What they said was clearly spinach.
I think you’ve made your point already.
This machine’s working better than the other.
Coffee, Tea & Spice — such a pleasant nook
replete with algae’d aquarium.
Good to be alive alongside
this old book of essays
essential in order to
get up out of bed.
Regatta this and regatta that.
Wiping the sweat off his face with the bay windows.
over two decades in the making. a timeshifting autobiographical poetry collage w/photography. a diaristic, nearly "daily writing" (ad)venture. new pieces are posted most days.. **new and in progress** -- recordings of each poem are being added. these are read by the author & posted to each poem's page. --Del Ray Cross (contact delraycross at gmail)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
dcxlvii
The word is my oyster
over and over and over again.
Like that. His pose
in the photograph
always and always.
Now he’s at a funeral
and I’m reading about sex.
Tufted words. Ashy words.
Markets crumble and
cellphones arc and flounce
from hallway to hallway.
Obviously our word
has changed, been rocked
by yesterday’s horrific events.
Nostalgia. A gaping hole.
Train tickets in November.
Woody Allen’s Manhattan.
Tonight with candles.
Tomorrow in the shower
as we wash away the words,
chary and oblique.
over and over and over again.
Like that. His pose
in the photograph
always and always.
Now he’s at a funeral
and I’m reading about sex.
Tufted words. Ashy words.
Markets crumble and
cellphones arc and flounce
from hallway to hallway.
Obviously our word
has changed, been rocked
by yesterday’s horrific events.
Nostalgia. A gaping hole.
Train tickets in November.
Woody Allen’s Manhattan.
Tonight with candles.
Tomorrow in the shower
as we wash away the words,
chary and oblique.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
dcxlvi
Sex isn’t enough.
Thus spake Albert Goldbarth.
Where’s the context you might ask
(or not)
oh You-niversal You....
Here’s the context:
Life is okay this weekend of brain all over.
I finally let her know my situation
and asked if she’d given birth yet.
We played around with vices
thrusting online and off
our bedside hampers and vacuum cleaners
into a world full of white bleeding hearts
cornflowers
and dusted-up roses.
Thus spake Albert Goldbarth.
Where’s the context you might ask
(or not)
oh You-niversal You....
Here’s the context:
Life is okay this weekend of brain all over.
I finally let her know my situation
and asked if she’d given birth yet.
We played around with vices
thrusting online and off
our bedside hampers and vacuum cleaners
into a world full of white bleeding hearts
cornflowers
and dusted-up roses.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
dcxlv
Juvenilia.
Music to be made fool of.
My fool.
Seems like I should remember this for some reason.
A glass of water from the refrigerator
has lost its cool. The fridge dying,
horrible gasps,
sometimes sounds like birds.
Music.
Work out, long stay.
Yesterday I made it through
to a bookshelf.
Built it myself big as I wanted.
Would not fit in the car alongside a 6-pack
of cheap wineglasses. Yellow coffee mugs.
And a new upright lamp.
Sleepy Hollow and Dead Man.
Music to be made fool of.
My fool.
Seems like I should remember this for some reason.
A glass of water from the refrigerator
has lost its cool. The fridge dying,
horrible gasps,
sometimes sounds like birds.
Music.
Work out, long stay.
Yesterday I made it through
to a bookshelf.
Built it myself big as I wanted.
Would not fit in the car alongside a 6-pack
of cheap wineglasses. Yellow coffee mugs.
And a new upright lamp.
Sleepy Hollow and Dead Man.
Monday, February 25, 2008
dcxliv
The isolation — a sentence
in Oakland or Emeryville
or
a major language barrier. Still nobody around.
In all the excitement he sent
what he called an X-rated picture of himself,
headless, but with hands pushing his underwear down
just enough you can start to see something.
Every word is lonely.
Each word I get lonelier.
Then last night.
The one with me in it.
in Oakland or Emeryville
or
a major language barrier. Still nobody around.
In all the excitement he sent
what he called an X-rated picture of himself,
headless, but with hands pushing his underwear down
just enough you can start to see something.
Every word is lonely.
Each word I get lonelier.
Then last night.
The one with me in it.
Friday, February 22, 2008
dcxliii
Absolutely delicious at 756.
That’s the number Ed writes.
Baseball poems. Whoops.
