mdcciv

Hydration

I particularly like to wear my sweater striped

in spring colors during the autumn months.

The haze last night was near miraculous

and stays with me walking you, under the

November sun, to Miller’s for breakfast

this morning.  I am the opposite of

annoyed.  I am the opposite of defeated.

Depression?  A hole in my head for

income taxes, owing over two grand.

Soothe myself I will, at Starbucks,

New Montgomery, 5:35pm.  So as to

turn the page and reassess.  To turn the

page so as to reassess.  A poem called

T-Mobile Annie in its meaninglessnesses.

I can see it, I suppose.  And it has me

desirous to respond with one called

Credit Limit.  I love our new obsession

with coconut water.  It’s March: a new

beginning.  I’ve been at odds with

romance, lately (awkward, yet

pliant, submissive).  I’ve been cold,

too; spending my time in bathtubs

or showers.  Which I do with him

almost every morning.  A lovely habit.

mdcciii

Everything is a little bit mumble.

                              —Paolo Javier

It’s where I met him.  And I’m all lined up

but not feeling it up to now.  People

point at anniversaries all a mess.  Well

I wouldn’t look at it that way (airplane

sayonara over San Francisco)—okay,

my mind wandering away.  I want to

call him up right now and tell him so,

the jingle in my head.  The mighty

jingle.  Then he’d probably not

answer or else be distant.  The key is

to cleverly interrupt.  But how?  Mean-

while, back at the Crystal Palace, a

long conversation with immediate

family about addiction to painkillers.

Is it hereditary?  I’ve been trying to keep

the apartment cleaner, but of course I had

a hangover.  He even broached the subject

of how it’s basically required in San Fran-

cisco (medicine cabinet ettiquette) and

laundry from what, a week ago?  I don’t

say it quite like that, but, now that it’s

Monday it’s all about the plan.  It’ll be

weeks now before we finish the issue,

maybe never.  I just left him another

message (part submissive, part hung)

because starting at six o’clock it’ll be

dumbed down irritation and hate.

mdccii

Would you consider yourself a worrier

or a warrior?

I have the best I want to stay with.

Radon thoughts come.

Then, what used to be flies 100%.

They intrigue me.  I was in love.

Or my methods.

In this particular environment.

mdcci

Are you Richard?

          —Paolo Javier

For some reason I feel cheap today.  I have the

reason I want to stay with.  Friends are attractive

or whatever.  Friday night I stayed home and slept.

I don’t seem to be able to.  My philosophies are just

in this particular environment.  It’s what I want to

stay with Sunday morning.  Not here in church or

this particular environment. With crazies buzzing

every ten or fifteen minutes.  Somebody with a

gun at the door.  Maybe.  I present myself to

whomever or whatever runs this place, 100%

melancholy.  It is the best way to live?  Besides

maintaining, keeping.  I should be doing so now?

Isn’t that cute?  It’s a stupid question.  Stupid.

People banging on the box at all hours.  And

I go to the trouble of attempting to separate

the sounds of pain or panic from the sounds

of joy or relief.  Years ago I’d be in church

presenting myself to whomever or whatever

runs this place.  Now I search all the drawers

for batteries.  Things are run down.  The check-

book lies naked next to a pair of broken earbuds.

The television only works on eccentricity.  And

I’m in shock.  Maybe I’m in shock.  An incoherence

that everyone mistakes for unfriending.  For being

a bastard.  Not belonging to whomever or whatever.

I use this box of pain to separate myself.  Or each

sound a car makes is a recording.  I am the legacy

of these imaginings.  My desire is the wastebasket

no one dares empty.  A snapshot of the whatever.

All these nothings in a pile on a desk inside a heart-

beat.  Beat.  Beat.  Beat.

mdcc

Himself

     (found in a small notepad

     deep within a drawer,

     written who knows when)*

Sunday,

and a parking meter

grows a beard.

It’s just a man

looking for the

holy grail.

He’s wearing

midnight blue coveralls

and a toolbelt.

Nobody

is as full of himself

as that man over there.

He has a

beard,

also.

And drinks a

blueberry smoothie

like me.

*For some reason I feel cheap today.

mdcxcix

Now I feel cheap.

But at least I’m able to

laugh at it.

mdcxcviii

I wonder if you see the problem

of my answering of the door.  My

potential—sitting on a bench in

Union Square—during a short

dry spell.  Misread words (pre-

sently idiot for latté) start at

cute joke and end in labyrinth-

ian prison.  Is this something

to take comfort in?  I hang out

with Fred while bumping Ryan.

The strategy gets perverse.  Per-

haps, however, a glass of water

is just a glass of water.  Chimney

soot and pigeon poop.  A relaxed

friend is viable.  Yet I am sick

with attraction.  And Netherlands

actually exists.  To celebrate (I

am an optimist, after all), I send

my love a note.  Your granma

is really beautiful.

mdcxcvii

I think I like water better

when it’s room temperature.

Don’t get upset.

Screaming like a schoolgirl

means hope?  I feel like the

most hopeful guy on the

planet sometimes.  Sc....

That’s what hope sounds

like?!?  (aka you’re

practically writing it for

me.)       It gets more

beautiful, even.

mdcxcvi

We had a long discussion about chemical

reactions.  It was a subject that always

seemed to come up. 

Gertie stood watching the four of us

breakfast.  She wore an haute shawl

and a comical smirk.

Yesterday’s face went down with the

recyclables.  It’s true.  I’ve no way to

defy the emotion.  I’ve no way

to relay the emotion.  I’ve no way to

emotion.  Every time he walks out

the door he alludes

to the possibility of his making a

buck on the street.  Of selling

his wares.

mdcxcv

     The tumult

     to live where

     you would be

     loved.

