clxxix

Good afternoon from Mildred’s!
Actually, it feels more like mourning.

We showered at school, drove thru
Boston, a nice jaunt above campus.

We hugged and studied domesticity.
It’s more of a headache than you

might imagine. I felt trapped. Con
solidated boxes, filled up a scrapbook.

They’re not going to accommodate
me anymore. So what will I do

this week? Take a break from the
lilies? Those goofy financial issues

maraud our den, but I’m relieved. Love
is overrated. Right? I ran away

from thinking about it for a moment.
We didn’t see the same kitchen. He

posted a few things on the refrigerator,
melted the whiteboard, ripped a hole

in the sink. And most interesting,
I’ve found a room in my heart, that

other hole, and I really should de
vote my, well, devotion to it. The

hole. The interregnum.

clxxviii

my glasses are in my shoe
I remember my shoe on the floor

I’ve “got you on my mind
feelin’ kinda sad and low”

tears begin to fall but I don’t say anything
simply place my hand on your soft shoulders

stomach and shorts from top to bottom
but I don’t say anything and I’ve done

nothing wrong
and I’m a liar

I want to love like that again
happier than I’ve ever been

I did some dishes and felt
your hands in the water

you were sitting on my lap your shoes
between mine and we were lost somewhere

now the umbrellas drip and you slip like
oil through my fingers no more

clxxvii

the grip of love is presently
nothing to be frantic about.
the same music plays through exploding
Indonesian wars and dreamed
deaths of close young friends.

I slept twice last night or
there were two of me
or all three of us were one
remote heartbroken center of gravity.
he wanted to get back with me

only it was much more complex
than I can explain.
my separation paperwork stipulates
a group therapy thing in January.
he finds me at the library curb

with a terribly upset kiss or
the kiss wasn’t upset and
neither was I but there was a
serious language barrier.
I propose Xanax in many ways.

those with whom I’ve been intimate
and usually formed some sort of
soliloquy of untapped friendship,
that game we are always playing
is extraordinarily long thin and arcing.

clxxvi

 1.   shed layer after layer
 2.   lemon wintergreen windows
 3.   ninth floor of Myles Standish

        a bird beeps a Cinderella story
        an Irish cone in the parking lot
        a haven for a silver bug and
        a pink umbrella light green

 4.   leave the trolley car
 5.   little green herblets swirling around
 6.   I’m too too (varying degrees of hipness)

        dangle cane while talking shop
        green bursts of groovy invasion
        I sleep all the time I sleep around

 7.   he wanted me to help with his printer problems
 8.   he dreamed Jesus Christ was a flirty nurse with acne
 9.   shall I make a list?
10.  consult attorney
11.  get radical

        fidgit, open window next to canopy bed,
        cellphone rings five times, do not answer,
        pet cat who crawls between legs,
        too far away, something like eight years...

12.  look out window to gull on lamppost
13.  San Francisco Public Library

clxxv

Human impatience is notebooked
in between love and rationale.
My seat in a place I’ve never seen
keeps getting cold and colder.

Lack of concentration is heavy on
irrelevant roasters
cheesily piped in overhead. I
believe I want a doctor for a

merry little Christmas. A
nouveau cafe in creative writing.
It is draining to catapult from
one green tea to another. A metaphor

I can’t live with.
To be a writer/performer on holiday,
the two performances of which
were very good. I had a nice weekend.

My head is fuzzy. And now I’m
the face of dilemma: could I set a
precedent by only writing on
one side of the page?

See, I did it. Branches out!
More fires on the empty bench.
Cloaked in ambiguity. Just like
you always wanted but were afraid to ask.

clxxiv

I love you for the
pain you cause me.

A salad in a
holiday glass.

More fog and then a
dream about being.

What’s the deal?
That’s funny?

This concludes the most
miserable week.

Untied shoelaces
in my lap.

Bumped into a
Mini-Cooper.

Okay, I’m
distracted. I NEED A

PLAN A PLAN!
He was so sweet last night.

Stood at the door
for an hour.

Why am I so
distracted?

Heart cold.
Can’t swallow.

clxxiii

comfortable
blankets and

a deep hallucination of
hot water being cold

content with frozen
twisting and the moon

dreams of someone
besides you

or is it me
dreaming of dreaming

about a tango
you and me

who is you
at the Louvre a cold

sweat a reprieve
as I reach for my lip balm

honesty is the best policy
adjusting my damp pillow

clutching the covers
finishing a book that

bowls me over

clxxii

one third of the way into the lotion
we’re rehearsing
a lotion rehearsal

I play Kolya
drinking chamomile tea
I cling to the part

sweaty perspective
I’m not so sure I’m blue anymore
it’s just a quest for the

exotic
butterfly
the clouds he painted seem secure

in their respective poses
one smug
one coy

one raises its hand
asks for my name
I promptly give it

he promptly calls
we rent a movie
don’t watch it

a tall pianist
his songs come in moments of grief
proud to be submissive

they never end
I would love to hear him play
we are soaked in sweat

or is it just me
my imaginary student
a weight on my shoulders

poor victim that I am

clxxi

New York
subway
taking a stab at it
the boyfriend thing
all sorts of seemingly
insurmountable issues
stick to the story of butter
flies work on new genres
hush
and what
35 minutes of pottery
flag of wharf
hand cramp
I take my time on
convincing love that it is
no doubt
a fish in the Kenneth Cole
I sort of flutter around
seeking anti-
solace
when I stab the boyfriend
in New York subway a new
genre emerges
I am convinced you sorcerer
seemingly buttered hushes like
unstable
untrue
catalyst

clxx

It’s simply wonderful.
I can’t believe I said that.
Wonderful. Just watch
the students crawl
for their coffees.

