Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Three Attempts to Spell Bernadette

It’s all too fast to princess.  I sit on The History
of Homosexuality in Film.  A lightbulb thru time.
Reading a bunch of pictures.  No light coming in.
Just trying to finish something.  I am just as I was.

I consider this.  He and Masashi are going to San
Diego for a conference.  I struggle through a dream;
things that can fit into a shoebox.  Shoebox appro-
priate.  Wake up in a snuggle and the rain.  Walking

here.  Thinking they should put a cafe in the Center
and here it is.  Queerest coffeehouse in San Francisco.
Well, not so bad (when you funk it up a little.  It’s
a turquoise alcove...)....

My exercise program is working.  It’s teeny-tiny.  I’m
all over the place.  It takes me three attempts to spell
Bernadette.  “He doesn’t want to be read.”  Succomb
to the rain.  Succomb to the shoebox, a lightbulb thru

time.  I did complete something.  Happy as clams about
that.  And the wind.  And my haircut.  I’ve got a
Coco.  Imaginative.  I’m in the Used Dept.  thinking of
sex and sleep.  Soft as your brow, which, when

incoherent, tufts.  A happy cruise control gets
oddly jealous of, for example, yesterday,
the latest culprit.  Shush the rain.  The rain shushes.