Tuesday, November 27, 2012

mdcclxxvi

Dear Sailor,

Thus ends the posturing, which was very
fashionable.  But after the posturing comes
(can come) the good stuff.  If in hypotheticals,

no posturing.  Wait.  A hypothetical is not at all
(necessarily) an ideal (brain mis-meming). 
Oh, the good stuff.  The good stuff is yummy

and fresh, though I’m not the biggest strawberry
fan (time will tell, time will tell).  Nico is out
with a few clouds.  It is blue, fluffy, and vibrates,

so his first reaction when he picked it up was
to think of me.  His second reaction was
to purchase it.  Thank you so much!

                                       Warm hearts,
                                       Blue, Fluffy & Vibrating



Monday, November 26, 2012

mdcclxxv

Ships ships ships...by lethal manning
Ships...by lethal ships...manning ships
                                    —Brandon Brown

The duration of a stanza in proportion to
sugared and whipped cream (to go with
strawberries).  Taken out of context,

sexting is so hot.  Sexted tercets better
than sugared strawberries full of
whipped cream?  What a jester

(a word which often brings to mind
Chester the Molester, which brings
to mind Hustler anecdotes I needn’t

bring up or point out)!  Is it a myth
that the stack of magazines originally
belonged to my father?  Well, memory.

But he would have purposefully planted
them [exact location comes up blank
upon scan and rescan, but they did reside

in an obvious “hidden” location in the
bathroom closet during much of the
1980s.] ... to be discovered—and

treasured—thus.  This from a few
funny lines about nautical vessels.
Which was preceded by a few

drenched breasts.  Which was
preceded by about 7:30am,
as I momentarily recall.




Sunday, November 25, 2012

mdcclxxiv

See how comfortable I was with going back and
increasing its volume by 100%?  It became something
way different, but yet two sides of the very same coin.

So my idea for the photography shoot is to take pictures.
Then we can make the book all D.I.Y., interspersing the
pictures amongst the text, pasting things on actual page-

size leafs and then scanning them or taking pictures of
them (each completed page-size leaf) and then use those
“electronic files” to make the book.  Then we’ll have an

e-book that’s “online” and won’t get lost in space.


Saturday, November 24, 2012

mdcclxxiii

I don’t mind the red herring.  Or the nonsequiturs.
It just sounded nice.  It’s not about anything.  But
doesn’t it make you think?  Or is it too distracting?

In reality, I had a dream I made a dressing for a
mesclun salad (with fresh tomatoes) that was taken
out of context.  Chicken thigh meat, oyster mushrooms.


Friday, November 23, 2012

mdcclxxii

Claustrophobe or Clusterfuck

Who taught you to talk so nasty? comes out all
bubbles.  I’m struggling to bring myself to the
surface.  If it were a dream.  But it’s just a

thought I get while reading a poem by Philip
Jenks.  I’m struggling to remember (word from
word) what the lips in my brain are parsing.

Yeah, I’m sure this is no good (bubbles) (lips
parsing – long pause – lips parsing) but it’s
okay I’m listening to the new wind chimes.

[Are there new wind chimes?]  How pleasant.
Or how pleasant on a morning such as this.
How pleasant this morning, the new wind

chimes!  Or are they crystal wine glasses
filled with varying amounts of water.  We’ve
only three of them left (I’ve broken three of

them – separate events – since October.)
Who’s playing a three-noted chime
with wine glasses filled with

varying amounts of water?


Thursday, November 22, 2012

mdcclxxi

It Rained In Hell

Thanks to you, ALL THE
PLANTS DIEDQ!!!!!


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

mdcclxx

She slung the noodles around her neck.
                                       —Lindsey Boldt

Slowly, I learn how to waste a day.  I write a
very long note (after a trail of angry notes).  I
use Roman numerals, though.  It rained last

night, thank you!, etc.  (does this mean I’m
lazy?  Down Pine Street through the Ferry
Building before heading back to Boston

I purchase a chicken, some fresh vegetables,
and 175 pills.  Slowly, I ease into the trap
and find that easing neither in nor out

relinquishes the monotony.  I label each
headache (there are now five).  Otto cooks
and we have a delicious dinner on Wednesday

morning.  The best ever, I’d say.  I peel the
label off of one headache and paste it onto
another.  I forgot to mention that the vegetables

were asparagus, sugar snap peas, and oyster
mushrooms (which actually become red
meat when sautéed in organic butter).


Monday, November 19, 2012

mdcclxix

Sunday dimsum with Carolyn floating like
zippies over Chinatown and City Lights
with chitchat all the way home to a nap
before Kim and Hiro arrive.   Now I’m at

the public library!  It rained last night and
Otto and I had our umbrellas for the walk
to work this morning.  Passing the old man
who does tai chi every morning in St. Mary’s

Square and our neighbor the security guard
who works graveyard shift somewhere
downtown and then digs through garbage
during the day (by now I’ve written a

hundred and seventy five of these, but my
rate of production will grow exponentially).



