Tuesday, March 31, 2009


My colleagues, the seven hills of San Francisco.

Memory, like a long, white glove taken off
during a strip-tease.   Feelings, a rusting
trumpet cased up in the attic.   Sooner than
the forehead becomes a parquetry of time,
I fall to the dust.   Exhaustion

is actually subtle, comes faster with
stability.   Shake things up and life is a
joyride but where did it go?   Tranquil

jonquils on the veranda.   A slippery
bass tugging at the tow.   The bliss
of a full weekend actively engaged
with intimates, sensory overload,
friendship done enough to eat,

an almond tart at a newly-encountered
bakery.   I love this city, I fall in love
often.   Today, again, with the man
of my heart.   Always something
delectable in the fog sifting through
the Financial District,

romance and capitalism can thrive
together.   Like now, all I see is
blue.   Then home to mull over
the dirty carpet, unable to yet
clean for fear of ridding myself
of all signs of parties awkward
and ecstatic.   Laundry

instead, a few poems, congeries
to this and that, a tribute to
all things remembered and

Monday, March 30, 2009


Rejecting the notion it takes
years to process important data.
Bad idea.   Assuming you know
important data vs. unimportant.

Crisis today: taxes is an ice

Sunday, March 29, 2009


Being.   To be.
The blatant
lack of sexuality
amongst a horny
throng.   Several
sprigs of somewhat
serious conversation
and then BLAM
hot love with the
seemingly inadequate.
When we dig he’s
beautiful, trimming
my beard with
steady eyes.   His
moles, the hair
under his ‘sideburns’.
We move on, work
it out.   Find our
selves a happy
piece.   Be

Friday, March 27, 2009

Thursday, March 26, 2009


mark this: sneezing
into the crook of
my arm, I accidentally
skip a stanza.   so I
come here to edit an a
historical moment.   a

repetition a

repetition (sure)
with disregard
to intellect.   and as such I
backtrack, sure, I
mimic to swoon with I
relevance.   at home I

doing one thousand
things at once.   eating
all of the grapes.   mark

          the Ferry Building,
a summer escape, and
the definition of
quagmire.   and
furthermore I get
away with it.

eating grapes.   a stale
cashew.   skip stanza.
mark this.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009


My good friend is leaving.
It should have ended there
but he sent me his picture
to cheer me up.   Which I
put into the poem I wrote
yesterday.   Do you think
death is inevitable?   Look
at this beautiful paperweight
for forty-five minutes.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


I showed him everything
but this.   Constantly.   Or
maybe not tonight.   Leading
to loss of hair.   The broken
sound of the word ‘depressed’ –
does it cheer you up?   I found
that last part under the couch.

Monday, March 23, 2009


Excruciating.   Into the
darkness with collar on.
One poem, no offer for
more ginger ale.   My
waiter.   Looking good
but maybe not tonight.
I think it’s a trend so
I refuse to go with it.
Show it to me.
Very good.   I cried
at the funeral.   In real
life, one dollar tip is
one dollar too much.

Friday, March 20, 2009


Break through into me (again,
I am your humble servant) on
this most desolate of weekends.
Interesting, love, love, etc.
Where next?   Bad waiters
taking off their pants
until you’ve been broken.
Break down broken up and
broken into.   It’s a process.

Thursday, March 19, 2009


Do you hear my stomach?
It’s been – I’ve been – too busy.
I was once a compassionate
lover.   Now I take all I can
and never use anything.
To use is to lose.
Finally the snow
has melted away.   Then
to the Chinese New Year’s
parade in the rain.   What
comes of such severe
humiliation?   A
coffin in the end,
to be sure.   So off
we go, two dots
in the massive
anti-war demonstration.
Precious.   What’s
won at the lottery
goes to the purchase
of a new webcam.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


Adorable.   Why do you do me so?
Meanings of my life I cannot find.
In August.   Tomorrow afternoon.
Then dinner.   What a tease you
like to be.   And then?   Dancing
under a wiggly table.   That’s
the short, enigmatic note you
sent.   All hell broke loose on
the couch.   Sprigs of lavender.
Except love has decided to
really take.   Go ahead to the
movies while I pace the
apartment looking for
chips.   While I untangle
all the wires.   Which means
there are things I must
reconcile or change.
Approaching 3pm,
nearly at war with
another rhyme.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


I’m loving Dodie’s blog it’s
miraculous how to actually
say something I never know
how.   Speaking of which I
think Barf Manifesto must’ve
gotten lost in the mail it just
never showed up.   Finished
pages 50 and 51 how in Bolivia
on the shores of Lake Titicaca
lies Copacabana.   Then page
2,048 look how I’ve (not)
written.   Lake Titicaca Peter
on Family Guy would be
giggling by now.   How
uninteresting how who cares
how little I’ve written
which is generally indic
ative of February (isn’t it?).
Kickstart it in such a staid
environment (staid lake
since only existent in my
staid skull staid mahogany
staid month).   I guess mainly
I’m thinking drive-by on
Folsom with half-moon
(or merely wishing which is
also dreaming half the time)
or how I wish I were.   Half-
by.   Go home wetface go
home instead go blog go back
to papers left drying by the
fire in Bolivia I’m loving
I’m really loving Dodie’s blog
it’s a miracle how to actually
say something cuz fuck
this shit is no good.

