“She doesn’t seem to have any flies”
(I’m misreading Medusa). “But it’s
your time, now.”
What about my time?
I hold up eight fingers and two
thumbs (opposable!) in defense.
“I have no interest in your thoughts
on any subject” (Alice Notley,
except she finishes with
“; though one sometimes
listens to pass the time.”)
Why do we keep these?
Mere tokens of meditation.
Like aspirin in the morning
(4 Advil at a time) and
how they accumulate.
“My bookshelf is my
morning,” Medusa’s
mouth moves as if to
say. “My morning.”
All the goofballs in
San Francisco (all
the fogballs) rise
and meander
eastward.
