Friday, September 28, 2012


Chronologically Ignorant

It’s hard to learn how to read again.  There’s
no real way to articulate.  Hello, it’s your ex-
friend trying to understand the plight of mankind.

I added a life event to my timeline with your mumbling
from last night (all I could understand was I wish you
were normal).  It was a dream of having to buy pillows

and laundry baskets.  And cologne.  Hey it’s me.  I was
calling from downstairs and I’m going to try your cell-
phone.  I’m stunned by each stunt; how Tom Cruise

is plump in unexpected places.  He’s aging so well!
Riveted by the disparity between looking your
agent acting array.  Shaking it like a tambourine.

I need to send out an update on not getting a job.
But instead I buy vitamins, Tylenol PM, shave
gel, bar soap, Kleenex, a ream of paper and

QTips.  In my dream about a monster who
tells me my brain is still delicious after
all this years.  Hi.  You don’t seem to have

a doorbell.  To add to the to do list (like
Alice’s book on Jack’s book on Donna’s
book on Hello Kitty).  I like to research

but I’m not linking to you.  With
apologies.  My grant money is
three wishes.  One is not to dance

alone anymore.  And toilet paper. 
And lots of colorful pictures
to distract the monster.  Hello!  Hello!

Thursday, September 27, 2012


Somewhat imp
atiently wonder
what a real psych
iatrist would say
to me.  Or East
ern medicine.
Needles just
tease.  But
I’m too
for deep,
an em
ment fl



A man
icure is
a little
I’m top
sy tur
vy en

... ...
a ha
if you

Wednesday, September 26, 2012


on the

ing to
for Hoop

by tee
nage s

is more
like.  A
of ga
that go

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Darker Pixels Are Heavier

Rolling down the window
I read I just want to relax only it’s
not relax it’s read. 

He’s got the bladder of a
catamaran so I should’ve
brought a milk bottle.

Earlier on the impossible
bus the letters are unbearable.
It’s all talk talk talk, it’s the

age of speaking louder
when spoken to.  The trick is
to interrupt the speaker

before the thought.  Never
be spoken to.  So as.  So
this book of letters by

the most underrepresented
fellow in the New York School
just makes me itchy.  Itchy

to catch a ride elsewhere
in this age of unbearable.
Then you called.  If only

to say I love you and let’s
hitch to Vegas—in a cat-
aclysm?  Why the freaky

vibrating 50s brain that
choses sink for beautiful
butterfly stroke.  Over

stroke every time?
Summer in December
isn’t frazzled.  It’s

the heaven that Vegas
isn’t.  It never bellows.
It’s cream it rises like

angelfood cake with
wings.  Not even
frilly sextatic wings.

Monday, September 24, 2012


(At some point)

It becomes.  Silly
to complain about
anything.  That
dulls the brain.

That attempts to
inflate an ego.


The sweeping
depths of

This is where

Sunday, September 23, 2012


Make mine magnolia
             —Bill Berkson

“You move too much” is the
reason he gives me for blowing
too much on the steel balm.

The desire to do Beth on the out-
skirts of a long subway tunnel.
The fallacy of primacy (fall-

opian).  The who do that
you do.  It’s just a bunch of
nobody referrals if you ask me.

Saturday, September 22, 2012


Feeling Rockstar?

Just you wait.
Feeling illusory?
Only joking (j/k).
Life getting away?
Perhaps this is why
Mick Jagger and
convalescent home
Feeling awry?
So now what?
Then it’ll be
I love you.

But don’t
bring me down
tomorrow.  Take
this tomato as a
token of my vodka.
Somewhat impatient?
Can’t finish a little loud?

Remember what
a little willie
will do.  Leave
the room to
all the girls
you’ve loved.
Have that talk.  Up?
Don’t wonder such.
Cash Johnny into
Eastern medicine.
Wonder what a real
psychiatrist would.
Sh!  (Intro to Poetry)

Love it all night long.
Savor.  John Paul that
sucker!  Make like a candle
and blow.  Let each rise
to the occasion.

Skin sag in bold print?

Friday, September 21, 2012


Give Up Hope

You and only because you.
Inadvertant Alice.  Not
least new book.  The
elevator rips you a new
one.  All is not spice in
Bedlam.  Amble anyway.
Superimpose jankety
I.  Dove Bar relapse.
Focus at stern.  Un-
der the hood with a
question mark.  Ob-
vious vector (well,
check hyperspace)....

Moments later.  Focus a storm.
Which bird is belonging.  Not
bumblebee.  He sags.  Stages
a sad.  Undeniable envelope
(Bambi lopes or Bambi e-
lopes?).  Hope finger.  Hope
on finger.  Hop on finger.
Superimpose I.  Be-

lieve in elevate (ripping
new ones).  Frogs dance in
rain after frogs rain.  Feels like
reign.  Forty dwarves in work-
shop of missed clauses.  De-
rogitory feel.  Drain shame
(pee in closet).

All a funk.  And Uncle El-
ephant noses piggy bank.
Wearing pink trunks
nudges purse industry.
Collapses like esophagus.

Thursday, September 20, 2012


Tag (which in German is day)

What does your comment say
about my like?  Humor,
inevitably.  I like to
remember this afternoon,
a nice visit by the
traveling smoke.  A
dual-pitched word
in the face of a
very tall sculpture.
Mountains higher.
Chiseled in honor of
the foreign.  An apex
of sweet exhalation,
a modicum of word
in parentheses.  Thru
alleyways named
Sideways Glance.
Hash home out.
Divvy demo-
cratically.  Hover
over every divvy.
Did he mean such
impossible politics.
Decide sun will preside.
Pink Conglomeration
meet Red Pillow.  And
pillow population.
Back to mile-high
face with dumptruck
of comets.  Clean
cheap tiles til blue
in face.  How book
about it glows like
Baby Worm.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012



An anonymous
Everything in
threes.  Neapol
itan workers on
a combine (Ra
Be product-
ive.  Read a
book.  Stay
a while.

panic sets in.
Night writes
lots of dorky
cuties from
the academy.
(Night wrote
things close.)
So why here?

