Tuesday, May 22, 2012


A List of the Drops of Water During the Noon-Hour Breeze

I’m hoping my brain gets back home soon.  One thing
I haven’t noticed this morning is the pain in my neck.
It’s working now, with one hour of sleep. 

We just got off a suspicious plane.  Let’s try to stop
writing for a better weekend and start screening
cheerleaders.  Auditioning cheerleaders?

I’m obsessed with taking pictures.  According to the
patriarch in I Am Love, photography isn’t a real art.
It’s an amazing movie with an overly-melodramatic
(isn’t that redundant?) ending.  Until after the credits
roll and the lovers appear in one of Herzog’s caves.
I only had two glasses of champagne, but I didn’t
find the movie erotic at all.  Just perfect.  Except
for the Ibsenesque finish.

I could be confusing playwrights.  I can often be
confusing.  I am confused.  Are you confused?
But I washed all of the dishes and now I am
reading poetry. 

I didn’t leave the apartment at all today.  Every
time I look out the window I’m in awe of the
city.  How beautiful is home.  I even love
the uneasy sleep I’ve been getting this
week, tossing and turning in a half-

Last night I think it rained.  When it rains
it sounds like somebody is typing very slowly
on an old typewriter out our bedroom window.
When I woke up the rooftops were glistening,
but that never proves anything here.