we colonized the patio, but first: sushi with no service. I thought the sun decided to think about seeing us through the fog but got blown up over the hillside instead. he adjusted my cardigan in the poem. I read it to my father. then he died. it made me happy to write.
time to water the plant before flying. first I wrote ‘lying’ but that was a gamble. neither of us are flying. we’re like penguin wings.
the proof will come in the poetry database. this was my thought as I drank a bowl full of roses.
a grievous blue bay topped by a tanker under a sepia sky divided by cricket chirps more phone calls from the roadrunner cloud
it won the race to the neighborscraper so I didn’t have to boast but wrote my first poem on a trident
and what did I do today? me, too. turkey burger with poem by guest appearance its shadow lurky near the two moles we had for breakfast or supper
eagle ships certain to tide me over til Calistoga’s headlines rip Waterstone’s submissions into the study I keep interrupting but he’s trying to figure out his major and doing volunteer work
my fingers dry the little line on my thumbnail creeping up for coffee he was depressed and bored with unemployment its goose a goner
I mean I finally looked into the mailbox
call mom and dad to let them know about my situation something nice to wear a bright blue bookmark oh my Dahlen it’s all over it’s almost over from New Year’s Eve to Autumn I write a poem a page a poem a day an overdue movie
we didn’t finish the history of fidgeting, but it does seem they’d like to hire me. now I’m a Boston fruitcake, spend time with the slugs investing in Herman Miller futures.
the complacency of a certain 20-year-old as said complacency relates to my com plicity in said complacency = big tits in a feel-good movie. an understated
performance. my four-line stanzas are sharper than your four-line stanzas about my lingering feelings for you-know-who. only, seven ages ago, you-know-who was
you-know-where. we grilled margaritas, donned our chaps, danced, pinballed, drank, and fried mushrooms. ever the chameleon, he passes out from the
screams upstairs, having nearly shoved me out of the way in time for the movie, sparkling debate about the mood ring on my finger. for example, marry him.
as usual, the mushrooms were delicious. but my strategy engendered poignant disc ussion, a flop, quite unlike our rough and raunchy flower scene. I can still feel it.
I felt guilty about the memory that I had paid for it. As you’re starting a project, you should see its end. Lunch break. MIT. Which took place yesterday. 5 gals and quail kebabs. I had to do something. Same guilt burning the haze of desire. Or I burned lunch, a memory project. I’m riddled. Who I am falling fallen who is anonymous. Practic ally a breakdown. I’m always insensitive. No dichotomy. Happy anniversary celebration. Cat pee in the China Doll pot. Costs lunch money. Makes quail crying bob white my angel. Bob white.
can stick out like a dumb sore. there’s a woman who walks like a man. she says awesome too much. I’m not in fallible. it’s cold in here so we just drop and then we drop again. no fallacy this latest Newsweek with the Pope in Cuba. see the tugs gust through the haze (may well have the guts). then we haul stuff to his dorm room my head aches and watch X Files for our official one month Burger King. too much guff. busy busy that’s why it’s all funky. I had fries. you’re right, I only wanna eliminate the bottom line.
I went to the doctor in a blue car. There was a rash under my arm full of red and golden stars. He said it was a bacterial infection from coffee. Loving isn’t very easy. No big deal. Either way it’s not nice but I’m happy I’m not really contagious.
I went outside. I took a nap. I’m rash. I have a bathroom. I pray the Lord. And miles to go. It’s warm. My head is gone. Exquisitely warm. I sleep. I went walking in a park before my nap. A security guard saw me. He clinked his keys (or change). Change. I dreamt I was in a basement during a tornado. We slept. He’s going to work now. I’m not. I worked five years. This is my last day of work.
It’s an hour before church meth church mouse high on St. John’s in Jamaica Plain those blowsy clouds put out to dry. Right by Josh where Josh lives and what did we accomplish but an hour of church and I cleaned up and organized some. Some what? I thought my heart was going but when it stopped hurting I was running for a week. I need a smoking appointment at church for graduate admissions to pay rent with. It smokes more when the clouds are cloudless. Send a certified letter to Gulf. Pay rent and the rest of my bills. It’s right by the nib of the nob, its repossessed business waiting for the bread. The bread of the holy sun. Need some shades. And more bread.
a cafe mocha I knew then was a bit of an intense dawning his dad’s family brilliant in feat that I had come to the right face along with his sister, also brilliant
this could really be something to cry up into a totally oakened boulevard because those holidays remind me of, gee guess whose flowers I don’t always feel like
mind over flagpoles
optimism is he who is beyond wonderful is forecast into the last card turned apocryphal focused was I, ere I saw brilliant
the fact that I am only a potentially wrapped trout an eclipse of unkempt sediment a gull finding its way nowhere over oaken optimism and it’s okay that it’s noon now that I’m aloof
I will remain poor for a very long time such forecasts are beyond forpaloocy are beyond carkatootle are beyond pattersnat and abanaddle
I try to telapode within that realm but okay the potential is, gee guess who: arkapeen stamantopi marbaleen
not even so much as his family and my short role have the hapless stepping into distraction
only a few minutes longer and the faces of moonlight settle down into the corporate dream
An inverted compliment said you will see me somewhere this weekend. I had coffee and dropped off my final destruction. This caused split pea soup (a bit). Why bother being invective?
I kidnaped him last evening to come study at my place. This caused e-mail dialog, I guess, and then we went through a bit of a rough patch. Also, a conversation in the kitchen about how, individually, we can
become a company or digress toward a felicitous utterance. Another inverted compliment. It doesn’t really matter, does it? The anger is pretty mundane. This builds understatement. Now he’s alive and well and apparently
going to visit his family this Christmas. ‘Dialog’ connotes there are two of us, but how many do you count? One more sense of no direction. Perhaps it’s simply my lack of work; not worth my concern. But yours?
i should produce something every day. with goosebumps on the phone, reading something with my attorney, the bank. and then I stopped off at the post office, a stranger. he is drinking beer with a lemon. i mail off all of christmas. my subscription to boston expires, my application for membership to the library. i finally finish my goal. he engages me. eight reprints of a picture of us kids.
buoyantly hello HELLO! I trembled when the door opened saw my face smack. a superior joke. yesterday I was miserable and then coping, lost, trumpeted.
tell me if I could write a play, implying counterintuitive headache and sauce for the whole party. angel an ultimate sign of affection.
he held me in a humbling revelation, some flowery, honey-dripping vocal sensation. fuck words! a cartography, self-deprecating age-ist withered lung.
my birthday is joyous. space-aid. a surprising tactile mayhem.
when I am lifted up to this hole -- the end of the fortunate -- so many penniless, rhythmic; intelligence is deliciously comic. trying on a new pair of high heels.
purple peril. the edge of nervous baby deficit. teaching. touching. lift arm over working lung, heart, bruises on right side, left for you, left hand, tiny hand, left hand over empty shirt.
