Monday, November 30, 2015


I anachronism writing as if I believe I recall something
                                                                            —Susan Gevirtz

Unable.  Unnamable.  It
was like that.  I recognize
the face of he who does
not sound like a decent

person.  It is not simply
that we frolic.  I have
just come to know
better than to different-

iate so cleanly, better
than to leave first and
second (and third)
impressions anything

but malleable, just a
thing to work with.
The have of a wonder-
ful time predates the

sausage.  It predates
the elements within,
which reach back
as far as the elements

without.  I grew up
half a block away
from the element-
ary school with no

kindergarten, no
radon on its singular
periodic table. And
despite our bouts

with rabies from the
occasional rusty nail,
oxidization did not
exist in those days;

and American flags
weren’t the only
things fondly wav-
ing each other down.

Sunday, November 29, 2015


Nearer Dying

It’s Easter.
All colored
with eggs.
A chorus of
empty carts
are piled
near the
Er. The
The garbage
is us.  Acco-
lades of
rotten eggs,
our breakfast,
to see us up
and out this
No stone gets
unturned, we’re
thinking, as we
rise to the occasion.
Or get raised for it.

Friday, November 27, 2015



At Target, I need to pee.
Important things keep
vanishing like cowards.

The waitress spends
part of an afternoon
looking for a therapist.

Coming down for air,
pronouncing it with-
out any teeth, on our

last legs, we each
blink loudly, un-
like memory, which,

still has its original
two legs and knows

how to use them,
bites like a granny
apple, and shows up

like irreverence.
Someone crawling
around with a

loudspeaker has
the nerve to use
it.  True or false,

this experience
makes the current
Target, its location,

irrelevant?  No one
is here. It’s sum-
mertime in San Fran-

cisco: go now (not-so-)
young man and fall fool-
ish and stupid in love!

Thursday, November 26, 2015


Nothing goes well this week,
and for good reason, I think.

The sun’s mostly down. The
‘underwear party’ is at 550

Barneveld.  The waitress at
Lori’s who keeps repeating

‘bananana’ is still working
at Lori’s.  We still call every-

thing bananana at Lori’s.
We still used to call out

for banananas.  I’d give
anything for one about

now.  Feel free to take
that any way you want

to take it.  I think too
much and hope for

nothing more than
a hello.  My target:

to be beautiful.  At
Target, I am beautiful,

but I really need to pee.
Things vanish, like memories,

thud, just like that.  I spent
too much on the best part

of an afternoon, which
lasts for most of winter

and pretty much all of
spring.  Summer love....

Tuesday, November 24, 2015


     A way of remembering thinking
     A way of remembering is thinking
                                                  —Susan Gevirtz

I urge us all to drink and dance,
or at least dither.  No one will
listen to me anyway, they’re
not having any of this.  Which
makes it all mine.  Mine and
mine alone?  One or the other,
the hunger has subsided.  Cof-
fee’s good for that.  In fact, stop-
ping here at the Language Pool
first was an overall excellent
idea (where else base my
existence, my overarching
priority lists, my goals, and
the day-to-day?)!  I could
easily turn another page.
Such redundancy really
does keep me revved.
However, time always
finds me here anyway.
[Shh!  I’m on the lam,
you see.]  Oh, hello,
I almost forgot you
were here.  What good
soul does to minimize
boring can be a lot like
needling a haystack.
I point several direction
at once.  The crazies call
me rude.  And they’d
know.  For that I’m
truly sorry.  Go that-
away, I say, pointing
everywhere all at once:
feeling duped; they hay-
stack; the pleasantries;
the seagulls.