         —Richard Caddel

He is such the provocateur.  I got mad,

balked, decided to sleep in the living room.

Now it’s a rainy day at Lori’s with a shrimp

omelet.  Brunch, the horizon of...what do you

call it?  Words.  The horizon of forgotten words.

I move to another planet where I try to be a friend.

What’s in an attempt?  Completely insane blood

pressure. 

Driving down to Carmel with today, tonight, and

tomorrow.  Rainy days on my own.  There is no

antidote for an extrovert.  Billy says I have to go.

Several anniversaries are in the stew.

I read a compendium entitled Flashes of Neon on

an Excavated Bay.  Each page turned is another

name escaping memory.  I don’t mind living

like that because I really don’t mind living.

I do rather try to enjoy it without taking it

hostage.  What’s in a friendly attempt?

mdcxciv

Jesus and His Thumbs

I get lots of appreciation and stuff.  But then

there is the demand of getting up after already

going to bed to help with laundry.  Homework

makes it even more frustrating.  Did my blood

pressure hit the roof?  I balk, knowing it’s a

“bad idea” – and so – homework to house-

cleaning.  A worn-out cigar on the kitchen floor.

The cat refusing to leave the bedroom all day

and peeing generously on the bed.  In two

locations.  Including on top of a pillow.  It’s

nice to go shopping for home supplies.  Whether

alone or together.  But what about the people

who are always there and yet I always forget.

I have to be reminded of these people while

Otto heads to Castro with Dave.  Kate arrives

for the first time ever.  I meet up with Kim and

Hiro.  Yuki talks me into going to the End-up,

but we mostly just talk in the car.  I order a

shrimp omelet and watch the clouds dissipate.

mdcxciii

Sonnet

I’m talking about what I’m thinking,

what’s strong on my mind.  “So you

get angry and I get emotional,” he

says.  Is love the need for an electronic

air filter?  Watching the entire collection

of Dark Angel?  Being even-handed with

regard to gender?  A rough week?  Broken

Valentine’s plans?  It is Thanksgiving so I

thank.  I am blessed and I am privileged.

I keep having to rub a special lotion onto

my feet because they are so dry.  Olive

was closed.  We went to Cheesecake

Factory instead.  Waiting two hours for a

table while we drank and had an appetizer.

mdcxcii

Remembering I’m ticklish

Your heart is a fruitcake

at the end of October

in The Tropics.  But you

’re getting some for X

mas.  Is this the only

goal (you gear up

for)? ... Pour another

orange juice and list

en to the showers

out the window –

people taking them.

Wishing to hear them,

the people, too, or at

least a bar of soap

dropped with a thud.

But imagining...

mdcxci

This one unfolds

nicely.  It’s.........

okay to be giddy

on your birthday.

He gets a banana

container (yellow,

plastic, for a single

banana).  You are

an endless source

of amusement (to

no one in

particular).

mdcxc

Ha Ha!

A side profile so romantic

it doesn’t help your brain.

A sidekick repeatedly

mistaken for your son.

A lazy flame

under the goulash.

mdclxxxix

...its crisp woodsy scent will stimulate your senses...

                                     —on a can of shave gel

There’s no doubt my brain is.  Buttered

bookspread for breakfast.  Out to pick up

quarters and a quartet of sunflowers.

Shower first class then open priority mail.

Later, a bowl of rice from Greece.  Step in

to a marketing campaign, dole out five

hundred dollars.  Call Sante Fe so nobody

can answer [Did I dress okay?].  In my

dream [title: All the Hills of Singapore]

I keep waiting for the lady to ask about

the pink honeysuckle.  We each purchased

a glowstick (same make and model)

proving genius of marketing campaign.

mdclxxxviii

     Clarity’s aftershocks

     Administer in kind

                —Bill Berkson

Sudden fear of mugging.

The alarm goes off.  No coffin.

mdclxxxvii

Oh wow!  Oh wow!  Oh wow!

            —purported last words of Steve Jobs

I’m lucky like a four-leaf clover

                                 —Jennifer Lopez

I love you so much that sometimes I forget

to laugh.  But isn’t it okay to be stupid

so long as you’re not running the country

or anything?  Sometimes, sometimes

I want to drive this metaphor into a

popsicle.  Pop-sickles don’t like me

much.  I still don’t get the joke about

Foucault in the pool with Duchamp

trying to name at least five sexual

positions.  But I haven’t taken my

eyes off you since.  [This is when

you get up out of bed, brush your

teeth, and then walk into the kitchen.

You’re in your pajamas, but you’ve got

purpose.  Like how you always wear

clothes to bed.]  He doesn’t think I can

hear the jingle bells.  For Halloween

he’s going to wear a psychic on his

shoulder.  It’s Halloween and it’s

always jingle bells, jingle bells,

jingle bells.  In a minute I need to

figure out how to code katakana

in HTML.  Life is like that, I

guess.  I even purchased exorbitantly

overpriced file folders at The Container

Store the other day.  This makes me think

of you, of course.  But I still don’t believe

that Target will put them out of business.

Okay, fine, you’re in the shower now,

but no less an object of desire.  You

might think that’s ironic because

your memory is worse than mine.

Why should I expect you to

remember my every aversion,

anyway?  It’s a day like this.

One where I promise yoga

and wind up crouched at a curb

on Clay Street trying to photograph

through a gutter grill.  It starts raining

and I’m all wet.  Like you.  The

universe is my connection.

mdclxxxvi

Even though I’m a pacifist,

I told you to put up your dukes. 

And it was adorable.