Wednesday, July 31, 2013


my exuberance is reduced to uberance (self-help dialog #1 & only)

too self-revealing.  too sure of myself sounding.  having a
really nice time with conflict.  joke too much about loving
conflict.  use the word engagement way too much.  too
serious about it.  too loud.  too overwhelming to people
who don’t feel the same way i do about conflict.  entirely
too unclear to anyone about how i actually feel about
conflict, resolution, friendship, and passionate debate
(should use the word passionate more and the word
heated less ... ... or should i?).

maybe in the end i am just really lousy at this.  in
which case how fortunate.  now.  this newfound
wherewithal. that it may be ME screwing every
thing up, ME zonko, ME so consumed that i
cannot step away to see the ‘real picture’.  
because i’m in the way.  because not only
am i obstructing the view, but i am the
dead center of all that has been, to my
consumed mind, unjust, incorrect, prob
lematizing, THE PROBLEM.

I think I can finish with an articulation
of the hopeful.  Without knowing or
understanding how to do
so without eviscerating


Tuesday, July 30, 2013


I totally get
how the photographer
sees his life
quickly passing
right in front of his

          After which
we get up and
start walking.

Union Street
--> Jamba Juice.
Down Geary.
Turn right Hyde
(indeed!).  Turn
left Union.  Stop
at lots of furniture.
Turn left Fillmore.

Walk through a
maze of photographs
at Aunt Bob’s –

Monday, July 29, 2013

Sunday, July 28, 2013


The Italian Stallion

Safeway on Church
for tag-team dinner.

He makes Medi-
terranean chicken

and I make
carbonara.  And

it says here
(a reminder?)

“bacon for the
movie tomorrow”

—I feel sick.

I don't feel
so good today.

Saturday, July 27, 2013


Southern Hospitality

There was a girl
in undergrad her
name (I swear)
was Lucia Brain.

If I knew her that
well, I guess I
wouldn’t be
writing this.

Friday, July 26, 2013


Where once...

picking up a few
movies in Chinatown.

watch some dumb

martial arts flick
(I should say),

Sunday.  Up
with lipstick-covered

teeth.  Asking
how to get to

It’s in Houston,

(with a Southern

accent)!  Follow
quickly with

messy bath,
losing brain


Thursday, July 25, 2013


        But one should be aware that some people are delusional
without being unhappy.
                                                                             —Lyn Hejinian

     I’d say many are.  I’d say also that I
went to the museum (this afternoon)
for a thousand or so cliches.  We even
sat to enjoy them (very un-museum-

     We sat like tea to enjoy a thousand
or so cliches.

     “Why is this on the floor?” he asks.
     “Because it needs to be in the kitchen,”
I say.

     After which we purchase two to three
packages of fancy folders and forge many
tiny but distinct stacks of paper and other
residues in each and every room of the
apartment for the rest of the afternoon.

     (and evening)

Wednesday, July 24, 2013


The endless poem was a phrase that I found early in my career.  As
a concept, it offers many possibilities.
                                                                        —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

My new mantra: This is going to take a little bit longer than I originally
anticipated.  And that’s okay.  I pray not to be a troll developing something
like Lord of the Rings.  Something so consumed of itself.  And yet.  Well,
it’s a ridiculous prayer.  Perhaps as ridiculous as prayer itself.  But life’s
follies, its absurdities, and its poignancies are all of the same set, pretty
much, are they not?

Hey, Ron, I love your title: Senior Specialty Liaison – and I love this sentence
that I just read about Ke$ha:  And now she fills a tub with oil and her glitter guru,
named Santa, makes sure she sparkles at all times.

Pick someone and make them your project (to keep your sanity
somewhat intact).

I haven’t run on grass in so long I forgot how squishy it is. 
                                    —a quote by the character Brian in an episode of The New Normal

Tuesday, July 23, 2013


Net Gain

I say aloud to everything
call me your chief fool
and I’m done
               —Eileen Myles

The kind of guy I am, I
believe, is the one who
looks back nostalgically
to times which were
perhaps the roughest
and remembers fondly.
What wonderful mo
ments educational
what a beautiful
apartment I lived
in and it was only
900 dollars rent
and within walk
ing distance of
the Toledo mu
seum of art for
example.  Not
the tears for
weeks at a time
crunched down
in the corner of
a very long and
beautiful hallway.
And thus it is, gene
rically, with regard
to the gerbil village
comment, our lady
of red wine having
no idea we were a
gay couple.  Or
knowing and
finally therefore
inebriated enough
for such a low jab.

can be beautiful
at 19 or 30.  This
is life.  Take a deep
              —Eileen Myles

Monday, July 22, 2013


It’s Fabulous What The Gays Can Teach The World

                            It occurred to me on Geary Street.
                           We all smell like robots.
                                                         —Ron Palmer

