not entirely sure how to write.
Sitting in the bedroom with a
greenish (‘skater’) bookbag
(Alien Workshop), I humbly
request a damp paper towel.
I’m not feeling so good and/
or I have nothing to write on
but my lap, my black pajamas.
I fantasize a laptop in front of
me with its cursor pointed at
an email from Kate. Wearing
my blue sweatshirt, which is
slogging wet, reading about
blowfish. Out of boredom.
The rains have gone to
Berkeley or to the Bermuda
Triangle. Atop one of the
green sofa cushions, near
the top of this sentence,
I start putting together a
list of all of the attendees
at the party: Bill, Susanna,
Ron, Cedar, the two
Kevins, Curran, August,
David, Erin, Sarah,
Otto, Kim, Konrad,
Masashi, Stephanie...
