Tuesday, September 30, 2014

mmccxlvii

The Embarrassment

he tried to take it
all in stride, the
embarrassment.
he had even lived 
like a country that
could afford too lit-
tle too late.  but the
cinematic sirens. the 
sirens they plunged his 
eyeballs.  into his eye-
balls they plunged. and 
out poured a very large
sea, which all called the
ocean.  and all the while,
eons, the embarrassment
kept trying to get up, but
inside, the embarrassment
was filled with embarrass-
ment, and even more such
pathetic and horrible tor-
ments.  and outside, the
sea, which some call the
ocean.  the ocean of no
feeling.  the ocean of
pleas, or, for some,
the ocean of please.
but to each eye
that sees, to
each eye that
sees, the ocean,
the ocean, the ocean.

Monday, September 29, 2014

mmccxlvi

Purple Tulips

I know
they
aren’t
your
favorite.

But then
again,
neither
was I.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

mmccxlv

is this the only thing?

          “...it’s the year where I keep crying or almost crying,
          I feel like a bad actor laughing at my own joke...”
                                                                           —Stephanie Young

fortunately,
however,
there are
so very
many
comedians.

comedic
as that
might
have
been,
however,

there
isn’t
very
much
fortune.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

mmccxliv

is this the only thing that i do?

i don’t mind
growing up

but what if i
change my

mind?  will
it be like this

forever?
the sun

shone
down

through
all of the

radar ranges
and onto

the bulimic
flagposts.

was this
too much

to absorb,
thought

the dying
heretic.


Friday, September 26, 2014

mmccxliii

homage to the little boy in the
emergency room waiting area

...

...

...

but i write

...

that’s
just what i do

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

mmccxlii

a cento of love
full of augmentation
isn’t what she said or wrote
          it was argumentation

but i am allowed to change
the argument to slap it in its
face before he walks out of the
cento of love forever or never

to be seen again
what’s so important about
the center of love are not the
fireworks nor the varying sounds

of the fireworks on the third or
the fourth of whatever month
of whatever country hospital
your dad isn’t breathing well in

inside of which whatever hospital
isn’t what she said either it’s just
MY center of love she argued as she
wrote the word over and over again

          with much gratitude to stephanie young

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

mmccxli

being a fool
surrounded
by fools i am
silenced by
wisdom

it must be
wise i think

but it’s not me
it’s the mariachi
band through
the broken
window
i woke
up under

i didn’t
wake up
the mari
achi band

must be
the only
act of
generosity
that i can
notice

were it
a wise
band
surely
i would

surely
i would
never
have
crept
away
from
that
dream

Monday, September 22, 2014

mmccxl

Did you want me to ingest this?

“Stop talking about porn,”
I entreat, “& start talking
about yr cigarette.  !”  Or
that’s what I said I said,

and I didn’t just get this
from the voice.  “It’s just
my viscous eye,” he texts,
right back at me, always

pretty good like that.
Along with “Just look up
the word zodiac.”  You
know, as if that would

figure everything out.
And that’s me, here,
like usual, just trying
to do that one little

thing, just trying to
figure everything
out, right?  Like why
she’s flying through

the air across Market
Street.  “It’s not the
voice, you idiot!” says
the voice.  “It’s one of

those unfair treats that
come to get served on 
happiest occasions.”
A treat. Come along.

Just for me.  And
just for you.  We
both breathe to-
gether at that one.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

mmccxxxix

the harder i think about it,
privacy is, well, you tell me,
i’d love to hear, cuz i only ever
think of the one reason.  sure,
we’ve each and all got some-
thing of a duplicitous nature. 
i blame culture (inasmuch
as, you know), and go look-
ing for the interesting stuff,
how a person or a people
got to this point.  or why. 
it often starts to be logical.
but pretty?  well, i guess
we all want to be pretty.
i know i do.  so why do i
wake up every morning,

get myself looking some-
thing like myself, and
walk out actually con-
centrating on being
whoever woke up,
same ol’ me, just
showered & cost-
umed up.  i sure
look pretty (or
pretty sad), and,
as far as I can tell 
(or attempt to tell), 
i still look pretty
much like myself.  
i'm gemini, so I 
never dwell too long
on one moment, which
is always different from
the next.  me.  not me.

