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.
