Monday, January 31, 2011


Captain Paper Rides Again

But but it’s a beautiful day
what does wet have to do
with it?   A mild case of
harsh-head this morning.
At least I’m weatherproof.
It’s just a day of linkages
(The sun and the irony of
a downpour.   The wind
bulging the windows).
Just as you’ve set foot
indoors from walking
together to work(s).   A
fork in the road (be it
desert or Starbucks).
The rain washes off
a month of raunchy
(a taxi plunges into a
cigarette....   Do you
dither or do you
pledge allegiance?

Friday, January 28, 2011


Horny Failure

In the future fairy dust will replace the
iPhone.   Not many people know this but
RuPaul is one of them.   When I ran into
Fumi he remembered that I didn’t have
facial hair.   When he disappeared
something took place in the
parking lot.   I should send
him a note.

I thought for a while about going to
sleep.   But the future was too important.

Thursday, January 27, 2011


It’s kind of interesting and has kept my mind
a bit on him.   So here I am worried.   If I fall
asleep on the Bay Bridge would you come
get me?

Back-ups?   Sure, it might be.   I take a lot of
quizzes and generally like trivia.   I’ve also
known a lot of Sues.   That’s what they
usually go by.

I’m unequivocally drawn to the dumpling
in the corner.   A wife-beater, a skinny
leather tie, a few pimples under the
nose, and a rat-tail.   Such

perfection is hard to come by these days.
I don’t have much of a chance to sustain,
what with the perfectly calibrated thump.

A DJ has come between us; a sure sign
I should get back to the office with its
creepier noises.   After work

I’ve got to run to the frame shop,
pick up the sonogram of the
whispering in my head.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


The Book of Fake Lies

As I stand around corrupting youth
I’m reminded of how I can’t remember
a thing.   A huge piece of blue furniture
once took up this corner of the room,
you say?   Something almost seemed
missing.   But sometimes architecture
expands (like bridges in summer).

I’d like to talk to you about pajamas.
Do you still have that rash?   I’m
looking for the right balance and
believe I may be able to help you out.
And I couldn’t agree more about the
calluses.   But as I dance ever nearer
I wonder if he’s in prostitution.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


I wish to bang the gong in front of the bathroom
with Ambien.   Next to Camper with Curtis or
posing at Yerba Buena (it isn’t as dizzy as it
sounds until 3:00am).   Then to Kim’s for
Mezzanine fliers.   Dinner.   Sake.

I can’t remember your drag name but I find you
attractive.   Maybe it’s all the gold make-up.
Then to my place for a shirt for Brian.   Toto
must be looking down from heaven and
wagging his tail.   Nice aura.

The hot dog guy seemed to say hi nicely,
I mean to make a point of it.   The hot dogs
are all wrapped in bacon and despite the minor
cat-fight (no bleeding, just mustard on the black
pants from Venezia) were completely in our mouths
before we were completely in our cab.

Rene was there, too.   And Windy.   I said hi to lots
of folks.   And we didn’t get together, really, but
some stuff.   This is where I like to think.   In
the end, however, after I found my way to
a vibrant anger, I slipped into a bed of
sobs.   Many hours later you accepted
the job offer.

The gong is gone now.   Perhaps to bluer days.
As overseer, you must be, well, overjoyed.
But now who’ll break us from our slumbers
each morning?   There is always much to
mourn.   But nostalgia for a clear head
unwavering sense of direction?

Monday, January 24, 2011


We need more starlight.   The page
is too big.   Veer left at G-Something,
Stockton near Camper or Somesuch.
Curtis at the Rock.   An autumnal
spring dusk lights the boozy bldgs
in the Finance.   Starstruck bird
swandives.   Eucalypts dance a
democracy into the court-
yard—snapping photos
for passports they dance
and then they dance.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


Soap in the Eyes of an Auk

I can be hilarious without Google.   If I’m
just me does that make me elitist?   I’m thinking
we make too much fun of each other.   Relax
when I say I love to argue and laugh at the
rain tinkling on your nose.   Start over in a
second without reverting to selfish.   Behavior
is child-prone.   Pour milk to activate mini-wheats.

How come the word safari has such a colonizing
sound to it?   Let’s say I want to look at the mountain,
not get blinded by it.   Am I not allowed a break
for a while if you’re just too much to handle?   I
agree that I sometimes get turned on.   Why do you
think this is always about me?   How about we
twirl around a few times and then make a budget?

I created a monster.   I like the monster and I pet it
and nourish it.   Then what?   Just ride the monster?

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


Can’t you see this says nothing about me?

Also watched Academy Awards.   Nick came over
with sweets at 8pm—last hour of show.   Then Barbara
Walters with Diane Keaton.   Then bought two new
t-shirts.   I’m losing my brain.