probably about as fast
as I can get the word me
out of my mouth (not the
best place for me, by the
way), the consistency in the
inconsistence, it’s fun,
as I often persist to insist,
while feeling like else
but loving like me,
which is always pretty—
and surely, more often
than not, pretty much
looks and feels like me—
for which i’m glad, i ask my
self most nights, right to sleep.

Friday, September 19, 2014

mmccxxxviii

I distrust Halloween, as if people weren’t costumed already
                                                             —Anselm Berrigan

The privacy
of the stupid
is all fine and
dandy in terms
of, you know,
evolution.  Ex-
cept, you know,
stupid people
are simply not
private.       So,
I think tonight,
that rather than
go as Divine,
I’ll just don
my lucky Dick
Nixon face.

Cuz, you know.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

mmccxxxvii

To be is to have been and intending to be.           
                                            —Etel Adnan

u’ve been in here
4ever, haven’t u,
Olive?   Zero?  O?

since the day
the jacks jumped
out of their boxes

thru anydays
when i wd
accident, tell u

what’s in the
bOX (u weren’t
supposed to no).

yes those kinds
of everydays.
esp. the 1’s where

we’re dressed
to the 9’s.  like
u always r.

and why shouldn’t
u b, my Olive,
my Zero?  drawing

ever nearer, of
course; ever clearer
...?  but where,

dear Zero? not
nowhere.  but
where o where

o where o where?
...why surely there.
so closest to here.

as among us as
Italy’s perfectest
pigeons, our

dappled most
dapperest hero, our
dearest-dearest Zero.


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

mmccxxxvi

I have a sincere desire to change
                              —Stephanie Young


Three-wheeled baby.
Man, this is gonna
burn.  Man, this is
gonna be good.  The

heater kicks in.  The
heater kicks out. 
200 mints and the
world keeps starving;
keeps on keepin’ on.

Tick to the tock. 
Tooth to the shark.


                                Understand,
there’s a miniature boot on a keychain
pointed at my head.
Just keep walking.
                                  —Stephanie Young



Tuesday, September 16, 2014

mmccxxxv

what was he
    a hyena hitherto?

but for the sound
of the will o’ the wisp
blowin’ against a
dead mad wind,

and our footsteps
tramplin’ the
midnight leaves
of the deepdark forest

   ...ah, there he was,
an elfin heaven!


Saturday, September 13, 2014

mmccxxxiv

As far as I can tell,
the only book I
ever stole was
from the Boston
Public Library
(stamped due
May 04 1998).
It was Your
Native Land,
Your Life by
Adrienne Rich.

Friday, September 12, 2014

mmccxxxiii

Coco
is
throw-
ing up.

You’re
gone.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

mmccxxxii

California woman dies with kitten in lap
                                      SFGate.com headline

17 locals who should be in wax museum
                                      SFGate.com headline


Wednesday, September 10, 2014

mmccxxxi

give me
1 moment
in time &
i’ll give u
a couple
dozen.

Monday, September 08, 2014

mmccxxx

20th century
pop chart

+

shaggy of
scooby
_______________


so long
casey kasem

Sunday, September 07, 2014

mmccxxix

whilst

this stretch
just breath
and sigh
wondering
how long
before
no longer
just while
or whiling.


Saturday, September 06, 2014

mmccxxviii

this stretch is
just breathing
and sighing.  i
keep wonder
ing how long
before the
next big
push.

this stretch
just breath
and sigh
wondering
how long
before the
next big
promise.

while
away
time
whilst
eating.

Friday, September 05, 2014

mmccxxvii

my lap
top wd
not boot
up this
morning.
setting up
review mtgs
having just
arrived from
gym.  ordered...
does this say
here ordered
courtesy? i
read boring
this last few
years but
particularly?
is it just me
or is my
scribble
particularly?
back to my
laptop is
top of my
to do
since
i have
a dot
com
on
Mon
day.