Monday, March 16, 2009


Welcome to American Express.
I can’t get in.   You’re choking me.
Wake up!   I’m at my desk talk
ing about the end of October
it’s mid-August.   I was not the
same in February which is
similar to most months between
December and April here.   In
San Francisco two and a half
years before this headline
Spray-on condoms still a hard
.   Exchange each word with
a different one (talking about
stomach problems) I haven’t
seen my friend Perrin online
in a while.   Poems about coming
a lot and leopards (Scalapino).
It’s really nice to have something
that alleviates the problem.   I
love baby food but haven’t act
ually had any in a while.   Wel
come to American Express I
can’t get in you’re choking me

Friday, March 13, 2009


in my poetry, it’s a scientific fact
that our thoughts cause our feelings and behaviors

                                                                —Tao Lin

I am said to have the anguish of a plaster breast.
Night before last I said “dick” four times.   I usually use “penis”.
Writing as if I were a woman can be an enriching pretense.

Then there are books you read the first page of and know
immediately that this is going to be one of the profound events
of this active cycle.

Nobody gets to know me because I am too busy getting to know books.
Two “I love you” emails was all I needed.

Everything went well, though I think Taylor Brady broke his arm.
Saturday I got my hairs cut by Zeon at Glama-Rama.   Then we saw
Final Destination 2, a seriously disturbing fucked up film.

Off to Treasure Island for a party.   The host disappears half-way through,
and I was quite a wallflower.   My adorable date was charming,
seemingly out of his element (in a good way), gobbling up quail eggs.

I have become known (to myself) for arguing well into the night for
arrogant, broad proclamations or radical truisms like
“Poetry can be anything you want it to be”.   I am here.   Please wave.

Thursday, March 12, 2009


Why This Veil of Pretense?

It’s lovely to get to know someone.   It takes years.
And then comes engagement.   Or so I say.   Primary ambrosia.

So why are we so afraid to give it away?   Well, perhaps because
we know all too well that getting it straight can be so dull.   Do I want to
bore people?

Perhaps, sometimes.

Mystery, elusivity, and complexity are basically corrupt and coward.
But I do like to play hard to get (in the traditional sense).
Anyone who’s that obvious doesn’t stand a chance with me.

Hence it’s games with words.   Much joy ensues.

Lately, and I was just talking about this with someone
whose name never shows up here, I’ve been thinking about
the inclusion of proper names of friends, lovers, and acquaintances
who show up in these lines,

what it would mean to tabulate each name, rank the order
from “most appearances” to “mentioned only once” –
and how that list might compare with and surprise with regard to
perceived importance of the same set of people – in “real” life –
outside the trajectory of this plot that I have pieced together from “reality” –

this lovely, pretended plot that has,
in more ways than I can articulate,
given me a clearer understand of who I am and what is real
than pretty much any venture in which I’ve ever invested.

As for engagement, today I feel so in love.
Ain’t that something?

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


Porn Without Hands

Speed fills weekends with days and nights.
Speedway voice-overs like Tom Raworth
highlighting your life’s events.   It’s astounding
being forty-one.   Sure, I am here, like always.
Think about always.   Always.

I’m very good at comparing degrees of selfishness.
Very is for arrogant.   And that I can reason my way
down the spectrum toward “much diminished with regard to
her and him”.   Hooray.   Four stars
(five would be too too).

I could smell the trees and hear the birds on campus.
When that becomes so striking that I notice I’ve
dropped my pastoral pretensions and lo
I am a small town boy I should get to know
it’s time to watch anything with Andy Griffith.

When the birds call me back to school.

Speaking of rejecting Academia for academia
(or is it the other way around), I just finished
George Stanley’s At Andy’s last night and it was
sooooo good.

Like how Facebook can remind you that you
really do have an assortment of friends, it’s
always nice to be reminded that there are
heroes aplenty.   Before a gentle reminder
to walk on over to the bookshelf, let’s use our
bloated left brain to problematize this stanza.
A graph or two would be handy.