Sated, sitting at Massimo’s
another six years,
during which the franchise
expands. Am I acclimated
after a good rum? Another
stretch, absolutely
the last day for lunch.
A night slightly sweeter.
A couple of weeks in Toronto,
his grandmother’s
service, arms open wide.
The fog rolling over
a dark blue shelf.
That’s the number Ed writes.
Baseball poems. Whoops.
Sated, sitting at Massimo’s
another six years,
during which the franchise
expands. Am I acclimated
after a good rum? Another
stretch, absolutely
the last day for lunch.
A night slightly sweeter.
A couple of weeks in Toronto,
his grandmother’s
service, arms open wide.
The fog rolling over
a dark blue shelf.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
dcxl
Difficulty concentrating?
A piece of sand
inside a wet wad of chewing gum.
And if that doesn’t work. . .
A piece of sand
inside a wet wad of chewing gum.
And if that doesn’t work. . .
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
dcxxxix
Two hummingbirds and a bottlebrush bloom.
Suspense.
And we’re “bonding”
lying in a hammock
with the sun beating down
to burn us into a love story.
Suspense.
And we’re “bonding”
lying in a hammock
with the sun beating down
to burn us into a love story.
Friday, February 15, 2008
dcxxxviii
I am having a religious experience
about only cooking healthy. Just this
quick note. Last night we watched
Suspiria. He says he got his revenge.
about only cooking healthy. Just this
quick note. Last night we watched
Suspiria. He says he got his revenge.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
dcxxxvii
Aren’t we witty with our candor?
Our DayQuil LiquiCaps
flying out the door....
The weekend was a big step in that direction
I think
and good for me
dragging Eric back from the storm
through the din of the crackling eucalypts.
This iPod USB Power Adapter
does not work.
The jets in the stereo.
Twist my nose to crack it.
Our DayQuil LiquiCaps
flying out the door....
The weekend was a big step in that direction
I think
and good for me
dragging Eric back from the storm
through the din of the crackling eucalypts.
This iPod USB Power Adapter
does not work.
The jets in the stereo.
Twist my nose to crack it.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
dcxxxvi
She deglazed the peppers
with diluted sauce, finding
new happiness at forty.
Getting out of his head
required new methodology.
He slumped his shoulders.
She threw a temper tantrum
and flew to Manchester.
Boy, was he coming over.
with diluted sauce, finding
new happiness at forty.
Getting out of his head
required new methodology.
He slumped his shoulders.
She threw a temper tantrum
and flew to Manchester.
Boy, was he coming over.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
dcxxxv
Good morning, gentlemen
...with savage frankness
and bursting with enthusiasm.
Glenn Close appreciates those
who see through the bullshit.
“You’re just like me, darling,”
she thinks.
“I liked your old stuff
better.”
Did she say that out loud?
And we stop. After our
mozzarella sandwich.
...with savage frankness
and bursting with enthusiasm.
Glenn Close appreciates those
who see through the bullshit.
“You’re just like me, darling,”
she thinks.
“I liked your old stuff
better.”
Did she say that out loud?
And we stop. After our
mozzarella sandwich.
Monday, February 11, 2008
dcxxxiv
Lunch at eleven
Having forgotten how to love
he wraps his rope round the first word he finds
behind each belt buckle.
Playful. Harmonious. Seductive.
I don’t have a signature.
Plus, I deserve a pizza.
It was great and bubbly
talking about poetry
with the windchimes.
My mind is a fuzzhead.
Chime one for me, Somerset.
—X marks the spot.
Having forgotten how to love
he wraps his rope round the first word he finds
behind each belt buckle.
Playful. Harmonious. Seductive.
I don’t have a signature.
Plus, I deserve a pizza.
It was great and bubbly
talking about poetry
with the windchimes.
My mind is a fuzzhead.
Chime one for me, Somerset.
—X marks the spot.
Friday, February 08, 2008
dcxxxiii
Turned away
Let’s blow it all to hell just as things start to get sensible.
Today’s flower, the bugleweed, perks up like a belltower
whenever the animals speak; a purple embellishment.
I’ve written a trillion miles in ketchup. I wrote one inside out. Huh?
It was the sweetest at the turning station
though I thought he was a bigmouth.
Hey, I love you too much don’t get run over by a car.
