Friday, March 02, 2012


I read everyone’s twitter and felt so connected
                                                       —Jim Behrle

What are you derived from?  What derives you?

I don’t joke with strangers anymore.  Except about

Jennifer Lopez.  To whom I’m now deeply indebted.

I’m feeling giddy.  I do write.  Sitting in front of $50.

U2 album in boarded Borders still reverberates (a

storyboard for a final class project).  Daydreaming

the wired charm of inelegant disclosure while

looking out at the big Christmas tree in Union

Square.  I’m reading Iduna insufficiently lit,

thinking of kari on my couch, a housewarming

on Bush Street.  Determine when unemployment

ends, laundry, water plants, sunglasses for the L.A.

trip.  Losing two pairs of prescription sunglasses

in one week.  I keep broaching the subject (in-

elegantly, insecurely) that is the false victim of

our loudnesses.  A blanket of silence, very Zen.

An earnest desparation ensues, becomes louder

lies or mumbled nothingnesses.  A conversation

with the California Street sidewalk stippled with

unintentional vibrato (tragedic, operatic).  Wreaked

by uncontrollable shivers, a body heaves such a

melody.  Tomorrow, the calm swans of Boston.