Saturday, December 24, 2011


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

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.