Something still untold in my throat. It’s not
words or breath. It’s something in me you made
I never tried to soak. Could be a wrestlematch
there was enough twisting and clawing but
only if we never see each other again.
Brought the candle out of the bathtub what
time in the morning. Stopped at the orange
yellows because I didn’t want to know how
to feel this time. Only maybe the most ever.
Does ever include tomorrow?
I don’t like darjeeling, rather.
This thought mulling last night’s contretemps
concerning pornography. Yes,
it’s a new word dithering about every other
day or so. Like when to be a bad boy. So as to be
IrishFrench by proximity. So as to be 6’5” and blond and blond.
It’s been too long since I’ve seen the ocean.
Perhaps it was the soft cigarettes that quivered his
lips each mid-sentence. I’m sure I’d never think of that
with a blue sky. The movie was Night of the Hunter,
set in West Virginia, a jarring little seedpod of
many tattoos to come.
I can’t submit it’s
over. Green rain
falling from the sun
takes a nap it’s the
library. Fiery cloud
eats a slick airplane
heart. This poet
puts me to sleep is
why the peanut tree
leans in toward
the spin. Floating
around my empty
head like sunsets,
orange reaches,
runs away like a ballerina.
he picked me up from work to take me
home and then we promptly had
extremely passionate singlehood
he made it back from Montreal
in one piece cute as ever
we had a nice talk he picked me up
have I even mentioned that I
received my $1,500 income tax face
my federal face which was nearly $1,500
so my bank account was very proud my account
ate another account very full $1,500 worth
I should buy a nice pair of tennis shoes
and go JOGGING play racquetball
whatever now I’m tired also I should
just make a checklist
letter to Mom
go JOGGING
feel up a turnip truck
my taste has always
been around twenty
and skinny and soft
I ran into Bill in
the hallway Kenward’s
opera opens today
I felt sick got coffee
and left Union Square
after only a minute
got tickets from our
limo service to see
Ragtime tomorrow night
take a vitamin he says
we should do a
collaboration being single
big tall Asian guy says
I know you’re going to
buy me a drink or
something sitting on the
floor in a rectangle of
sunlit carpet with Sepia
I did and he didn’t
drink but I went home
with him anyway
A Pomegranatini
For a barking muscle
Ooh the dark heart departs
Bringing the fishes to the loons
Before going to Montreal on Friday
Only to never to see him again
Sulfur is so much better
(See vomit)
Monday needs to be single. Then to finish about the
nurseboy, I got a cheesy-ass e-mail from him
and then he had a co-worker (assistant) call me at work
just to say hello for him. Where’s the reality?
I lost a cough only on my face because I can’t get into it.
It’s the Bad News Ball-biters. Here they come.
Later that same day I just wanted to snuggle him away.
This week will be heavy busy just wearing a light jacket.
I got a bright sore on my thumb. What did I do with it?
One thing I can’t tell you because of
no memory it could be a dance performance.
I found a note to the “Enemy of Those Eager to Fist
for Fuel”. It might have been the former
Phillipines congressman who sieves pizza
and plays music real loud. That’s honesty!
I also went out on the town with either a
lightweight or a lush. He was fun. I’ve almost lost my cough.
What happens if I pull this cord? Six new messages
in a couple of minutes—
start or stopwatch?
I was just a follow-up. We turned into scribble.
It was such a mess. Tightwad.
I’m so glad I live with Buddha this week. Please hold this moment.
We decided we are best friends. It’s a starting point.
He hates academia so I shouldn’t go back to school.
>>>---Don’t mess it up->
Tightass.
Rainy accounting. The new bugs are cute.
I coughed on the sofa all night. Downtown laundry.
I’m full of that today. Rain.Rank.Blank.
each little white boat blacks the eyes of
the faces wakened by phone’s numbered
highways cutting rivers of deep nothing
they all argue over the phone for a while
until the sidewalk is muffled from the open air
now each puffed chest tells a sad story
clouded with snow from an argument
its face is not here to compromise
but it beats and in beating must bud
too soon to know how to bloom
brick chunks cling to each face
barren trees bicker over the boats
now each puffed chest overhears a sucking noise
checks the riverbed thrown at a window
after the snow melts each face kills Time
swift. nineteen ninety-nine stud
ying like a madman for tarts. atrophied.
could be just take a nephew. nap here.
blue like the color of your skin
which I truly adore it’s all veins and
the guy a little ways to my right who’s
stuck in time. our timing is always
right. mailing libraries. I wish I
were excited about it. excitement
lost the boat. we did? something left
over. like pizza and mahjongg I
hid behind the boxes and was
watching for the puppet. generally
twist your face into a sock. then paint
it. don’t ever call me anymore. give
me your ankle. it’s darker now.
