mcxxxv

Reading just depressed me.

I’ll suffer with the dawgs of Awgust.  Let them
remember me this way, torn apart from my meat,
putting on the wrong face and forgetting to wear
a belt.  The hallway’s doused in tingly lubricant

and breakfast is nothing but a couple of birds in
the attic.  What found me there?  What lasted
a year of losing, EXIT signs pasted on molars,
beckoning?  Cater like a whistling siren, though,

bone them with any possible methodography,
and it’s breakdancing down staircases.  All
edgy.  And all edginess kills.  Who wouldn’t
prefer raindrops of toothpaste, a deodorant

that puts its money where its mouth is, literally
covers it all up?  I’m not afraid of baldness, per se,
but haphazard circle jerks?  Call me a hand-held,
but let me sink into your couch like a crying meatloaf.

mcxxxiv

One theory leans on another, takes
a bite out of narrative.  This good.
Dumb Sunday.  Scanners in love,
already tedious.  Extra serious
cereal, ongoing online snapper.
You don’t know the half of it.
Gradually punctuated wake-up.
Nude butt develops lips, instant
messages weekend.  MysticRiver
on Gay.com no hanky-panky.
Didn’t sleep much but found
someone to unwrap.  Looks
cute with stuffing.

mcxxxiii

Impersonal

Hit your heart out.  Take a
pill earlier.  Saturday sun-
glasses fall asleep on mus-
tache.  One hour snuggle.
Sense of literally bawling.
Joy and love need a nap.  Get
a grip and pass the mustard.
Shake a leg before stroking.
Scratches head and wonders
never cease.  Forty winks
else still bonkers bonking.

mcxxxii

Posse pyramid in
pee party.  Disgust it
with you later.  Poot
sirens on unchosen.
Broke down start
relationship in
Union Square.
Call column:
“Do ya think
I’m wasting?”
Exhale.  Exhale.
And I was just sunk,
sunk.  One to five.
But things get
up.  Pup-tent
blanks.  Boy oh
boy.  Not to men-
tion pops poses
in pussy piss.

mcxxxi

For and without you.
Dark circles under a
haircut.  Cat purrs
rice.  Naked head
got hurt dancing.
Mom turns two.
Have to go, by
the way.  Able
to play bizarre
work in fragile
maybe.  Best
way to put it.

mcxxx

Seagulls.  Sittin’ on his
legs in September.  Scan-
ning 1998 etc.  Recon-
ciliation.  Realization.
Except I love happy.
Definite I do.  Alone
and frugal, walking
on elimination.  Type
Tokyo in one breath.
Scan cat.  Cat scan
(breathe blood brain).
Coco’s doves with
no clothes.  Drove
us cuckoos to Vegas.
Don’t cry, Wedgie.  Get
a hyper romance.  Feel
a little like sittin’ on
September.

mcxxix

One melon rind.  Mohair
cat.  Tragic laugh stink.
Fairly morbid sucker.
But I was whatever.
OK, I didn’t.  In
pill form.  Took
off wrapping face.
Cat’s pajamas.
Butt motivation.
Took off grace
wrapping face on
Sunday.  Describe
the hands I’m
losing.  Pisses the
face I fucked.  Cat-
hedral ist October.

mcxxviii

She cokes bacon on purpose.
Also bundts the oven.  Cats
tickle mice behind ears.  Finally.
Cool breezes through windows.
Tonight’s supposed to complain
about it.  So I’ll do that & then.
At 6:30 I felt an Indian Summer
under Grandma Hazel’s quilt for
the first time.  Refreshing til for-
ever.  Go to Nico’s.  Now he’s
warming homework but
very silent.  Check for
breathing.  Suck on
ex of ex, page 2,127.

mcxxvii

Brief Shallots

Spank in English
a little better.

Especially having
drink martinis.

Apothecary hard-on
smells like meth pits.

Somebody’s balloon
bubble burst on the
smoking lamp.

Quell the mites.

