Friday, December 31, 2010


How Ignorant I Am (of all things important).

I can’t get this sandwich out of my veins.
Most of us here have been skeptics in her past.
Yes, that’s right.   You heard it.   Do you like me now,

savoring the Piazza San Marco, sipping Venice,
studying the Fibonacci Sequence, and taking a
billion pictures?   Probably and probably not

(she wishes).   What, you don’t like monk boy?

Thursday, December 30, 2010


I’m in (the harmonic chamber)!

Oh and he doesn’t like it when I say anything
he does or likes [e.g., dogs, items of clothing]
reminds me of anyone.   It’s cute.

This should be interesting.

After class we’re meeting Zhang Yimou
for bento.   I’d better go
before my regular seat gets stolen.
(hours pass)

Somebody [in the Bay Area] did their homework

...the most awesome 1.5 hour Gertrude Stein ever.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010


They don’t make diners by the sea, at least not the right kind of diner.
                                                                        —Matvei Yankelevich

What a confusing guest,
causing the venetian blinds to close.   What a
confusing ghost.   I know what kind of poem this is.
It’s just thoughts (and a mirrored closet door).

Justified, one makes coffee and checks watches (also, one
watches checks).   I see.   I know

what kind of door this is.
   And it was pretty good.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010


do I dig this?   do I not?
   —K. Silem Mohammad

The truth is I’m super way ahead
of myself.   But I would still like
one of your pork chops.   Do you
think that would be possible?

I like riding my friends into a
corner.   And reading them, too.
Most relevant is my much better
status.   I should supply enjoy.

I mean I should WORK as
much as lean.   Every second
of what I get.   Things work
without therapy.   There’s

Del for a month or so.
Waiting for class
upstairs.   In he
walks, proud goon.

Monday, December 27, 2010


We always get coveted.   Have I mentioned
he won’t talk to me now that I’m in an
exclusive relationship?   He’s in Iowa
and still sends me dirty videos of himself.

I believe this is the correct set of data.   The
object of the game is to pin the hole on the
dick.   It is black.   Let me say that I’m much
better after my temporary collapse and a

cup of coffee.   Is this just the peak of
much more contact?   Content?   For
dessert we have a 7-layer spreadsheet.

Thursday, December 16, 2010


It’s Conical, in Retrospect

And then he tried to rip the wig
right off of Fred’s head!   This
is my last relationship.   I’m

serious sorry about your fat-
alism and your sorry un-ex-
pectactions.   Especially at

times that are rather important,
like holidays.   Oh well, just another
setback on the love map, heehee.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Pass the Mustard I’m on a Roll

He’s all giddy with his drawers.
I’m just glad that when I set my
mind to it, it really works.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010


Fraught with Loins of Tongue

          The trouble with signs is they can be interpreted.

          —K. Silem Mohammad

You can have this if you want it.   I thought
it was a loaf of owl.   Nah, I don’t think so,
it’s plain and kinda not cute and it has [gasp]
metallic legs.   It was a vulnerable evening.
I even told Dean I was in love.   Then Fred
poured drinks down our backs.   Fortunately,

I realized a few things.   Here’s a photograph
of Mom carrying a chicken and me proud
of my coat, rockin’ the spirit.   Not culpable
in the least.   Oh, to be a grown-up again.

Monday, December 13, 2010


                                        loins of tongue
                                              —Michael Ruby

I love these Via, don’t you?   I hear a song
by Sting at Borders that reminds me of Otto.
Somehow there’s an embarrassing smile
on the face of this pelican.   It just read a
poem that made it cry (and there it was,
scoffing in the very middle of it!).   He’s

happy to see me learning, I can tell.
You should probably check your tuna,
I think it’s seething.   I’m happy, too,
okay?   It’s springtime, a lovely Valentine
mood, dinner downtown, looking for
zinc.   I base this all on spiraling and

wanted to go home.   Darren, pick me
up, type on my computer, and
take a nap.   Don’t be a funk
in the barracks.   Then walk
dinner off, shopping with

buy a new knee-length
coat of vulnerability.
(You should probably
check the sauna,
I think it’s teething.)

Saturday, December 11, 2010


Still, what is?

Take me to The Moist, Baffled Ice Cream.
It’s a nice nook with a purring cat but
things keep disappearing near the sound
system.   Of course.   It’s the bra in you,

bra.   Small break in class to fall asleep to.
Wake up in the middle and he’s all caught up
in me.   Paint a big honkin’ capital “L” into
the apartment.   My nook can breathe now,

but there’s tea whistling through a thick wall
of carpet.   I think she was born with lots of
money in her ears.   And poor he; such a mis-
understood Cocteau, always getting fresh

with the Poetry.   Nothing left for you, sir, but
the stiff nymphs (Whitman, Crane & Stein, LLP).

Thursday, December 09, 2010


Oh, Space Kitten!

I think I’m falling in love.
My heart is a Toyota and
I’m drinking a mocha.   He’s
melting Michael Palmer this
afternoon and staying with
me tonight.   What a romantic
red flag!   Dear gaze, he says
he knows who you are, yet
despite robust nudgings you
’ve never met.   Like Janet
Jackson’s boob nor is my
brain here (you’re so very
wong).   Oh monumental,
I’ve fallen into such a

Wednesday, December 08, 2010


Well-Peppered Days

Oh holy fuck it’s Mrs Murcheson and
spine-tinglingly so.   It can’t just be the
music, no.   Making little notes on
Montgomery (what I wouldn’t do
for six feet two!)....   Waiter, there’s a
chili flake in my margarita.   I need new
lasses and I have no monkey.   [Sigh]

Tuesday, December 07, 2010


It’s Widespread (Buttocks)

I can’t write a poem while listening to Britney Spears.
But I was just trying to understand you better.   (Thank God,

he’s romantic!)

Monday, December 06, 2010


Au Revoir, Toilet Paper

                         in fact
          he lives to be remembered
          and remember himself

                          —Steve Carey

Beethoven ate my salad and my quiche.   I mean
I don’t remember eating any of it.   Is that like Pilates?

I like that scarf or at least the lady wearing it and
I forgot to Rogaine this morning.   Satellite dishes

at the academy.   Last night was fun, though; drank a lot
of blood and sand after spending an hour with a murderer.

I think it’s because she’s wearing a red jacket.   What is it
about dogs low to the ground?   Dogs wearing red jackets?

Do you find yourself evacuating the conversation like a
blond in the wind?   There is, perhaps, a vague resemblance.

I’m so sorry we missed the concerto for piano in the
green section.   Where wouldn’t I wear that scarf?