mdliii

Cat Mist Tastes Funny

What if everything gets dreadfully redundant

and/or boring? – a perfunctory echo I’ve mis-

treated while refusing to meet friends for cocktails.

Five years later I’m looking at pictures from Boston.

The city grew by erection.  I repeat the part about Sunday. 

It’s Sunday.  It’s six in the morning.

     “Reach in my chest and massage my heart.

     I am not dead.”

                                                  —James Schuyler

I ran after work, rather than in the middle of it.  Otto cooked a

cloud for the rest of the week.  The apartment is done, like the

rest of the day; a Vitamin Water in the sink.   Kenneth Koch’s

glasses are upside down but the sun is almost up.  The ring

in my ears is a reverie of birds.  Or a flight returning from

Hawaii.

I feel lazy without my voice.  The ring swarms my ears.  Am I

maybe a fossil?  Kevy’s posting sick links.  Lanford Wilson

passed away; a soft spot in my heart for living his elderly

priest in Angels Fall at 21 years of age.

Hopped a trolley, reading uphill.  Had lunch with Nick

at our Chinese place on Kearny and it turns out he had a

romantic date on Friday night.  He kept saying it was surreal.

Goodbye Chinese restaurant on Kearny.  With all the ugly

fish in the window.  Goodbye childhood, so to speak.  I get a

haircut.  A reminder of the 80s (as told by the 90s).  She chopped

one sideburn off and left the other.  It’s okay, though.  I’m the
devil for Halloween.