Wednesday, December 28, 2011


None of the Above

Wow!  Maybe his voice on the other side.
In a developing relationship.  If it’s still
happening.  With a fellow named Justin.

Don’t think too deep on this or you’ll
sneeze.  Magically blow away.  It’s a
case of the blond Octobers.  At

1:44am, pop all your fingers and
promise the police I won’t fall asleep.
Did you want to play cards?  At

night it’s like nothing happens.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011


All of the Above

I used to shampoo with a bar of Ivory every morning.
The lighter with the black panther with a yellow-green
snake wrapped around it is acting up.  A “talented and
versatile” Bay Area actress dies after “an accidental

plunge from a fire escape.”  I plan to read aplenty.
Tonight alone I’ve finished three books.  Bat latté.
Just no oomph.  I haven’t tried the red stuff yet.
Ready for a shower, though.  Is it because I had

lunch with Jamine at Pakwan’s today?  Or sweets
on Sunday?  Or the donut before Otto’s dinner
last night?  Because now I have so much more
muscle from running.  And waiting for a text

from Row.  Who knows, etc.?  I just don’t
like it.  Starving myself on some guy with
huge, curly, rockstar hair; I’d think he was
a big woman if I didn’t hear his voice on

the other side.  Again, who knows?  Then
there was the woman (deaf?) who kept
not hearing her absurdly loud cellphone
blaring some (equally absurd) tune on the table.

Saturday, December 24, 2011


Cat Mist Tastes Funny

What if everything gets dreadfully redundant
and/or boring? – a perfunctory echo I’ve mis-
treated while refusing to meet friends for cocktails.
Five years later I’m looking at pictures from Boston.

The city grew by erection.  I repeat the part about Sunday. 
It’s Sunday.  It’s six in the morning.

     “Reach in my chest and massage my heart.
     I am not dead.”
                                                  —James Schuyler

I ran after work, rather than in the middle of it.  Otto cooked a
cloud for the rest of the week.  The apartment is done, like the
rest of the day; a Vitamin Water in the sink.   Kenneth Koch’s
glasses are upside down but the sun is almost up.  The ring
in my ears is a reverie of birds.  Or a flight returning from

I feel lazy without my voice.  The ring swarms my ears.  Am I
maybe a fossil?  Kevy’s posting sick links.  Lanford Wilson
passed away; a soft spot in my heart for living his elderly
priest in Angels Fall at 21 years of age.

Hopped a trolley, reading uphill.  Had lunch with Nick
at our Chinese place on Kearny and it turns out he had a
romantic date on Friday night.  He kept saying it was surreal.

Goodbye Chinese restaurant on Kearny.  With all the ugly
fish in the window.  Goodbye childhood, so to speak.  I get a
haircut.  A reminder of the 80s (as told by the 90s).  She chopped
one sideburn off and left the other.  It’s okay, though.  I’m the
devil for Halloween.

Friday, December 23, 2011


Sunday Morning

This is okay, but I crave a little companionship.
A social quality is important.  Laughing over
hallucinations.  Surprise talk with Ben on the
phone last night.  Perrin says “hi.”  I ran after work
rather than in the middle of it.  (Work?)

The air full of Schuyler and cat mist.  I wish it were a
seedy Sunday morning.  But at least I don’t hear any
rain.  Sit inside for days complaining of rain, secretly
pleased to be shut in.

I’ve got lousy taste.  By that I mean everything
tastes funny.  By that I mean this orange juice
tastes horrible.

Thursday, December 22, 2011


One on One

The worst time to sleep is between eleven in the morning
and one in the afternoon.  The most embarrassing thing
should be the most visible.  The latest culprit, for example.
But one good thing is almost any time we ever get testy
with each other these days I learn something—I mean
the process is productive.  And rarely the three of us together
compared to times recent.  Also, avoid stating (and restating)
the obvious.  Stay up until 4am playing Apples to Apples
with Otto, Erin, and Masashi after watching hilariously
horrible Sucker Punch.  Continue to reenforce, amend,
chronologize electronic photographs.  What is the goal?
Besides get quarters, flowers (maybe), yoga instructor,
and clean blinds?  Soft rain on the sofa.  Otto studies
beatnik fashion for a major corporation.  Spring line,
2012.  Richard is at Mezzanine for Britney Spears.
I read a chapbook by a poet I’ve known for several
years.  I’ve never read anything by him (as far as
memory can tell) and he’s now a completely different
person to me.  He moves up several notches.  On the
list.  Everything is in a list, is prioritized.  It takes a
lot of strategy to incorporate the random.  To ensure
random.  Your desk, wherever you make it, is the
bold new bloom of modern industry.  Quickly copy
and paste each new email from Ron, careful not to
glance at a word, saving the savor and surprise for
a carefully scheduled time in the advance.  In the
forward.  Make a note; ensure it’s on the list and
properly calendared.  Schedule time to flirt online.
Force yourself to brunch, starving; wolf down
waffle with hazel-nut flavored maple syrup and
chicken (add fruit and share half with Otto).

Wednesday, December 21, 2011


Three Attempts to Spell Bernadette

It’s all too fast to princess.  I sit on The History
of Homosexuality in Film.  A lightbulb thru time.
Reading a bunch of pictures.  No light coming in.
Just trying to finish something.  I am just as I was.

I consider this.  He and Masashi are going to San
Diego for a conference.  I struggle through a dream;
things that can fit into a shoebox.  Shoebox appro-
priate.  Wake up in a snuggle and the rain.  Walking

here.  Thinking they should put a cafe in the Center
and here it is.  Queerest coffeehouse in San Francisco.
Well, not so bad (when you funk it up a little.  It’s
a turquoise alcove...)....

My exercise program is working.  It’s teeny-tiny.  I’m
all over the place.  It takes me three attempts to spell
Bernadette.  “He doesn’t want to be read.”  Succomb
to the rain.  Succomb to the shoebox, a lightbulb thru

time.  I did complete something.  Happy as clams about
that.  And the wind.  And my haircut.  I’ve got a
Coco.  Imaginative.  I’m in the Used Dept.  thinking of
sex and sleep.  Soft as your brow, which, when

incoherent, tufts.  A happy cruise control gets
oddly jealous of, for example, yesterday,
the latest culprit.  Shush the rain.  The rain shushes.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


Also, so what?!

I forgot.  Or I’m the Queen of
Invisibility.  Sometimes I’m the door
the unidentifiable insect keeps bumping into.
Be patient.  Adjust glands.  Imagine someone

naked.  I harp on sex and wonder if I’m an
addict.  And, if so, which part is the addiction.
I wonder these things about several people and then I
talk for a while to a piece of paper.  Earlier, while

laughing about how much I forget, I was reminded about
something I have forgotten.  A promise I made.  I was
happy to be reminded, even though it is now im-
possible for me to live up to my promise.  I

enjoy the memory of the promise.  It opens me up
to new possibilities.  To new promises.