Let’s blow it all to hell just as things start to get sensible.
Today’s flower, the bugleweed, perks up like a belltower
whenever the animals speak; a purple embellishment.
I’ve written a trillion miles in ketchup. I wrote one inside out. Huh?
It was the sweetest at the turning station
though I thought he was a bigmouth.
Hey, I love you too much don’t get run over by a car.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
dcxxxii
I knew something about Shanghai
The colonel shifts gears,
dispatches his buckets.
All your base are belong, etc.
Do you really think this is a good enough thank you?
I can’t get all of the hair out of my ears.
I asked him what the sermon was on
and he said “fashion photography”.
One loses one’s edge, grows duller each birthday,
which is everyday, and not limited to parsecs (at least). Let’s move to China
where we’ll prick our fingers
and watch each bright droplet bead
upon our waxen floor.
The gleaming floor—a sign of prosperity.
The colonel shifts gears,
dispatches his buckets.
All your base are belong, etc.
Do you really think this is a good enough thank you?
I can’t get all of the hair out of my ears.
I asked him what the sermon was on
and he said “fashion photography”.
One loses one’s edge, grows duller each birthday,
which is everyday, and not limited to parsecs (at least). Let’s move to China
where we’ll prick our fingers
and watch each bright droplet bead
upon our waxen floor.
The gleaming floor—a sign of prosperity.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
dcxxxi
130 Year Old Outhouses Yield Treasures
I’m tired of chewing.
Everything I do involves chewing.
Have a good time.
Always develop.
Sent off for free copy of
Warren Buffett’s socks—
new miracle cure
guaranteed to enhance
redundancy.
He’s got a napkin fetish.
I’m tired of chewing.
Everything I do involves chewing.
Have a good time.
Always develop.
Sent off for free copy of
Warren Buffett’s socks—
new miracle cure
guaranteed to enhance
redundancy.
He’s got a napkin fetish.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
dcxxx
Today I am.
And I believe he is telling the truth. Yet all in all,
he is too eloquent for my taste.
This is where the best conversations take place,
each lingerer drops a few signs of his quotient,
intelligence and otherwise,
careful not to give too much away.
How reputable.
I’m hungry, my nose is dripping, I’m tired,
and I just got back from the orthopedist.
And I believe he is telling the truth. Yet all in all,
he is too eloquent for my taste.
This is where the best conversations take place,
each lingerer drops a few signs of his quotient,
intelligence and otherwise,
careful not to give too much away.
How reputable.
I’m hungry, my nose is dripping, I’m tired,
and I just got back from the orthopedist.
Monday, February 04, 2008
dcxxix
An eighty-year-old man
sits on a train
making stories of each passenger.
Always better things to do. But,
submerged in the din of our heritage,
Hello, Harry!
Hello, Larry...
We make it to the pond, its fish,
we’ll come to know in spring,
frozen;
pretty much nearing the invisible now.
I like your scent,
he says to the ghost.
I wasn’t particularly fond of his work,
he calls to his partner.
The train rumbles
past a gymnasium, twilit boys with
sparklers in each hand.
We lost our memories
to the crackling of the ice-blanched grass.
Yes, I believe...
One boy coughs
a complicated cough.
Some of the passengers stir, look around
questioningly.
Push away the trombones from around me,
he whispers.
And hurries into a fragrant sleep.
sits on a train
making stories of each passenger.
Always better things to do. But,
submerged in the din of our heritage,
Hello, Harry!
Hello, Larry...
We make it to the pond, its fish,
we’ll come to know in spring,
frozen;
pretty much nearing the invisible now.
I like your scent,
he says to the ghost.
I wasn’t particularly fond of his work,
he calls to his partner.
The train rumbles
past a gymnasium, twilit boys with
sparklers in each hand.
We lost our memories
to the crackling of the ice-blanched grass.
Yes, I believe...
One boy coughs
a complicated cough.
Some of the passengers stir, look around
questioningly.
Push away the trombones from around me,
he whispers.
And hurries into a fragrant sleep.
Friday, February 01, 2008
dcxxviii
A petroleum must
(a whiff of)
shows up
(in reality)
15 seconds before appearing
with newfound
celibacy.
Add meat
(a whiff of)
shows up
(in reality)
15 seconds before appearing
with newfound
celibacy.
Add meat
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