Tuesday, July 31, 2012


We’ve only just met

but I can tell that you are trying to be funny.
Let me say a few words about tone.  Unfortunately,
this only works if we keep doing it forever.

Just because I’m an academician doesn’t mean I
know the proper terminology.  But you’re obviously a
raving lunatic.  Would you like a second opinion?

I can tell that you are uncomfortable with my
persona.  To be frank, I am too.  But are you happy?
I’d like to think that’s the question I’m trying to

answer for myself.  But are you happy?

Sunday, July 29, 2012


All Day Sale at Nordstrom’s – Half Off

Is it better to be paid some small amount
for love?  Or to pay it over? 

Maybe it’s each penny I can’t help but
turn around, bend over, pick up.  The twenty

I pocketed in front of Jake’s at the corner of
Main and Main (where we had our first stop-

light) (where we celebrated the closure of
cinema with Bambi riding The Ten Commandments).

Maybe you’re still the only one rich enough
to buy your own label just so you can cut a

record.  When we drink our bloodies tomorrow
(yes, I know the sale lasts all day today and a

refrigerated rain is forecast) I’ll point out a
closet full of vinyl.  And not just as a reminder

of a drunken laugh we had one Christmas.  At
three, when the bugs fall silent and our mouths

eliminated, we’ll take each other by the hand
and, as one, exorcise the haunted pond.....  We

knocked knees until confidence settled in (it was
far more of a lake than a pond).  A circumference

that dusted the sprinkles off our nose, our noses.
And rather than collapsing into a dark star, our sun

rose like doctors and lawyers.  Over a bunch of
cows.  They all move their mouths to the same

dream and awaken in hopes of a tomorrow.
A dream of being appointed ambassador,

perhaps.  Or laureate.  Our circle, our procreation, our
destiny, a death star that looms like celebrity.  Do we

cherish our hands more for it?  That we may return
(at such inconvenience) to exchange our pond for a lake?

Saturday, July 28, 2012


Flickr Etiquette

This guy who keeps showing up at the top of my no name list,
my “Unnamed people.”

But I know his last name.  And how it fits into my rain list.  A set of
frazzled wipers on the Bay Bridge at no less than four in the dark.  Because
I can drive?  Or be driven upon or be driven (recklessly – life’s serious of

shadows).  Maybe

I can call him Mister.  Which can only work if I don’t pass out.  In Berkeley
the rain is educational—I see spots in the mirrors that won’t go away; a
death star in my throat that, when born, leads a lethal virus

into the middle of campus.  The one with the sweetest aroma.  Sometimes,

sometimes mistaking Taiwan for Osaka you find yourself in the middle of
Helsinki.  The Finnish language is a cinema of middle-aged men (middle-aged
will always be twice yours) hiccuping over fish.  Its chorus

is a bunch of teenagers in military uniform.  An army of jaws dropping.
They blow a big hole into the idea of a “Midwestern accent.”  Your life

as a journalist is a farce.  A fleeting smile or a glance into a war-torn park
is a means to concede.

There are many ways to stop the music.  Among them,
the tomcat at four in the morning.  Who

wakes you up
before you can pass out in the middle of the San Mateo Bridge.

Friday, July 27, 2012


[name changed due to copyright infringement]

It is 78˚F with a forecasted high of 72.  I’m
stalling on lunch and picking up chicken
breasts.  Today’s headline: Yesterday’s
Haircut Brings Back Ethnic Roots.  His

hair is always hot.  Jenn came over for
cocktails on Thursday.  Then we went to
[indecipherable].  Fred showed.  He’s
blond, too.  Then I called everyone in

my telephone to join us for some sort of
liquor in a test tube that tasted like a
margarita on acid.  Shut the alarm off.
The guys at the next table are discussing

a screenplay.  Something about hating
women and serving a piƱata for dinner.

