Thursday, June 14, 2012


What Is It?

There is only one of me.  Should I
really get a job or read another
poem about a dream in which
there is farting in a ballroom
with a bathtub.  It says here
it was Kit or (more likely)
Ron.  Rising from the tub,
farting, blue powder, smell of
cauliflower and sauerkraut.

I’m trying Splenda in my latte.
Nope.  I don’t think Splenda is
to my taste (a big box of Splenda
is lost somewhere in time).  I’m
casting Nobody in a play by
Jack Spicer.  Reading old
journal entries helps me
remember some things
I’ve forgotten.

I’d forgotten that he’d
whispered drunkenly
that night he puked at
my old place that I
should have a kid.
I grin emptily.

For the next
30 minutes,
it is 1964.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


     ...and the baby
     Cows are rehearsing
     Their lives by eating.
           —Kenneth Koch

Last night I was craving
Boston baked beans and
pumpkin seeds.  I was
destined to live in Boston—
eating ‘baked beans’ until
parched—each day of
camp.  Now a can of
cashews, half-eaten
again.  And a tube
of lipstick.  Trying
every Ben & Jerry’s
flavor that has a hint
of caramel or peanut
butter in it (which is
almost all of them?
except red velvet
cake, which I get
anyway, and WOW!).
Having lost 7 pounds
in less than 2 weeks.
Giving in to Dev
months after Otto’s
hard sell.  Realizing
our (my) odd aversion
to change.  But I love
change.  Walk around
aware of this bundle
of conflict, this body
as bundle, conflict.
So hard to get back
‘up to speed’ – so
old?  Loving my
age (22, 33, 44,...).
It’s not so hectic
today, just manic,
a maniacal simp-
licity?  My lips
too dry.  My
new favorite
songs.  A pair
of harps.  One
for my hands
and one for
my mouth.

Monday, June 11, 2012


Is It a Project?

I certainly don’t expect you to like these.
But you might.  No matter how off-color
the subject.  I do plan to make a metropolis
out of them.  Am I just pulling predictable?

You’re making everything my problem
and I accept the challenge.  This makes
our little affair vigorous, each of us (or
maybe just me) energetic.  Music of the

moment trends toward an early 80s sound,
I’m leaning on Kate Bush, toward Kate
Bush, but yet enjoyable.  Catchy.  Some-
thing old is always made new, right?  Even

a dial tone.  Or dogs barking.

Sunday, June 10, 2012


We lie with our mouths.  Or
I lie (here and elsewhere)
with my mouth. (I’m told
I offer too many ‘broad

So I take pictures. 

How to quantify truth
(which is still lacking)....?
I ask a carny who points
at a sign.  Then, once home,
I clean the kitchen, straighten
the living room, and put away

I’m feeling better (I shave,
but still no haircut).  I need
cash.  After spending years
of savings I finally discover
free music. 

Sure, we can only dance
at home.  Which is 97%
honest, to date.  My body’s
dance is a sin, but is fairly
true.  Yours is all hallow’s
eve, all Cinderella ball. 

& I love its surface
thru & thru.

Friday, June 08, 2012


Let’s Play Fruit Ninja

A satellite is crashing into the earth tonight.
I dream of brussels sprouts and red potatoes
at the Ferry Building—after gym together.

I ran two miles and then climbed uphill
for a very long time.  I’m down from my
high.  Could be faulty scales.  Fluctuation.

Stacey’s is closing.  Here lies a bookmark
for a dead bookstore.  A pregnant pause
lies between two thoughts.  Could be years

of new music in just one month.  But then
time speeds up.  Just north of which, a
group of friends complete a circle and

become closer forever.  Closer to the
threshhold of nirvana or non-existence.
We walk home as fireworks light up the sky.

Thursday, June 07, 2012


A Yellow Frame

A complete lack of meditation
& a complete lack of medication
draws me out into the heat like
an unmasked fan.  Remove

He’s all mad at me in the
living room (forget the story
for now—it’s no biggie)
listening to, what do you
call it, damn, that dreamy
electronica easy listening

I’m drowsy.  But not much.
He wants a yellow frame
around the big painting
in the corner (his
birthday coming up...)...

It’s too hot in the apart-
ment to think of the word
that goes with the ice cream
whose flavor I’ve forgotten.
It’s a fancy flavor and it’s
in the freezer but I’m
too lazy to get up.

The sun beats its way
onto my face on the
edge of the sofa.
It’s not allowed in.
This goes on uninter-
rupted for some time.

Wednesday, June 06, 2012


Well, dog my cat!
         —James Woods’ character in True Crime

I’m not sure who got off the spaceship first.
Coco jumped up to the window and greeted
them, then led them to the kitchen table—
the green marble table—now with a yellow
tablecloth with a pink floral design—the
coverlet that Otto bought for the little
sitting area in my old apartment.

Aliens from another planet seem to
miss their families and their own planet’s
customs.  To my left, two and a half years of
purple inspiration which was packed away a
decade and a half ago.  It is unseasonably—
no—abnormally hot.  Me, alone, but for the
colossal cashews.

Under that is 2004, which I’m savoring.  And
Lyn Hejinian with a fruit basket of apples (a
rotten pear to the left of my laptop).
And O’s orchid, always on its
last leg.  I draw the unmasked fan
ever nearer, jerking until the
plug pops loose.

Tuesday, June 05, 2012


You Can’t Noun Nouns

         I think she’s expressing too much cleavage.

Feeling bummed.  Oozing with importance.
Discussing major life changes.  Because
the fog is making it rain in the backyard.

I warned you about Facebook, right?  I
try to warn a lot but nobody listens.  But
this is where I live and I know.  I’ve tried

for months but it’s not working.  Plus I’m
the scuzz-ball from Arkansas who’s
over here leaning on Shakespeare,

way too hungry for this.  You need to
understand the product before you start
bitching about the product.  Be one with it.

Engage.  Click on the map in the port of
entry.  Update your portfolio.  There’s a
fantastic app for that.  Loading up on

red velvet cake before ripping the
checkbook cover in two.  Where does
one purchase a checkbook cover.  Locate

mess.  Make sure there’s a list.  Update
it daily with checkmarks.  Have a daily
list of checkmarks.  There are a few

wrinkles that need to be ironed out
but you’ve got something.  You’ve
done something.  You are something.

Monday, June 04, 2012


Is that money in your pocket? Or ya happy to see me?
                                                           —Britney Spears

Nobody listens to techno.  OMG.
Candy Monica dog (Oh god,
in my next poem of course).

What are the first three words
that come to mind when you hear
the following phrase:

“Broke Str8 Slut!”
To which he replies
“Oh, Julie, we’re going to have

so much fun.”  I cannot express how much
her name is not Julie.

I put the piece in the fireplace

Sunday, June 03, 2012


A Shoe Fetish

That’s one of the twelve bullet points.
I don’t know why.

I can almost sing.
And I don’t know why.

I ain’t got nobody.
But I don’t know why.

I ain’t got nobody.
So let’s throw someone out.

Saturday, June 02, 2012


Toilet Paprika

      Shh!  Keep it in the closet!
                            —Ronald Palmer

That’s a little birdie, right?

No, I’m not allowed to be
a silly peanut.

Oh, Viscous Hibiscus,

you’re more divine
than a smooth ranch dip.

Friday, June 01, 2012


I just clicked the I feel ya button.
Does anybody know how to undo?