Friday, August 31, 2012



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.

Thursday, August 30, 2012


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.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


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.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012


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.

Monday, August 27, 2012



     (found in a small notepad
     deep within a drawer,
     written who knows when)*

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.

is as full of himself
as that man over there.

He has a

And drinks a
blueberry smoothie
like me.

*For some reason I feel cheap today.

Sunday, August 26, 2012


Now I feel cheap.

But at least I’m able to
laugh at it.

Saturday, August 25, 2012


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.

Friday, August 24, 2012


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.

Thursday, August 23, 2012


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.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012


     The tumult
     to live where
     you would be
         —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

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?

Monday, August 13, 2012


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.

Thursday, August 09, 2012



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.

Wednesday, August 08, 2012


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...

Tuesday, August 07, 2012


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

Monday, August 06, 2012


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.

Sunday, August 05, 2012


...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.

Friday, August 03, 2012


     Clarity’s aftershocks
     Administer in kind
                —Bill Berkson

Sudden fear of mugging.
The alarm goes off.  No coffin.

Thursday, August 02, 2012


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.

Wednesday, August 01, 2012


Even though I’m a pacifist,
I told you to put up your dukes. 
And it was adorable.