Thursday, July 26, 2012


Eduardo Enjoys Home Depot

There’s no rush.  Everything comes out
cocky.  Ran into Darren on the corner of
Grant & Sutter.  Chatted for a few minutes
or so.  We both agreed on a new shower
curtain.  Saw Joe talking with a generic
guy at Starbucks and a few years later
crossing Castro at Market (I had the
best view in town).  It’s a great
evening after an amazingly
gorgeous day.  But I’ll read
here for an hour or two before
I balance my checkbook.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012


Somebody Lost Chloe

Does panic equal boredom?  If so,
you’ve got the right voice for it.

not here with 3 books on the table

at soon to become Seattle’s Best.
A place I could have predicted the

economic armageddon.  Also,
two pink trees in (or around)

Tahoe.  They are speaking
on and off, coming down

from honey vanilla.  I
forgot to clip my fingernails

five times.  Abercrombe +
reggae = Dow Jones uptick.

Slow down five times after
6:06pm.  Start reading over

and over.  Bump into Ricky
a couple tables up.  The

revelation of the weekend:
Dylan loves rap!

Monday, July 23, 2012

Friday, July 20, 2012


Poetry of Production Value

At least something.  Off to good.
New year opens with a melt.  Chi-
nese characters appear as mild
impressions on the fold-out bed. 

It’s to get warmer and warmer
through Thursday.  I’m not sure
what to do about that.  Perhaps
spicy green peas (rethinking

irony)?  Blah.  Too hot is no
good.  But now?  Everything
in my head and nothing to say.
Late on rent but Jamie says

I have a good track record
so that’s okay.  Back in
San Francisco start
reading.  Get something.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Wednesday, July 18, 2012



Are things, not a dispute.
                        —Barrett Watten

The day begins.  I’m so
tired of the binge—since
last Saturday—but on

clouds down Powell
for a coffee hole.  ?
Finally a letter

but it’s all mumbo-
jumbo.  Write it all
down.  Mumbo-...

...two pigs per day
I thought I heard
him say.  And I’m

drinking sanskrit.
I’m awesome...& you
have an awesome ass....

A word
that’s never
been sexy.

An otter hops
from dawn

into the
Great West.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012


because I am a person

I’m spanking the sea
with joy after lying
beached for hours

in a sort of reverse
walk into a cave

which walks into
boringly drug-addled

it loves me
getting flustered
on whatever night

Monday, July 16, 2012


a screw without sluts

a hollow holler
over the mega-filter

Wednesday, July 04, 2012


Otto is snowboarding somewhere,

even without gloves, and I haven’t
finished a book of anything in over
two months.  Maybe it’s why
the sunflowers droop.

It’s too early for cause and effect,
however.  Whatever setting
the filter.

I just finished reading a hot piece—
a long hot piece—Steph sent me
this week.  So I do

Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

Tuesday, July 03, 2012


We’re both at each others’ vernaculars

They’re so bad you’re embarrassed, right?
This song is about courteous penetration.

Sorry, I got your high confused with my
belch.  It certainly screwed up our medi-

cation hour.  Causes?  I love you / second
after effects... (Ed Barrett)  And more

belching on the freeway.  Hollering
each other to sleep at 9pm, gathering

same sleep into jerks and whistles
before turning insomniac at 4am.

Monday, July 02, 2012


People post a lot of more of the

same stuff now.  Me, I’m holed up
in Tahoe.  Not snowboarding.  A
few summers later, Kim’s oohing
and ahing the same general vicinity.

I’ve got Moves Like Jagger on re-
peat.  Three different versions of
it.  Another song that was included
in the fortune teller’s PowerPoint
presentation some time ago (weeks;

a month?) – only to be poopoo’d.
For dinner I’ll have a huge dish
of my own words, please.  Maybe
this goes hand-in-hand with my
two weekends of bad karma.  Bad,

bad karma.  Or so it is whined
(also on repeat).  But I’m here
poring through photos and
peeling away the bullshit.
Like how hot it is in

San Francisco today.
I’ve even got my
pores fooled.  Get up
all sweaty and top off
a cool glass of water.