Today’s Washington Post headline: Republicans
rediscover tolerance.  But on the phone I learn
that the most popular charm is the Charm of
Precision.  None of which has any poignance
(whatsoever!) around the time one discovers
one has been turned down for medical insurance.
Around the time when I get the envelope from
Blue Shield notifying me that I have been

So you try to let it out—somewhat—to “vent”
as in to verbalize in a probably louder
than normal  voice with a skin tone that
is probably a bit more flushed than during
‘normal conversations’—to the ones you
love or care about or at least to the ones
who will generally or with some predict-
ability act as if they are listening and
as if they know who you are and as if
they could (possibly or potentially)
get concerned with whatever it is
that you are heaving at them so
spastically, so illogically, so

Morning reading after a whining
gets up for work.  Get up to go to
work, whinnying.   How come fire
is so liquid-like?  The fire is
roiling.  The roiling ocean.
If I can’t read the words
on the page.  If I can’t
remember to tell you
about the words on
the page what is
actually lost?

Sunday, July 21, 2013


I Don’t Like It

Today’s lesson in toilet

Saturday, July 20, 2013


Today’s list,
which I shall
defeat like the
plague, is rep
lete with typ
os.  We must
however face
the facts.  The
odds are stack
ed.  Against us.
All I’m saying
is that even if
my memory p
roves tasteles
s, I’ll still be h
ere tomorrow
with the pen
guins & xmas
trees, listenin’
to glitch mob
& crossing &
recrossing (
w/green &
purple ink).

Friday, July 19, 2013


But now I’ve said enough.

Contrary to popular belief,
I do not want to die young.

And now for the arrival of
Sally Mayonnaise (with

kudos—and apologies—
to Sally Mayonnaise).  And

you thought your day was
getting creepier.  This has

got to share more than just a
few similarities with French

kissing a mountain lion. 
Otto says I’m still in a

dollop.  Maybe that’s it. 
I’m not saying it’s a problem,

especially considering
my current view of the

city from the place I
call home (in my very

own world).  While
the first thing I do

with any machine
or program or what-

ever that has the option
is turn off the auto-correct,

I recommend that, especially
if you correspond with me

on any basis, you check
every box available;

keep that sucker going
full grammatical, even.

Because you are always
much funnier than I am.

Thursday, July 18, 2013


I’m here at the scene of the crime
taking pictures, as always.  I live
in a world where it takes sixteen
hours to make a turkey sandwich.
But it’s an okay place to live.  Really.

Sorry about the bad breath but I had
to wake up at some point.  It’s just
too bad I had to wake up laughing,
I suppose.  Anyway.  So I change the
subject.  In the world where I live

there are many, many games of
Bingo.  I play some of them.  When
I open the blinds and look out onto
the world where I live, it sometimes
looks like it has been raining when

it’s really just a sheen of sweat the
city is wearing.  This night sweat is
the sweat of joy from living the won-
der of everything that transpires
during the mostly silent mystery

that is the night.  Here in my world.
And while I’ll admit that I love a
rainy night.   Every once in a while.
Nothing beats an anxious, sweaty,
terribly dehydrated night.  Or

early morning, for that matter.
Right here in my gorgeous city,
on top of my heartrendingly
beautiful, beautiful world.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


Can you please bear with me for just a little bit?

At least you didn’t wake up singing McCavity (from
Cats, which is a musical from the 1980s).  No.  You
woke up working on the New York project.  On the
“type treatment,” you remind me (to which I reply

“What type of treatment?” even though I under-
stand that you are referencing typography; I
even remember the name of the font which
I most preferred [Aldo].)....  Except.  Sorry.

I can’t help myself.  Now I’m mischievously
skewing our conversation (the actual conversation,
not the one not taking place right this very moment
but the one taking place as it is transpiring).  And

I get it.  Your blank look that so clearly conveys
how I’m not that funny.  Oh dear(!).  And Oh well....

Tuesday, July 16, 2013


        “Here’s a quote by Will Ferrell.”

        “Hold on, hold on!”

        “Nono.  It’s just words.”
                                   —an actual conversation

Nor do they explain the caption under a picture
of a woman and child right here on  (I
think it’s Christina Hendricks from Mad Men?).
It says: “Parenting a child with no future” ....

[Meanwhile, back at the Ponderosa...]  I’ve been
reading Denny Smith, which I’ve discovered is
the perfect little tome to keep on top of the
toilet tank.  Hoping this is taken as a

compliment, by Bob anyway, I stretch my mind
back to the most glorious of all thrones, the one
in my grandmother’s west bathroom (the one
with the sliding door – her bathroom), with its

Readers Digests and its Country Livings and
(I am pretty sure but never 100% certain
on this one) its Cosmopolitans.  And OMG
how I woke up writing poetry this morning.

Monday, July 15, 2013


Of note: Benny Benassi’s album
Electroman (Deluxe Version)
was released the day before
my 44th birthday.