“Gemini, I love thee.”
“Why, Sparky, you don’t taste so bad yourself.”

Tuesday, March 10, 2009


Delusion Can Also Be of Value (cf. “Del is for Delusion”)

Forcing yourself to
deliberately trudge page by page through a book
you’re just not getting
caught somewhere between distaste
and disinterest when
you becomc acquainted, you start to enjoy it, you engage.
A child has been born into the family.

I don’t believe it’s a typo.   His name is Shiny.
You think the earth wasn’t watching where it was going?

The movie was utterly horrible.   However, never to
blatantly adorn the mantle of pessimism (a gift I inherited
matrilineally; although having spent a decade as an actor
I believe I know how to feign that I long ago pawned it off
for more decorous values*), I am most certain it was better
than watching Bush’s state of the union address.

Then he blocked out as much sunshine as he could
and got into bed, I dunno when, but then we made love
— aswirl — something is bringing us together.
Later we talked about money.

And you loved me because this is what I am not.

*Don’t bother telling me if I am sadly mistaken.

Monday, March 09, 2009


What’s more
I start to think you

           —Graham Foust

There are joys and practicalities.
Why should these be mutually exclusive?

Forgive my broad assertions.
Arrogance is less often mutual bliss.

Double-date at hot pot restaurant in
Burlingame.   Someone should come visit
my home town.

A guy I have been obsessed with for two years
smiles at me two days while I’m
on a treadmill.

This is the point where his friends
make a concerted effort, a
valiant inclusion.

Now, it seems, there is no turning back.
Darkness falls.

(Also an obscure reference to the movie
Darkness Falls)

Spent the night at his place,
where I put my left foot on the earth
and reached out to grab a helicopter.

Friday, March 06, 2009


I only blog for poetry.

Pour myself another root beer
in case I forget the punch line.

Why have I done this
for years and years (these root beers)?

He just came, you’re
stupid, and nothing will ever

be as it once was.   And this is
okay.   Seriously, once you get

going with these things it’s really
hard to stop.   Red skies at

night, a new version of
Yahoo, the cat bites off
half my hand (rippled palms).

Pour another soda for
six and a half years

of strawberry cake (you)
and tea (me).   “I’m envious of you!”

Of this, I don’t think he knew
exactly what was meant.   Such

auteur nonsense took balls
and I wanted to love the wrong person
for it.

It was a moment for the record.
It was a moment.

Thursday, March 05, 2009


I totally meant sedentary
not sedimentary
though either will do.   Dana’s got
too many keys in his blood.
The image rides far in your head like a
     chromatic lotus chord opening out from one’s bong
(Dana Ward).
First I misread one’s borg.   Far
and far out like salmon burger
with milkshake, a favorite I seem to have
forgotten -- (the phone rings) -- and if I am indeed
slowly getting stupider then the truth will be
known tomorrow.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009


Pizzahut.com still thinks
Sepia is alive.   How do I
change this?   Besides history,
I want thin crust sausage and bacon
with extra cheese,
which is almost what they
used to call a cheeseburger pizza
but more sausagey.   Whew,
I’m much better today (rainy)!
my love says “love, love, love, love,
love!”   Serendipity just finished
a videotaped interview for
Platinum.   Joe calls.   “Well,
obviously because I love the
more elusive dancing mania.”
Nobody ever cared more,
I promise (please care).
Tomorrow, a concert with
Erin.   Friday, poets.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009


What happened to romantic?
We don’t meet for another year.
Pissy needs.   Sitting, eating,
can’t sleep, more phones.   I
bought this to meet you with.
One, he practically dismisses me.
Two, he spends all these
“extra hours” with “friends” –
we get contentious.   He
jumps me for being wishy-
washy and ending
conversations with
“nevermind!”   I agree
it’s sexy to jump and
promise to sleep okay
after the suicide bomb.

Monday, March 02, 2009


My green iPod broke and I can’t find my
blue one under the bozo moon.   Under
any moon I am still filth, even with this
fish band-aid.   My heart hurts and the
police ring their bells but I am happy
in my bones.   My bones ride the
elevator up and down for security
(surely there are cameras in there).
Reading V.Imp. with 7-up, soup
and gorgonzola salad.   Things
are surprisingly warm and giddy
with my ride to the warehouse.
First, he drank a fuzzy navel,
turned all red and was scratching
up his arms, then to my bathtub
where he crashes immediately. I
get up to watch the war between
the Jews and the Arabs (this
before we know anything),
then back to bed for snuggling,
first time this year.   Later,
in the middle of the night,
he gets up to clip my face hairs
for wallflower practice and
all the Raiders fans on BART.
It is a cloudy day.