A cat stalks a bird, the cat leaps and misses but creates a
moment for itself, that’s what time is—the rupture called failure
that even for a cat is an event.
—Lyn Hejinian (from Lola)
All available sun is consumed. Maybe it’s too much caffeine.
Step into the bee-chat line – it’s a fairly regular morning, which
dwindles into a conversationless dusk. Stick out tongue for
sun lozenge. Doodle in the margins until fully digested.
This is adult thinking. I wanna chastise him but instead say
“DUH”. I have to say it’s lovely, though. I really enjoyed
it.
The following stanza is all about the sun as ‘author’. It
plays like Noh drama. Or improv that is awaiting variation.
Interpret the rays beaming down into a bowl of overly-sogged
Cheerios. Pages of magazines ripped out and pasted to the wall.
The conversation always comes back to dick size. Sure, there
were delicious salmon crepes at Chez Maman. Beans. Elephants
on a whim. Or was it that he simply tried to talk me into an elephant?
Stepped into a bookstore and thought about yesterday. Ubiquitous
yesterday. Tried calling Garvin, whose roots are showing. Refuse to
leave a message. Last time there’ll ever be Garvin. Garwin. Whom-
ever. Idiosyncrasies sway like chaises longues in the noontime breeze.
