dcxxvii

I’m No Terrorist, Grinning Serial Arsonist Says

would be further
out of place

until and unless
you’ve seen and known
everything.

Should I eat a fish?


                    Deep cleaning
                    a must.   Driving
                    without glasses
                    illegal.


Such moments
all directions;

which would be

                                        moving apart.

dcxxvi

Unique.   Try to see
or think
from blank.

A bowl
of disasters.

              Humming-
                      (a dead burden)

              Has gotten really

              How do I


                      Proposed
                      minimum
                      staffing
                      organism.

dcxxv

Headlines again.

                He is not
available.

Day is up with simulation.
Hide and seek
exhausted.

It was death without a period.

dcxxiv

Man Drowns After Earning 5 Degrees

Research underway
(just books,
not criticism).

Obsessed
with “singularity”.

Spicer calls
with comments.

Monday,
and all is well.

dcxxiii

                              Bright burning moon

Hard to bear it underwater

dcxxii

Foggy summer day

Big sun tattoo
              in steamroom

dcxxi

I was listening at a potluck
to hear if anyone was in love
and trying to figure out who
wished to sleep with whom
when the fireworks took off.
I opted for less flash,
simply looked off toward
the heart of the city, not the bay,
but its residential areas
dimpled with streetlamps,
avenues, and buses.
Mid-afternoon I walk
to Office Depot for
colored file folders,
out-of-office envelopes,
presentation binders,
and numbered index tabs.
When I get back to my desk
I turn on my little blue fan
because I’m sweating
through my pale green shirt.
Earlier we’d watched two movies
that exhibited nary a sign of life,
being somewhat enjoyable,
and then drank margaritas.
Today’s flower is fire pink.

dcxx

garbage in the window
blowing basil in the sink.

it’s the night the marquee
blew up.   broken letters yet

litter the sidewalk.   what
wheat [blip] bird with spatula

and frying pan.   a gucci and a
starbucks of course.

31 minutes over 3.5 miles.
take a nap and break an

easel.   wind up with waffles
haven’t made those in

a long time.   the sound of
a gas in the neighborhood.

the whistling firs mixing
chinese with english again.

dcxix

waiting in line for an iPhone.
the refrigerator is on my shoulder.   a bird
the sign of a heartattack.   he’s got

purple hair,
he says.   cars honk and sneeze.   there’s
a cool breeze, a pain in my shoulder

or beneath it (the sound of a lumber mill or an elevator).
a new 60-story building full of condominiums—
it only takes a few days to get it up.

ok, let’s say it’s a heartattack, then.   and poodles
that bark past midnight, or so the story goes.
an upset stomach and a bowl of daisies.

migratory pornography.   selective dishevelment.
run the bacon for twenty-four minutes.   recover.

then he made me eat a lychee!   well, it was boring—
he only had 4 gigs left.   power back up the hill,
past the salon thru the Starbucks and under a jet:

sex and/or romance to calm the nerves;
a new habit involving right index finger
and lateral incisor (lower right).

dcxviii

This is the goose that
back from its vacation
is not happy and tries
to explain music.

This tongue.

It rings buds sprung
from dishes of rice
and the dirty laundry
all burned out.   Drafts

from which I write
22 pages up the coast.
This lying causes
diarrhea and a travelog.

This geese.

It’s admittedly dull,
a little melancholy,
and it looks forward
to moving forward.

This explanation (evolution begins Monday).

The explanation goes
poorly.   I am waiting
for him.   I lie waiting.
We are lying and cheating.

This mask.

Evolution begins
Monday alongside
ground geese where
tongues must fluster.

dcxvii

The beautiful pink streaks
strewn across the bay.

Day 2:   Fog tumbles across the bay,
an absurd wreck of degenerate sentences

in a cereal box.   Coffee Crisps
wrapped with a pink bow,

only from Canada, mere
confusion.   Drunk the night of the 3rd.