We like your voices because they are not important.
We like Pacman bandaids and purple mouthwash.
Find what you like just south of the revolution.   But
bring lots of caulk.   I mean finding=

evolve.   Watching clouds roll over the Alps.   Finding
you equals potent.   Are you a stand-up comedian (i.e.,
have you changed deodorants)?   Find me on aisle 8
with the Snoopy dolls because

I need new luggage, right?   Put it on the list.   These
kinds of sentences work better when you nail the
chair down.   Less wobble is less awkward.
But have we always misvalued awkward?

Monday, January 17, 2011


Wow, I’m so married.

Everybody keeps kissing me twice but it’s
against the law to hold hands in this country.
Repudiation of above brings mad bears with
guns.   Somehow I’m lecturing students on
gay poetry.   I’ve brought Whitman, O’Hara,
Ginsberg, edwards, Sigo, and Brolaski to
counter.   Start off with what’s important:
I’m not gay but I play one on teevee.   “You’re
only graded on your performance.”   Always
be flexible.   This is why yoga helps.

Friday, January 14, 2011


Your exhibitionism is fading.   Showing less of nothing
is more, these days.   “Have you ever been beat up?”   “No.”
“Can we plan your departure?”   Not while I’m sleeping.

Rainy Easters always do this to me.   Don’t they do this
to you?   I think maybe his concern is real.   It started out
with dinner sitting next to Jackie Earle Haley, who, as it

turns out, is the next Freddie Krueger.   And somehow
that makes me racist?   Reaching out to you is like crawl-
ing into a hole.   I wish.   Another day off.   I spent it with

the Comcast guy.   Now I can download porn.   I really am
in a relationship now.   When we get married, I’ll teach you
how to play Rook.   Family traditions and daytime television.

Thursday, January 13, 2011


There’s a ringing in my ears
as if a poem were beating on stone

                          —Barbara Guest

Sushi next door after running into
David at Borders.   As opposed to

I put a comment in your glass, we
were a pair somehow.
   (John Ashbery)

I used to be able to put a spin
on my balls.   Now what?   Temporarily
can’t serve alcohol?   Rusty keychains?

Ever been evicted over a pomeranian?
I have.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Especially the Vesicles of Man Mouth

          Terrible incidents happen
          daily.   That’s how we get around obstacles.

                                                  —John Ashbery

Even here there is an awareness of the lyric.   I suspect
with certainty.   Every other minute another
important person cruising down the street.
I want to see the equation that calculates
appropriate escort and payroll.

Can I borrow your toenail clippers?

So that’s what flattery will get you.   Like “Ginsberg’s failure
to share Whitman’s affirmation of American life,” I
responded too much.   First with something like
“stop teasing me.”   Then with a tirade about how
serious I am and how serious a question that is.

And then we returned to our native land only to find
a house full of Republicans.   What gestures risen from
an insolent darkness.

But be of good cheer.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


His Jingle

Doves thrive in an
applesauce of mis-
read rubies.

The future looks
as if I were a
praying mantis.

Bareback whales
in a greenish mist.

Venice is sad
to see us go.

Monday, January 10, 2011


In the Lost Rapper’s Voice

The boy knows how to kiss.   Doing
as he does in the narrow streets of
Venice, the party of smiling lisps
draws ever nearer.   The drama of it.

Sunday, January 09, 2011


Repetition.   A grim storm’s
fevered throat.   The tintype
of daylight branches on
parade tucked behind
an oversized book
flat on its cover
atop the shelf.

Thursday, January 06, 2011


(on my rioting lawns the plaster flamingos
endure your wonder)

                —Barbara Guest (Dido to Aeneas)

How, youth, such wisdom?   Is it so it becomes
or am I entranced into the bubble of it?   I like
to put someone in a school just for the resonance.
Music (life) isn’t just harmonicas and dulcimers.

But love will wrap you around a tree
almost every time.   And the well are never happy.
Approaching the sphinx with a riddle of your own
is far less tiresome than the delirium of nostalgia.

Maybe that’s the answer.   Any attempt to
resolve things is a bit too ominous, though,
don’t you think?   Maybe that’s the answer.   A
toppled vase dancing in the dusk-storm’s wind.

Wednesday, January 05, 2011


Nobody laughs uncomfortably as well as you do.

You know what’s funny?   That I have my alarm
set to church bells.   Here, take your monkey.

We can just ask.   Hello, I need an iron.   It’s that
simple.   Wow, that is the sexiest outfit ever.

But you just changed again (rockin’ the 80s now,
I see).   It’s a snap-down; it just snaps down right here.

Monday, January 03, 2011


Can you remember something
to clip nose hairs?   Great,
I found an acronym.