Monday, January 05, 2009


I drank half a jar of
pickle juice last night.

A list of poets who ‘get it’
(imho): Lewis Warsh

....   There’s more, I guess.
Racquetball, sashimi (Combo A),

bit my fucking lip again

Zero Star Hotel, the pianist.
Then I decided I was over
the whole thing.

Question marks
in the form of an answer.

Plus signs as periods.

Apologetic voice mail,
sweet email.    Go thru red file.
Can’t quite shake him.

The idea of clinical depression
with Johnny Depp.

That feeling of utter confidence
sitting next to someone you once
“truly loved”.