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

mmccxxvi

“Sorry, I’m word this morning.”

Word from Everyman.  Word.

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

mmccxxv

sad songs.
loud and sad.
to wake u up.
not just on
Monday.  not
only on the
weekend.
this is called
why in the
hell do u
wanna
crank out
an over
wrought
round of
sad super
sad sad
songs
     every
   single
morning?

Monday, September 01, 2014

mmccxxiv

Friday morning,
my blue iFood
(thanks, Otto)
sits steaming
next to a red
notebook re
charging

Sunday, August 31, 2014

mmccxxiii

40 minutes on treadmill

1.5 mile run at 6.5 mph

uphill to the 35 minute mark

make Hamburger Helper
(1st time in 35 yrs?)

exercise: 40 minutes on treadmill

1.3 mile run, uphill, total 3 miles

then riding bike easily for 20 minutes


Saturday, August 30, 2014

mmccxxii

optical illusion

can’t fit into the
story anymore

but yet it’s
impossible

to display on
a single page. 

with what...
complexity...

this day-to-day.

Friday, August 29, 2014

mmccxxi

small town with a huge marquee.
water and sewer superintendent
of the 20th century.  star football
player enters dramatic theatrical
foray: plays lead male in senior play
opposite gramma.  whom he barely
knew.  except with whom he had
(for a variety of unrelated reasons,
reportedly) often found himself red-
faced in argument.  dapper red-face
often contorted into a look of utter
bewilderment.  could skew more at
stupefaction.  for numerous reasons.
but who, gramma, in the play, would
say something (more strict from the
script but, pointing finger, to the tune
of) ‘i’m gonna keep my eyes on you, mister,
even if i have to stare at your face from
across our kitchen table every breakfast-
dinner-supper every gosh-durn day for the
rest of my life.’ seventy or so years later
she meant those words script-free,
all inside her body and especially
way down into her heart, no longer
just in character in some small-town
production.  even  though her 1940s
were now tucked neatly into a dime-
store novel that could only be reached
by beckoning the airwaves.  even he’d
been gona already for a decade.  of
that grand story and its long run
on east main street, sixty years of
no small-town marriage, she’d be
happy to remind anyone who cared
until she repaired her crooked joints
down into the sunken bed beside him.


Wednesday, August 27, 2014

mmccxx

Yes I’m a maniac when I’m touching the earth.
            —Hardwell (from Call Me A Spaceman)

extra shrimp dumplings. 
a little joke, but true.  we
were truly schnookered.
[return carriage]

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

mmccxix

If it were the hour of the bird
you’d open and know
the eternal moment
                        —Orides Fontela
                          (translated by Chris Daniels)


...hoodwinked into eating
at a big red restaurant
full of white people
and waiters & waitresses
who insisted we order
way more than we wanted...

...extra spring rolls (free)
for the tableful of nuns...

...he stops [as always]
to examine the dead
pigeon; reckons it
could be what’s left
of the howling from
the night before...


But what use is the bird?
                        —Orides Fontela
                          (translated by Chris Daniels)

Sunday, August 24, 2014

mmccxviii

Birds
return
always and
always.
                        —Orides Fontela
                            (translated by Chris Daniels)


Loyal as the day is long,
he found his way home
wearing nothing but a
pair of Twister® flip-flops.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

mmccxvii

bring me your youth in a jar
                         —Kevin Killian

If I were to relate this to myself,
as I sit here next to a bright red
package of 20 hypoallergenic
Wet Ones.

Words...evoke inarticulate things.
                   —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

I’m sort of putting words in her
mouth.  Just by leaving a few out.
So to speak.  Or maybe not.

It learned to hide from the hungry ones.
                                    —Shel Silverstein

Which is more to the point.
So bring me your mouth, youth! 
Bring me all of your words in a jar.