheaper over there
                                         —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

And also she found
a Safeway gift card
of some value amongst
all of the junk that 
he had left behind.


Tuesday, January 13, 2015

mmccxcvi

now that i am nothing, too.

now that i am just like you,
now that i am nothing, too,
i have one thing left to do.
that’s bid adieu,
adieu to you.


Tuesday, January 06, 2015

mmccxcv

[or, I could use it as the postscript for the previous]

               I fear I am not in my perfect mind
               the sins I’ve sinned before cockcrow
               Did the plot matter?
                                         —Martin Corless-Smith

But there’s the obvious problem
of what makes a sin a sin?  The
video you texted me this mo(u)rn-
ing could be interpreted as such,
I am quite certain.  However,
it made me laugh endlessly
(as I rewound it again and
again throughout the
entire morning).


Saturday, December 20, 2014

mmccxciv

              my vision is a place
              its ever shifting face
              a waterfall she is
               —Martin Corless-Smith


it used to be
that you were
my favorite face

but now that
you’ve left
my retinas

you cease
lessly burn



Thursday, December 18, 2014

mmccxciii

epigraphs for the email poem [or]

               Thy paps lyke lyllies budded, I yearne
               to suck them til my brains doe frye.
                                         —Dodie Bellamy
                                             (from "Cunt Spenser”)


        maybe sandwich it in between these 2 fantastic quotes


               Thy tits are every large cow and they feed me
               sacredly with thoughts of heights be taken.
                                         —Dodie Bellamy
                                             (from “Cunt Shakespeare”)



Tuesday, December 16, 2014

mmccxcii

                         You’re out-

                         side of the

       frame.                              You stole

    my idea.                                 And I

        really                               do  ad-
     
                        mire   you

                        for        it.



Monday, December 15, 2014

mmccxci

 I can’t believe
they put a state
  right   here


Sunday, December 14, 2014

mmccxc

Romantic Painting: Oil on Canvas with Bullethole
                          
                          Hiding tiny ob
                         jects       inside
                         of  a            big
                          hole is     okay
                             but  some
                              times th
                                ey be 
                                come
                                 lost
                                /     \

    

Saturday, December 13, 2014

mmcclxxxix

I keep wanting to say “They eat sheets, these moths!”
But there’s never a clear entrance into that.  

                                                                   She sells
segues at the Non Sequitur.                          (I wish!)

That certainly is a poor excuse for living.  That’s a
lousy lifestyle just waiting to happen.  To which
it is replied:  "Pronounced."  

                                                               Like M-A-N.

Good night, Data Recovery.
Good night, Dada.

And I was thinking, 
                            am I really getting that gray?

(So sad that you’re leaving us, Aunt So-n-So.)


Friday, December 12, 2014

mmcclxxxviii

are you defined?


                                                                                                       —the inbox.  my inbox.

define me?  define yourself.
define unabashedly problematic.
aww, your things!  i’m seeking
tired keeping them in my house!
i go to church, tool!  so much so
that I could just GET OUT OF MY
HOUSE YOU SOMETHING, YOU!
(spoken so by the who who’s
smothering you).  (the who
who’s already smothered
by vandalism.  by infrequent
companionship.  by incantatory
spam.  by general thievery.  &
i have no idea what to do
about that.  do you?  do you?



Wednesday, December 10, 2014

mmcclxxxvii

               Sometimes it takes 3
               Introductions for some-
               One to remember you; 1
               Martini works much better
               Nicki is an androgynous name
                                          —Michael Malinowitz


Sweep
Wash
Scoop
Photo
Hang
Water
Trash
Type
Europe Trip


Tuesday, December 09, 2014

mmcclxxxvi

Sunday I cleaned house
while Otto was at lab –
most of the day.  I

found software that I
apparently need and
ordered a new piece

(hardware) for my
dead laptop.  Also,
I got word of $12,000.

A couple of words.
But I’ll try not to
dwell on that

after bickering.
Do not lean on
the bickering,

either.  It was
unusual and
sudden;

random,
like normal.


Monday, December 08, 2014

mmcclxxxv

Pain, like blue is the
strap of night, the goulash
of darkness...
          —Joseph Ceravolo

Insomnia now.
Each mean word
rings hollow,
echoes in my
head, never
stops ringing,
echoing.

No more
dance dance.
No more all
is well with
the world.
More apoc-
alyptic,

meaning
when will
it end, the
world, this
pain, this
need, this

senseless-
ness. This
senseless
apartment.


Sunday, December 07, 2014

mmcclxxxiv

                    The straw’s
alone, the grave’s alone,
the twitch, the switch,
the bitch’s alone...
          —Joseph Ceravolo

Mixed bag.  Friday night
horrible.  The stranger
who was to fix my lap-
top... no go.  So... I broke
down.  Depressed.
Horrible.

Saturday board meeting.
I walked all the way there.
Then to Hayes Valley for
brunch with Otto at
Absinthe.  He was cute,
trying to cheer me up,

all happy because he
got his income tax refund.


Friday, December 05, 2014

mmcclxxxiii

Speaking of holy water, 
the database is now up to 
seventy percent rebuilt.  
It’s been a few hours.  
Last night, I watched 
the Grammys with Otto.
Til around ten, anyway.
Or did I dream this?  No,
surely not.  I remember.
What a bunch of fogeys,
but oddly entertaining.
Okay, no more talk of
last night, of last night’s
dreams.

This morning I’m feeling
even more fantastic than
yesterday (can I imagine?).
Seemingly over my cold;
ninety-nine percent.  Just
a bit of stuffiness, but Otto
didn’t notice any snoring
(perhaps he was only
dreaming, as well).

[Brief cut to the future,
several years hence:
its redundancy is ob-
literated by his horrify-
ing drowning, gasping 
for two or three nights 
leading to (gasp and gasp-
ing!) failure of heart.]

——
——

I’ve been reading a book.
It’s very interesting.  I
remember when I 
used to read only 
one book at a time.


Thursday, December 04, 2014

mmcclxxxii

Dream of confusion with suitcases.
                               —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

This could half describe the
nightmare I am now living.
Only, the suitcases are this
dream’s sanity.  Plenty of

them, too, as we’re off to
Vancouver, we’re off to
Boston, we’re off to Paris;
we’re off to Italy: Roma,

Firenze, Venezia; we’re
off on a Mexican cruise.
Do I wake up?  Do I
ever get to wake

the fuck up?
Au revoir!


Monday, November 24, 2014

mmcclxxxi

Retroactive Overweight Sonnet

One week from yesterday
I get a paycheck.  I’m
pretty broke; in need of
paying bills down and feel-

ing I can breathe easier.
But that’s pretty normal.
“Do I look as blank as I
feel?” I wonder.  Please

accept this as my letter
of resignation.  Hey, I just
thought of something that
might help you understand

one part of my mind.
If I think I’m dying, I
will still wake up next to
you tomorrow morning.  “Oh,

the future, Dear Future!”  I say
to the big orange bowl in the sky.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

mmcclxxx

chicken mouth vs. onion mouth

his big problem is
he lives in fear of
being embarrassed.

home by around 10.
sick ever since.  my
nose runs.  i am so

boring.  perhaps i
go home?         .....
next day, feeling

much better.  lunch
with erin at gaylord.
i wish i were just

frolicking around
the city aimlessly.
wouldn’t it be fun?

later in the evening,
tasting indian food
from hours ago, i’m

about to trust a com
plete stranger to pick
up & fix my laptop.