Walking along Ocean Beach
next morning, sitting in the dunes,

writing,
trying to.   Road trip,

drop off
Oakland Airport

while fireworks go off and off.
Then back into his bed I’m

illegally parked
in front of somebody’s garage,

way too stoned with
The Simpsons.   Somehow

neatly make it home.   No
empathy—1 mph.   Please

allow up to six weeks
for each blade of pink fog.

dcxvi

Here come my favorite little Italian
allergies.   Thirsty, but not too hungry.

He appears innocent until put to bed.
Cover your eyes with fire

before the animals arrive.
The weekend?   I was moody

at Cloud 9.   Talk about a break-up,
show some slim hunk the wares,

then drive to Cupertino
with Stonehenge.

Should I join Netflix?
Sorry, I just ate a poison cookie.

dcxv

You’re tall enough.   Be it known that
I am at my desk
an uninterruptable siren

all the way up to here
singing closely into your holes.   Everything is resolved.
Eat two fruitbars at noon.   Busy

cute tall glassessed
and walking to the
Japanese Consulate without protection

to dance and Sing
apore.   He’ll do.   Paging the Tokyo proposal (duh!).
Paging the bartender’s upset stomach.   Paging Liz Claiborne.

He bought that groove to
remember tomorrow’s last gag-day.
It’s lubricant, Stupid!   Look

I don’t want anybody to know about this either but
you have a stupid face.
Surprise me with intelligence.

Judgment as form.   Leave lousy out of it!
Dichotomy Tommy
taken from behind.

dcxiv

Six years today
sitting at Gaylord
finished eating
sipping water
continuing to read Kenneth Koch
happy that my weekend
nevertheless although
a ‘date’....

My one-year review.
It’s a tear of happiness.
Buy some gum.
We’ll see if he writes back.

Eyes welling up
next to the rusted balls
like artwork (or so-called)
and the one (not rusted) hung round the neck
that looks like a dumbbell (a dumbbell ball).

“Five years ago,”
he said “we broke up
this very weekend.”
He remembers dates.

dcxiii

What a day already.
I have lost my brand new gorgeous glasses.
Ripples, or lines, maybe more cones
of blues and yellows on the (rippling) baywaters.
I am at Sushi Rock SFMOMA Yerba Buena
with its Hip Hop Nation and yellow-orange sun.
“It’s nice to know that you were there.”

Big Guston, mind’s gone bad.   “Open our eyes” I remember that.
Had all sorts of engines getting started.   My head
now knows who he is.   He showed me his favorite Pollock.

“Open our eyes.”
Then coffee, him coming down from being stoned.   The seagull.
Losing my glasses on the dancefloor.   Something has gone off.
Arguing with the nicest guy.   A crazy liplock.

“I remember” when I lost my mind because he fluctuates
between seeming comfortable with his sexuality
(I should just say sex) & then not so.

Our plan tomorrow is to watch the parade somewhere.
Anyway the sushi is pretty good.

dcxii

And then there was the line that made it all worthwhile.

Night’s pallor.   His numbing (and I did not say humbling) failure.

He piled all of the words onto the sofa and went to bed.

dcxi

On the verge of a meltdown
or at least an epiphany.

(What a gift!)

Then, suddenly,
everything makes sense.

(What a letdown!)

I went to the bank
six years ago,

met a mathematician,
all of 23,

tried to convince me
he was 38.

How old does that make me now?

Hello from the patio across Clay Street
under a tree.   Another beautiful day

for luxury apartments.
Nice view but pretty lame conversation.

Then all of the sex went limp.
The rest is dental repression.

dcx

Heartbreak is so much better than this.
All the important questions.

It seems that, for just a moment,
________.   (a brick floating on the Seine)

It’s the same day
nine years later.

dcix

Surprise me again.

Dinner and a beach.
Make it shallow.

Have Cool For You
on grilled cheese sandwich.

Later with a sour stomach,
insomnia,
and no reason to live,

refill each prescription.