What words welcome whatever you
find yourself for Valentine’s—a little
bitten from a barkened
age? This big blue gulf vanished a wealth of
Saturdays. Look how the dry brown
birds are banging. Some
fell in love and warmed it up. Some
like the hounds wished our bones
into wishbones. Some flew
into the foil. Fly clouds. Fly like a
rabbit into a chalkened
coppice.
your picture looks good. I am sad lying
flat on the counter. it was good at church
drinking coffee they
read a Billy Collins poem “Aristotle.” at church?
cute guy gnawing on a bagel three stools down. I’m
not thinking about something but maybe I just want to
fall out of the window.
we watched a movie last night it was black and white
with lots of computers. big hoop earrings.
I read Lyn Hejinian poems last night including
others whose names I don’t remember I’m going whole hog.
I am an old dolt I am sad. the blue sky
winks it makes me less sad. at me.
that is an inappropriate word. here is another page. he tries
to do things that really matter but not
very hard. no snow. but
a sparkle or two if I were
only so. your picture still looks good lying.
innocent.
Adventure. This place
doesn’t even have a
restroom. I am stoned
for it. “Art allergy?”
“Sure, how about 8.”
“Nice poems.” Inti
mate. They do have a
bathroom. Potato leek
soup’s hot. Mellow
ceiling human. Rats!
Whatever that’s worth
is less than I’d pay.
$25 an hour for the
good old world. Ho
ver over the soup.
I am looking forward to finding air but currently
I’m writing the economy, so it’s warm and can’t be
more than we expected. except even more poison,
but it’s impossible to say how many in advance.
see the blue sky? it looks perfect. but see the little
boat taking things seriously? we cannot finish our
ginger ale and omelet, including 4.4 million foreign
tourists. on Thursday I am finding new glasses. no
longer have sniffles, thankful, looking for glasses to
see. looking. looking really looking for a reason to
see anything. say about not feeling like I have none.
feelings. see. George Clooney left ER last night.
I’m wearing new shoes from Aldo. he had to know
before he could obtain a taxi license. see. breathe.
breathe unwind. as in take it easy. is it the winter?
I am telling you we should break up only to protest.
Listen to the good weekend. One long dance, three-quarters
shirtless. One long movie, Match Point, what
stress! Boyfriend looking for coded messages in my poems.
Romantic brunch on the ocean. Buy new underwear. Watch more
movies. Chasing clues across continents...
Annie Hall. The Lady Eve.
Door-to-door bar-hopping despite a little tension,
too much for no good reason.
And then there’s this: walking up the hill, hands clasped,
you walking backward,
me forward.
All of today’s meetings get wiped
clean. Troubles, troubles, troubles, he
calls me with his troubles. He’s
doing okay, I think. But he gets so worked up!
The morning’s mist gives way to sunshine
as the day develops. No more blah blahs
on the calendar. It’s time for tea and
we’re all dilettantes. Dilettantes!
hello from Baja
with a sickly strawberry
margarita and disco
Monday it rained
I mean it rained I mailed
a birthday love poem
he was crying when he called
to thank me as much as he does
for me that was nothing and
I’m glad he liked it
speaking
of yellow there’s a yellow-
orange layer covering
the Oakland Hills
right now
from this view
making for a hazy-
dusty looking day
the bay looks
much more inviting than
yesterday tho
yellow is my favorite color
It’s because of the drowning he’s
shirtless at the edge of the crowd.
It’s because he’s drowning I know me.
I know me. It doesn’t matter if it
takes me too long to see it. Other
worlds beckon. Will you sleep forever?
This time was strange dancing. I might’ve
found you at two or three, but some nether
soul caught my left shoe. I had tripped
but did not fall. Now his little white boat
chalks a tight-lipped line amid the gloom.
Who else did I bring to this river?
writing on the still train he
tries to cheer me up, succeeds
with new pants and a sweatshirt.
now he’s walking down Pine Street,
nondescript. a bottle of white wine
with porn and cornbread (I’m off my diet).
cruises here. cruises there. everybody
goes on a fucking cruise. the car guy
was at my gym last night. he’s never
been to my gym before. why do I go?
maybe we’re all just talk.
the new guy
didn’t like my ‘y’ words but he liked
‘cocksucker’. I’m leaving the green now.
got to go give somebody a kiss.
way up here chalking out
a tree breeze. relaxing
like the other grandchildren
of immigrants. these words
must work themselves out when we
go to Ogunquit, show that I’m
no bastard of disjunction
nor architect of erotica. lies!
architecterotica. it’s a scrumptious aesthetic
or feeling or abrasion or
whatever, intangible
until I say it, trans
late it onto his cheeky
stomach. here are the
remaining timeslots
for chair massage today:
by means of exploiting my
relationships with The Eastern and
The Western. these London-looking
buildings look like me. they know I’ve
lost 8 pounds today. p.s., hunger
is the root of all crankiness—
now I’m posing as appropriation,
bottom-heavy.
more squirrel. Wal
ted banana. go2
tinderBART!—thunderBEE!
Blackberry allusions
. shook my nuts Googl
e it. (sticky note)