Sunday, November 18, 2012

mdcclxviii

You go ahead on to the gym.  I’ll just
be here drinking champagne.  Thus the

gauntlet was thrown, and all productivity
went to hell.  Was in hell?  Another sip

and the rain stopped, but he couldn’t get
it up.  He could neither get up nor walk

out the door and into (onto) the shadows
of his own residence (residue).  Better

players than this have tempted and
twirled their ways into better conscious-

ness than this (he surmised).  Conscious-
nessess?  Open the door to another plane-

t (he said, tongue-in-cheek).  A planet
salted with androids, neither flesh nor

blood.  And each a walking existence? 
Raise your hand to the one who’d

put out for nothing better than this
mutt just walked out of a dirty hole.


Saturday, November 17, 2012

mdcclxvii

Excerpts from what I was trying to say.

     The fear
     that all this
     will end.

     The fear
     that it won’t.
                                 —Rae Armantrout


My brain was really fuzzy misreading Brandon’s ripples
for nipples – as in how lovely are the pond’s nipples
and sifting thru black and whites on a rainy day.  Some
say rain’s exasperating but I say it just depends on which
day.  It turns out my eyes are just too fast for the page –
the next few words are my beloved’s nipples.  Go to
sleep, go to sleep....


Friday, November 16, 2012

mdcclxvi

I thought you thought I just Skyped
puking.  But with whom? all tongue-
in-cheek.  I’m waiting by the door

for the doorbell.  Ripping everything
open.  Just purchased an aisle of items
at Walgreen’s and now I’m ripping

everything open in the hallway.  I did
being able to be a kid again without

thinking too much about it.  And
maybe it wasn’t even relevant.  If so,

then what?  Time to drink a glass of
water.  Time to drink the water in

a glass half full, beat my chest like
anthropomorphism and go to bed.


Tuesday, November 13, 2012

mdcclxv

No Body for the Hottie

I can’t take care of your digestive needs.
Maybe that’s not my purpose for your life.
Cuz anyway I come from the fountain of

mouthing off.  It’s a new lunar year and it’s a
leap year and I dunno.  I messed up and ordered
the Joplin empanada or pupusa, but it was actually

very delicious.  I am a cloud that is reaching out &
grabbing as much as I can.  But you think it’s some
sort of road in the dessert (that cars can easily veer                          

off of; or maybe not a car but two motorcyclists....)
“Is there a problem?” I ask him.  His response is
“Can you believe it’s not butter?”  This tongue

(as in language?) is the entire story of my life.


Monday, November 12, 2012

mdcclxiv

Bear With Me

Take care of your heart,
that fluidic vehicle.  I was
trying to make a roll of
quarters appear out of
nowhere. I’m only kid-
ding,  I was being a
filet mignon.


Sunday, November 11, 2012

mdcclxiii

Did you know that 2:57 is
twelve minutes to 5:30 (a.m.
or p.m.) in this particular
dimension?  I don’t really
remember working three
hours or doing laundry
for Kids in the Hall.  It
pays for the t-shirt with
dishes, a covert move
(seedy transaction) on
the mezzanine in the
days when we would
watch a bit of DVD
and then show up
dancing the night
away.  Once upon
a weekend we’d
even be home in
time for chitchat
with visitors from
out of town.  Arise
half-tapped (giddy
in a mimosa way)
to escort them up
and down Powell
for dim sum.  Now-
adays it’s always
time to go—with-
out even an ounce
of wherewithal (an
umbrella, say?)...
or so it goes today
with good old
so and so).


Saturday, November 10, 2012

mdcclxii

Feline Valentine

Watching Coco the Cat lick the dust
off the living room mini-blinds.  And
wondering why (me; not necessarily
the cat).  Gary and Larry turn thirty-

six tomorrow.  I drive folks crazy
for a living.  The ambulance was
full or it cannot be helped (I don’t
remember Friday night).  I’ve begun

stacking books just so; a conscious
effort at perfect portraiture.  And
all I preach is candid shots, never
pose, never pose....   If you lust,

perhaps make it known.  As for
myself,  I am a totally ineffective
communicator reading Money
Shot in an effort at redemption.



Friday, November 09, 2012

mdcclxi

I had a baby girl.
My dream that
lasted five weeks.
She had three
parents; I was
one of three.
When I could
reach her, what
fluff!  Afraid
to drop her.
Would she
fall on her
head or
float into
the stars
like a helium
balloon?  I
drove my
station wagon
with no idea.
I watch her
from a distance
as the weeks
pass.  Several
misadventures
but so real (
laundry, dishes
).  What is value
but true feelings
more trouble than
they are worth?
I hold out my
hands for my
little girl
who becomes
Angela’s dog
Riley, a white
joyous blur of
hopping and
scampering to
and fro (her nails
on the floor a
perfect tempo).
I look around
for the other
two parents,
wonder where
they went and
who they are.


Thursday, November 08, 2012

mdcclx

Better today.  And it’s
Tuesday (famous for
the Tuesday After).