Stress ball day.
The jazz is a
smallish room
in this loud.  I
do declare.

Frazzle love
via elevating
evacuee (va-
cant cutie look).

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


Please gotta be.

Music is life but
words without.
Hello from high.

Monday, September 17, 2012


Puffy Vitamin

Slap o’ water.
Hence.  Con-
lost respect.

Shovel meat
fence.  A
court o’
Gets one
revvy.  3

The sauce
is clean.
at count-
er.  Buck-

le.  Fill de-
vice with joy.

Free at

Friday, September 14, 2012


Let’s just

Let’s just
for example
take one step
atta time.  A
dip in the
Or a dump.

Long silent
An inter-
section do-
nut.  Or

Thursday, September 13, 2012


Look, Nonsense!

I wake up a star.  The
device calls me from
a dream.  “Hello”

Still somewhere else.
Reaching out of there
and into the device.

Which sends word.
“Star”    Red shroud.
Cool air equivalent –

Commence unwrap, un-
down.  Up.  Ghost of
lion-face from red

evaporates surely.
Pink silhouette with
eye in cloud fol-

low follow.  Breathe
compass.  Follow
what ghost.  Leo

beholden.  Elevator
of white noise
follow.  Grip teeth.

Sound of wisp.
Gel.  Blade.  A
brilliant shine and.        Fall.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


All pictures taken are free
(Barrett Watten) and I’m a
month behind the great ham.

Kids, dogs, and the black silhouette
of a mouse.     “Mickey?   Mickey?”

He’s standing in the hallway
wrapped inside a dark blue blanket
and he wants his picture taken.

Pose: awkward lean, arm up-
stretched (askew); kind of a
crumpled Lady Liberty.

You move around too much,
he says.               Meditate.

Throughout the day, a smattering
of remembrances.   Wow ... blank.
The dream vanishes  [into church bells]

... Was it exciting?

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


I Found Myself

Here’s why
I should be
in charge
(pls see

When I find
myself sitting
on the toilet
without my
I get angry.

Monday, September 10, 2012


for drizzle

and its encourage-
ment which arrived
today.  with horny
fatality (i love taking
baths with it).  once
warmed up, ambiva-
lent.  calm to read
and write.  it arrived
today, so i might go
home with it (him)
productive, happen-
ing.  to start some-
thing in ten or twenty.
a startled soggy, so
good, now calming.
it arrived today.  like
last night in the bath.
assuredly here.  in
less than a book of
words which bleed
into the earth.  an
idea, off and on.
awkward.  yet
romantic.  for
drizzle it izzle.

Monday, September 03, 2012


I probably read more “daily news”
when I was five years old than I have
in recent months.  It is for certain a
lousy job I make some days of even
occupying myself.  I try to encourage
a little unusual.  I waft through trivia
in a daze; but in an attempt to rise
to the top like cream.  Towards
evening, I have a few moments
strictly to myself.  If I place the
device upside down my gizzard
still beeps.  Denied such attention,
my upright furniture is more emotive.
The end is reasonably ambivalent
though assuredly not helping.  But
the drizzle is equivalent to an erst-
while gasoline, as it seeps through
pores (hidden to the naked eye) in
the device, even if said device is
secure in its intricate, protective
web.  I probably read about this
seepage at age seven or eight,
perhaps at one of many a quilt-
ing bee.  Was I ever astonished
by the prevalence of this look-
ing backwards (time-wise, for
example, at a collage of broken
bells) to discover the mundane
truths of the present?  Not
particularly.  I held on to the
reins as the colt sped through
a forest of brambles.  I’ve no
scars to remember this by,
only a whisper the wind
sometimes revels in repeat-
ing, and the brassy bark of
a dog that always lives a
few floors down or across,
has followed me from city
to city, apartment building
to apartment building, year
to bygone year.

Sunday, September 02, 2012


After the Bleak Is Gone

And what a joke.  I plead
ignorant almost every
morning – apologies
to Rodney, to Madoc,
for example, in the
general direction of
the wind, which is
warm and romantic.
Chatting all day with
folks never met, avoid-
ing those on the street
with whom I’m acquaint-
ed (sometimes intimately).
I’ve got it good and haven’t
a clue how to use it.  But I
slap myself in the middle
of the night (while jumping
out of bed with a bout of
acid reflux so intense I’m
afraid I’ve already choked
to death on it).  Twice in
one night.  Once in a blue
moon.  Not to mention
panic attacks in the throes
of broad wakefulness
common enough for
extended prescriptions,
although they’ve sim-
mered down as of late.
Why not encourage a
flirtatious side.  But
what misguided gripes
and somber slippages!
If taunted, childlike,
reply in kind only
for the joy of aging
gracelessly.  A
reminder of a
blank slate.
I’ve said nothing
about the sweater
I’m wearing today.
It is a colorful oddity
that glides along a
gothic retrospective.

Saturday, September 01, 2012


Exercise in Happy

     Autumn – Before I noticed, you were gone –
     like a little home dissolving on itself.
                                               —Richard Caddel

Words this morning echo off
newspaper bins and the walls of
new neighborhood cafes:  I’m
dying.  I am killing myself.

The morning is robust.  It’s
great to be under the sun (we
shift sides of the street to take
it in, a rarity for me and my

cancer-prone pallor)....