Though it is unlikely,
considering how much I
dump fresh people. I say
‘feel’ because they
enjoy that kind of

text. Okay I just passed
the ramifications and
worried about raining.
Now what’s tweaked is
only cuz I’ve grown such a

big deal. Just like how
in the beginning I’m
warped and the chest of
buzz is such a rush. So
we’ve gotta stomach all of

New York tomorrow. And
it’s wonderful. Watching
bits of parade. We drive his
Aunts – capital for the
proper pronunciation –

very entertaining.
Then we trade
umbrellas; you get the
big one and I get the
smaller. Phenomenal.

Highly recommended.
Plus it’s based on the
play of the same name. Oh it’s
also raining and I need a
windshield warper.

clxix

Thanksgiving. I dream I am
either drugs or drugged and/or
in a cloud. A haze.

Willard Scott dreams he is
a disco ball. My newest pairs of
sneakers wall the carpet. Charo.

Yes, Charo is also dreaming.
Charo dreams that she has
a buzzy feeling in her heart.

And that would be significant
only first I must float my
stuffing into the bathroom.

We’re playing Trivial Pursuit.
So I get up and go to the bathroom
float beside my new sneakers and

I dream I know where I am.
I dream I feel I belong.
I have Charo’s buzz.

I have Willard’s ball. But they
don’t want me here. They
want me further. They

want me to go to the End-Up.
I close my eyes. They vanquish.
I know where I am. Belonging.

We play more Trivial Pursuit. His
mom and dad have milk and cookies.
Phantasm. Whimsy. We dream we

memorize a book his mom made him
for his birthday—recounting his
childhood and family history.

clxviii

work was quiet

I left a message for him to meet me here

at sunny Neiman Marcus

yesterday’s recommendation was necessary and oh look

a dank coat with a clarinet

suddenly I’ve got the cold feet when I’ve got

you since you are my

vibrating romantic dildo

he was a little tipsy from wine when he showed up

at my doorstep a little tipsy with a

romantic recommendation

stick it into the speechless night

a little titillated I had a

pink eye

although it has become a habit for me to do so

when I’ve got you

I’ve also got green tea, sugar, ginseng, St. John’s Wort

and I’ve got my little romantic vibrating

heart in a cheesecake

clxvii

he came and went
left a lot of stuff

this jazz is obvious
emulsifying

clearly even writing
some of this crap

is a good idea
venturing trolleys “wake up”

good spirits no more
letting him rule my

text messages
mere acquaintances

I think it’s harder this time
seriously

keep developing joke
try to pose right

face walks from work
tramps downtown

my usual jaunt
across America very crisp

clxvi

Audition. Into a square
Keel. Two whole weeks a
Totally spoken abandon.
For reading some poems,
Fire       Rescue,     am

That which loudly chatted.
Abandon the unrelated
Square. No, but I like it. A
Queer fantasy, this ice held on
Hour      Evening.    He should be

Knees bent in utter abandon.
A global quirk. Some narrow
Oblivion. O solid eve for crushed
Eyes, my e-mail kneeling. It
Fancies fire. Fancies rescue.

Am I merely global? A
Final throat? No, but I held him
Online in silent transit.
Inarticulate. Ice in me to
Quicken the audition. Relentless

Abandon. Totally. His vivid
Lids audit unrelated items.
I tend to speech. Posit
Tense. Online meat. A
Worthwhile oblivion. Speak.

Speak. Speak loudly abdomen
Fantasy. Kneel in blunder.
Quench my global head. My
Alert.    Global.     Fire.
Speak your river of stuff with fancy.

clxv

my fantasies is pretty much the food it’s
him it’s I prefer my pumpkin’s big arms

it’s pumpkins and corn and beans and
rice it’s been three weeks meatless and

it’s pretty much releasing the two of me
from the wicked powers of providence it’s

been missing been missing please note
the cellphone rings hello it’s a picture of

abercrombe it’s pretty much relaxing
which has made me feel all floaty

and I want to commit and I want my
heart is totally belonging I want to

memory which belongs to this half whom
when dated prefers others prefers

egg salad prefers university students
prefers pumpkins please note beans prefers

published bums prefers missing peas
if it is I lack and if it has a different head

this hello pumpkin of love is pretty it
crushes my guts and my heart and eats my

arm which is on his knee and we are
promises of a joys in the back of my

eyes my bellhop jacket is my stale
barbecue breath is in my fanatasies

of that’s an awfully big arm

clxiv

a wintry pining. the work of a
minimal thumb-twiddler.
down the slopes toward
extravagance, a grayness
that got us here. coffee-calmed
condominium, snow-stunted
birdhouses. I’m fairly pleased
with the results. so comfy
beside the fireplace all the
mountains shiver beneath
meringue. a nice idea. further
nice ideas. nice ideas
pelting one another. down the
slopes they go like the
clarifying breeze. stilted
inspiration. a cedar-buffeted
soundtrack. nowhere less pinelessness.