Biscuits &
Leviticus.

mcxxvi

Tuck him in hand by foot
after dinner with Face-
book salesman and four
crab-legs.  What about
Fuckface?  Give the
straight scoop.  A
big fat F for traffic.
We to the very end.
Call me when love
gets beets.  A dry
pocket of moles over
a table of herring.

mcxxv

drink nymph barf? oho!
well I can’t & quickly
shampooed. fuck fuck.
dreamland seem to be-
long just today. not
oops I barfed.
obviously seem &
hopefully took
care of. he
snore like
animal. maybe
Christopher how much
further. suck starting
Sunday by yesterday
distant. that’s pretty
much the a-list.

mcxxiv

By then, you could tell I had lost
my brain.  It’s amazing the things
we take for granted.

In the red zone, another
Japanese class on the queer arts.

It’s not stasis, it’s waking up.  Period.
Every day a few new hurts.

mcxxiii

The eagle has landed. At The Eagle,
no less! We keep searching for glory
holes, I thought there were glory holes
here. Some secret doorway to a base-
ment or an upstairs. My igorance is
sometimes bliss. But I often mis-
take it for honesty, which blows
holes in the theory I’m work-
ing so very hard on.

mcxxii

Bloopers from Bewitched

It doesn’t take a genius
to figure it out. Big drag
soaked by queen of cham-
pagne. Smallest dais in
outer space. How’s your
relationship to the inter-
national time zone? Or
the deathmarch to udon?
Call it what you will,
with your pent up salted
rim fetish. Chain-jang-
ling rumpus at the Arc
de Sling or anecdotal
Fuji frolic. Either way,
so fa frickin’ la, you &
your blah blankety blah.

mcxxi

Flashback

We were looking at the lake through the eyes
of a murder.  Was it simply platonic?  I feel
okay about how we spent our impasse.  Yellow
leaves, thin, small, scattered on the walk around
the plaza.  Spigots and shrubbery, some sort of
laughing bird, the plastic hunchbacks spinning
in the noontime wind.  Didn’t she get her start
on One Day at a Time?

mcxx

Say That Again With Your Tongue In My Mouth

Happy Hump Day!  I can see the Second Coming
in faces of Frank on molded glasses.  This, a dark
ruse, with rhetorical concern of high homosexual
fashion (think burning hundred dollar bills, tit-
clamps, tattoos on foreheads, exploding bottles
of Veuve Clicquot) and mushy faces of students
who need help with creative writing.  Monday
mornings when all words are misrepresented.
Two loads of laundry keep you from sleeping
with him, no joke, bigger than the Yellow Pages;
but he let me borrow it anyway, all the way
thru next week with no intimacy in either
LA or San Diego.  Tonight, bored with
simple potatoes, filled with Portugal
and mediocre screams.  The ones
that sputter among the pierced
balconies and, indistinguishable
from the muffled crickets,
make their ways into
squadrons of white-
washed homes.
Horizonless.

mcxix

Fantastic the feathers
the Fed gathers just to
think of root beer.  I
wrote a couple new
ones on the economy’s
pulse.  My heart came
out messy.  Switch to
digital pilfering.  Scour
Sonoma for an egg
cup.  Flexible enough
to flaunt inconsistency
skills and still control
the tonsils.

mcxviii

This my ulterior projection,
thought too long I’d have to be
buried. Burnt up, of course,
in San Francisco’s jonquils,
after tulips and juleps. Her
utter jonquils, no less.
Or just wow, a new me,
a first kiss on the F-train.
Or just wow, Lost in
Translation at the
Hall of Mirrors.

I say bye. Walk
up hill. Oh my
god I am drinking
so much coffee I gotta
suck a Tums at all times just to
stomach the gore. I left him a little
message on his phone, happy to
know him around 11:30 while I
was eating milk chocolate Milanos.

mcxvii

Smeeches 

(formerly Smoochies)

Scarcely heated next to the
trauma outfit....Sat on your
face where Gavin’s bride
bleeds....Override Charmin
squeeze....Sometimes only
shadow practice....Getting
emails 2am reaches over..
..You aren’t there and feel
a presence anyway....Means
I guess he means it....Moves
the planet’s butt to left field
but fakes a pass and cracks a
nut....What’s with all of the 

blank Fuzzy Post-its.......

Tuscaloosa.