Chatting at the bistro
with all the boys.
How I performed on

Saturday night under
that kind of pressure.
Making it known I

can’t stand deception
especially when for
my own good (or

vice versa).  Ex-
pressing Saturday
night under that

creepy elm.  Wait-
ing for the trees to
come clean.  One

tree frankly crushes
but it can’t be helped.
It has a good partner

and makes it known.
What does it mean
to care very much

about no answer.
Do I feel I have
good help or do

feelings become
more adventurous
than the trouble

of loved ones (or
vice versa).  Hello?
I don’t remember.


Wednesday, November 07, 2012

mdcclix

Do Not Share

The public is enough for a while.  Did time
all fated weekend.  Which was fun until he
taps me on the shoulder to come with him.
We’re going to his car so I can have some-
thing.  My request.  He asks if I want any
therapy and I say yes (nobody witnessed).
Bang on window.  Bang on lap.  Assume
calm.  Drive (an hour?  less?  more?).  A
story that pokes as it fools.  Then watches
while we are enlightened.  Much discussion
about my insistence.  I’m tired of new dev-
elopments and sleepiness. Get back home to
discuss no results from my side hurting and
being open to being slapped is after a while
(not the knuckle-headed assumption) sapped.


Tuesday, November 06, 2012

mdcclviii

Notes to Poems

I need a toothpick.
Maybe tonight.




Monday, November 05, 2012

mdcclvii

Midsummer night.  Bloated stars wobble like
canceled sitcoms through the year-round blossoms.

I feel like I’ve been electrocuted by a plateful of
dessert.  Gesturing about wanting sexual adventure.

Questions coherently asking me what happened.
Telling me about how I’m no longer visible

in future’s collision, stalling right before impact.
A psychiatrist to the stars, I’m finally getting into

it.  You have a messed up heart makes me feel
subtle.  Busy this morning with names of girlies.

Off-work hours my side is worsening.  I believe
honesty is the hot section but will know more on

Friday.  And keep the channel open is not a great
name for a crowded brothel.  They’ve shut me

into a scanner to get scanned.  Or is it the other
way around?  Bomb simple wants into week

until weekend.  Fortune rending kitchens in
the out of doors at four-thirty in the morning.


Sunday, November 04, 2012

mdcclvi

The new one landed with a smooth splash
about a minute ago.  Little seeds falling from
trees that say FOREVER at thirty degree angles.
Our tree; our first vacation.  Later, sketching
after Starbucks, presently dancing, last night.
And then a mellow day.  The weekend ducks
in like airplane noise.  Or helicopters lifting
pink stuff from the sidewalks and placing
it on top of me.  I’m loud, I’m in the Starlight
Room walking all the way over here.  Feeling
strange alert.  And cute and can’t really sleep.
Painting a picture of a lightbulb for shopping.
He suggested the Safeway on Church Street.
Red fish in a pond on top of one of the dirty
nips.  So much more this weekend.  And
often.  I think of way over there, placing
thinking on top of the Union Square starlight.


Saturday, November 03, 2012

mdcclv

We arrived frazzled and then we
cleaned up.  Pretty fantastic from
a small distance (koi fish nearby),
helping with the move from Oak-

land to Vallejo.  He was smoking
and sometimes I got a little back
and forth from his creeping flirts.
Suggesting I couldn’t handle him.

Wait, I’ve been preparing for this
all day, side by side, listening to
the traffic.  I walked all the way
over here (he suggests or hints). 

Now there are two mallards.  In
the distance is Lincoln Drive,
I guess.  And Russian River.


Friday, November 02, 2012

mdccliv

     minivan, Ativan, moon in my hands:
                                             —Joseph Lease

The running water is always nice.  On
lesser days there is sleeping and sleeping
and further dreamlessness.  Birthday
hands (shaking drowsiness) in leagues.

I can see the occasional passerby.  Lots
of grey squirrels Otto keeps calling
Icarus (each squirrel).  Mostly peace-
ful, cloudy, quiet, nice.  Broke like

never before (not sunny today like
yesterday, but not as windy).  So
soothing and beautiful.  On location
in Shakespeare Garden: ferns.  Walk

the small distance, neck glistening
like water off a duck’s back.



Thursday, November 01, 2012

mdccliii

Bedroom Companion

We brought our words with us,
stepping into the room with lots
of noise, a premonition of things
to come.

His toothpaste tasted like candy
canes (he let me use his brush).
We had broken into the same
party craving a few minutes of

distance.  Skipping the wine,
we both headed directly to
the cheese.  It was a pretty
fantastic plate.  Thus began

our opening up, our spilling
out of a lot of chilly memoir.
This was my new project.  A
flurry of excitement, an

opening.  Eating in silence,
slowly chewing each fork-
stabbed chunk, wincing.
The memory blows as it

goes.  Is gone, blown.
I forgot which word
stumbled upon which.
Indeed, I forgot

each word, all of the
words.  The noisy room
with no footprints.