clxiii

now is the heir apparent to then. it’s
a simple enough jumble of all of my

songs from this year. so unimpressed
I wake up and smell the government,

learn to turn a farce into commitment.
turn friends into something real like

contentment with words and the act
of growing over the lump. two guys

making out on the wicker couch
and I’m still a vegetarian

putting calls through to the
president of China.

clxii

above the already mentioned I wrote the above.
an American flag on a toothpick stuck inside
a spicy chicken sandwich. now that we know
what we know twist the jockstrap inside out
so that it begins to unfurl. tetherball edition:
he drank until he got sick and then was real
emotional telling me that I should have a
kid. like he was channeling or something.
in a whisper. in a whisper.

lunch on a toothpick is the key. forced
to be social sociable elementary cute.
and isn’t it nice. we had to acknowl
edge that there was something very nice.
it was nice. the weight of the world.
it’d help here if you relaxed. it’d
help here if

once relaxed you’re a hot commodity.
nice abrasions on the porch and a box
full of paroxysms. see above. stuck
inside a jockstrap toothpicks an unreal
emotional channel of remembrances.
something very nice. something nice.
nicest swiftly unaware. telling me
that I’m a kid I’m a bleeding poet
I’m a cobbled techno drone. in a
whisper. in a birdhouses.
in a birdhouses banter.

clxi

How terrible of me to forget doting over
the electric piano. Trembling flowers for
tripping me up at the cinema. Close your
eyes the cheese is a little chewy. I’m ringing
today’s bells while kitty whines, wants
bedroom. Got my big box a vase and
three roses whom I’m drowsy. Comforted
down to 145 pounds of laundry. The bedroom’s
chewed up energy; folk music whimpering
back of the telephone. This business trip he’s
there’s no egg in my egg burrito!
Drowsiest 1,000 miles or so coming up. Oh
but he’s coming to see me see? Same distance
my aunt died yesterday. Closed for repairs.
I do so love him at the electric piano. How
memorable the fingertips of his dotted ears.

clx

Hello from Hazel’s. Sounds weird saying that.
My two cups of water with
Renée Zellweger. A cup of coffee
just because I made a face into it.

8:20 and I think maybe he likes me.
So what if I run into him. Get your
stupid mosquitoes
out of your guts about it.

Many mutterings.
I get almost calm and then
okay I talked myself into it.
He hugs me each vacation. Years I

hearken back to relive my present.
Water, meet water. Water, water.
And a swollen latté.
I was very much in love. I was really happy.

clix

one of the bleakest.
I had my boyfriend download
many these things. they are
humping in the blondish night.
kawai desu? got to chart out a
clear course of action. found
happy in the off-center of my park.
it beated. last night I danced
with exes and with exes’ exes.
they were splendid business, all
dancing from one page to the next.
before which a perfect coconut bath.
all the riches of my heart. my happy.
then YMCA.

clviii

good surly morning.
a dunkin’ diagonal from a cloud-pop
crosses a chilly palm. it’s a
Japanese October we haven’t
gloamed. hot beard last night.
this morning’s desparation. don’t
put on your backpack, umbrella. I
simply need to stop reading.
moshi moshi relationship. my dunkin’
window should read the new
library overhanging malevolence.
lost him to the rain I nearly fainted.
shoot my neck with such spangled
vigor I’m mostly dated. strictly speaking
white loathsome and self-effacing.
they seem to have more rain it’s
been my experience. a fluttering
turn-on with cold winter encroaching.

clvii

bad bad bluish after bad bad unfinished
even when I’m writing with a black therapy it
pointed out my problem very astutely
who is a very bad I don’t know how to

solve it after unfinished bad books
I’m waiting to get finished is why we
listen to these classics like
addictive relationships and fall asleep

faster bad writing faster break-up love into
little teeny stitches a faraway very
bad very stitches of psychotic destructive
oh sure great sense of humor

I guess the coolest thing is he’s obviously
bad guy bad stable bad writing bad cow
now that I have been so good I’m
pull out pull the things that have been so

good pull out pull out pull out all the
stops as in I will feel better about myself I
will engage in a career path who is a very
good guy with lots to offer awful

bad awful I’m awful bad I’m regular basis
is things wouldn’t make me good I’m kind of
regular basis bad now like I’m writing
unfinished books full of lies waiting on

unfurled faster writing bad classics bad
lub bad guy bad id teedy stitches
it’s great sense of humor sit here in
lub lub lub lub lub all over its eyelids