Sunday, March 11, 2012


What can I say?  What’s the point of this melancholy brain fart.
Maybe I should write a poem about it.
                                                                          —Camille Roy

“Not history – fuck! – I mean our presidency – fuck! – nevermind.”
I’m too exhausted to even trail off into nothingness.  And this time it’s
politics?  Such a bummer. 

For the most part I’m still reeling from a conversation I had 2 nights ago.
Til 2:30.  He says he doesn’t know how long – no – whatever.

Sleep.  Snore.  He doesn’t know – DOWNER!

I’ve never thought of birthdays as tragic.  Perhaps I’ve killed the illusion.