Here I was, on the perfect
morning for a fire truck,
eating pumpkin seeds.
Which I’ve alredy

explained twice.
I give people
head colds
for a living.

That’s just
what I do.

Sunday, July 14, 2013


To Ward Off Evil Spirits and Fantastic Sneezes

But you don’t believe me.

Saturday, July 13, 2013


It’s exasperating to be involved with an overenthusiastic person.
                                                                   —Robert Gl├╝ck

I woke up this morning with Gino Vanelli
and other not-so-obscure 80’s references.

I guess being tagged at Hooters explains
the look on her face.  But when I knocked

on the bathroom door this morning and
told you I was going to see if I could still

multi-task, I was focusing generally (and
with conviction) on career.  Also of note:

I woke up laughing.  Even this did not
phase you much (8:51am) because u r

a SUPERHERO learning how to use his
protective shield.  You have such

amazing powers, to be sure.  Not enough
to separate (to dis-entwine?) erotic

from esoteric.  The brand new day bursts
into song.  Because I still believe.

Friday, July 12, 2013


and part of me is pissed at you
for having little faith in me

He was thinking but I’ve got
double peanut power!! and
the stuffed monkey was
lounging in the shade.
At this late hour.

I do often wish things
were as clear-cut as
when the femme-bots
took over the world.
But conflict and its

Would you like to
review and correct
these conflicts now?

I certainly would.

Thursday, July 11, 2013


then I took a nap

it might have been a
long one.  felt better?
like a few years,

then we walked
up the wharf,
had fish & chips,
& a butterfinger
ice cream waffle
cone.  & then

played air

Wednesday, July 10, 2013


When I Don't Need to Be

OK.  So I’ve done a lot
of nothing.  14 months
in a house made of pee.
Wanting instead for a

call.  Or anysuch.  I
write.  Malicious
sonnets?  There-
fore, a hello.  I

think I might have
mentioned.  They
are nerdy by de-
sign.  A burned-

up cover.  Bummed
a nice weekend off
some dragon.  As
I got really splendid

I remember starting
to have a good time.
Stating:  Good time.
Out of a nervous...

what?  Oh.  Woke
up not remembering.
Stayed in bed most
of the day humming.

Which was great.
And is.  I think.
But you could just
ask him.  Talk a-

bout out of it.

Tuesday, July 09, 2013


Office Office Office Office Office.

“I’m proud of you” I hear
and turn around a hurricane
that tears off New Orleans

busy sensationalism here
amidst horrible Alzheimer’s
shouting “I love this job!”

and apparently I do
but this afternoon
I’d like to fall asleep

on the flu or most of a
12-week paycheck
which makes me wonder

who’s being flashy
(or fishy) I doubt it
or September

here in this chair
sticking medical
insurance into a

cookie jar
which we share
like our thoughts

on natural disasters
which means

for maybe a
couple thousand

Sunday, July 07, 2013


Goodbye, Please (I Am Going to Miss You)

     The cure for love is more love
                            —Julian Talamentez Brolaski

Green beans, sausage, pasta shells, shrimp,
mushrooms.  Drinking perhaps three liters of
water a day.  Suddenly sleepy.  Still impressed
with the rain.  If it can be called that  (a hard,
San Francisco rain).  Sitting catty-corner to

a relatively cute neighbor, only I meant to say
“new” (not “cute”) but is he?  I guess I was
too busy writing poems via instant message to
all of my friends (I have several) and being in

Like I love the clouds Otto painted in our
bedroom nearly nine years ago.  Like I love
Coco, and the drizzle (a much better word
for it, I am thinking) and the comfort of
the company of good friends.  In our
apartment.  Where it’s not so very
cloudy, today.

The laundry is half-folded.  And now,
thanks to my breaking the bedroom
window (which, despite the accu-
sations, was seriously a total freak
accident), forcing us to move things
around a little after its replacement,
I have a new secret cubbyhole for
books that I love (and/or am current-
ly reading), right here next to the bed.
Under blue, partly cloudy skies.

Friday, July 05, 2013


Just when I’m feeling my worst,
Coco pukes on the carpet.  Right
in the middle of the entrance hall-
way.  But seriously, I’m not really
at my worst.  I’m okay.  I’ve got
love, a dripping upward kind of
love.  One with a warm fire above
and a cool, deep water below.  So,

basically, I do nothing.  I post
a twentieth poem for the whole
world to see.  I use Roman
numerals.  xx.  I have a guy
who doesn’t have to work at
Banana Republic, even though
they really want him there. 

Instead, he paints fire and
water with drips from his
heart, which somehow
float upwards and are
always just above us.
While we sleep, any-
way.  Where love is.

Love is unimaginable
words which intend
only to conjure very
specific individual
colors.  In my heart.
In your head.  For
our eyes (which can
all four see that color,
even without its pre-
sence) and in our

What is a very
specific, individual
color which at present
only exists in my
head? And in
your heart?