mmcxl

I’m (barf!) _______!

I object or _________ baloney, ___ soon

become ____ __ _ minced sputtering

____ _____ ____ initially ____ phrases

such as criminal misconduct! ___ the

authorities ______ ___________ immed-

______! and, finally, ___ exasperated__,

those bastards! ___ _ ____ __!

___ a bit bonkers, no doubt. 

Am I ___ only ___ ___ ____ _________

virtually and __ thusly?        Ex______,

________ about this, ___ _ ___ here,

how _ ___ ____ ___ _____, when, __ mere

moments _______ I was head___ somewhere

____ ________, __ someplace more ________,

__ more ________, more enter_______, __ __ ___

____ _____ ____ healthy, and less ____________....  

___ down it goes ____ ____

____ ____ ___ __ _______ __ time. 

So, I ____ __ feel more ____

____ __ inkling __ disgust ____ myself. 

I start to like my____ less, and, moment__,

____.  ___ I usually like myself – __ least _

[G]eneral__ [S]teady _____ ___. 

mmcxxxix

Teen dies of old age
        —a CNN.com headline

I’d kiss you if my breath weren’t just

smoked cheddar cheese and more smoke.

Can you confirm whether or not you’re

doing okay?  Yes?  No? 

mmcxxxviii

Giving stuff away is good for poetry

                                    —Leopoldine Core

thinking about ____, how I got ____,

how I get ____ too often, even as ____

moments ___ _ _a_ head___ ____where

____ entirely, __ some_____ ____ relevant,

_or_ ____ ________, ____entertaining, or at the

very least ____ healthy, ___ ____ curmudgeon__...

So I begin __ ____ ____ ____ just an

inkling of disgust ____ MYSELF. 

I like myself ____ ___ _____. 

(I ______ like myself

__ least _ ______ ___.)

And it goes like ____ for an

amount of time

________ __ messiness ____ _

_______ when being fed _______________

_____ are (supposedly) _____ __ an

accumulation __ _________ from

____ ______.  ___ (barf) ______

___.  (Sigh.)  It’s true. 

And so I begin to remember

that I am.  So ____ __ ____

placing one eye over __ ____

___ I _____ (admit_____ __

_some____ ______-drama

___ _____on) ____ my eyes. 

Unfortunately, it ______.

Doesn’t ____ __ ____ see

_________ more ________,

___ ___ obvious

or that the ___ I ___ winced.

Muttering such as I ______

______ _____ always ___

I __________ __,

corporate baloney or

 ______ __, and

__ __ soon mis-

mmcxxxvii

The Spirituality of _______ Dancing

I ___ very _____ _________ to the People’s Choice Awards

or to iTunes ____ ____ings or ____’s metascores ___

(most especially!) I abhor digging ______ ____ ________,

information which, if I happen upon it, is in almost every case

an ___________ ____________ because I don’t ____.

(Wait, I take that back, I’ve ____ed twice;

both for friends in the ____ industry who’ve

coaxed me into giving _ ____ ______ to _____

_____ __ employment _____ _____ _____ a ‘bad rap’ –

purportedly by ________ rivals, not _____ _________. 

It was hurting ________, ____ _______, and so I conceded

___ wrote a couple of nondescript ________ _______.)

(Which goes on to prove the point of my disgust in

the whole thing, I suppose...)

I’m the guy who _________ _____

any such proffered _______________ –

those rank & file _____ claiming to have been

 “democrat______ _______” – well, not only

downright suspicious, but also

hardly worth my time and/or effort.

__ _____ ________ __ __

______ __ ___ _____ bit of attention.

Anyone can participate, after all

(more on my ________ with that

shortly).

So, when I find that once again I’ve inadvertantly

landed at such an address—when, during whatever

query or quest I’m making of my moment,

all roads __ ___ __-______ Information Super-

_______ dead end at a sponsored heap __

__________ solutions or __________ _______________

____ ____ ____ _____ed & ____ed __ _____

nice egalitarian folks who like to take the

____ __ ____ —____ _ ____ __self _______

once again at a ____ed heap—it’s a fair bet

that what soon follows is a _____ced ________ing

of phrases that _____ under breath, such as

_ ______ or ________ _______.          Exhale,

mmcxxxvi

Do you need me to pick up any drumsticks?

Did you hear about the film suspension in

Honolulu?  C-o-n-t-r-o-v-e-r-s-y ! !  Also,

every paper this morning (well, none of it

paper anymore, at least for me) used the

adjective “sloppy” to describe last night’s

Golden Globes.  But apparently that was a

good thing, at least if I’m understanding the

various contexts (and my consulation with the

Urban Dictionary) correctly.  Because I never

watch the Golden Globes, always wait eagerly

for the Oscars instead. And besides, I’m

pretty embarrassed by sloppy (be it

mine or others’).  In general.  So as for me,

I’ll believe my pal Diane, who seems to be the

one person on the planet who didn’t enjoy

last night’s slop-fest.   Oh, no.

I may have just realized that my

real problem is with democracy.

mmcxxxv

Do you know how long we have before the Thunder Palace activates?

                                                          —overheard during an episode of Fairy Tale

I wanna settle the score with Salamander so bad I can taste it!

                                                    —also overheard during an episode of Fairy Tale

Does pee turn to snow in icy cold?

                                                           —an actual CNN.com headline

It is not pretty, this poetry.  Or it was such a shame

when his mouth entered the happy room.  Happy

today is strange and is quite impossible to

understand.  One electric fan makes a white

noise that soothes me into sleep while one

electric humidifier (also with a fan) sings

the eternal language of chalkboard fingers.

Which I can barely type, can barely say

(chalkboard fingers), can barely

imagine myself saying.

mmcxxxiv

privilege

the bowl

from which

i scoop

is a

painter’s

palette

the hole

from which

i emerge

blows me a

kiss goodbye

mmcxxxiii

...and spreading panicles of purple flowers—a low violet cloud!

                                                                         —Mei-mei Berssenbrugge

The space

between

your piano

and my

big toe

mmcxxxii

hi!  i

mean

hey!

or

yay!

mmcxxxi

then,

seeing aliens,

we headed for the hills

mmcxxx

writing

is a lazy

form of

commun

ication

mmcxxix

my people

were trained

in a hot tub

mmcxxviii

this is

pretty

boring

but it’s

not

boring

like

hetero-

norma-

tive

culture

mmcxxvii

-[gasps]-

“What’s going on?”

     “I think we’re

       overestimating

       the bid.”

“Oh.”

-[pause]-

      “I feel really sick

       and I have to quit.”

-[leaves]-

mmcxxvi

doppelgänger

skin flaps

syntax

mmcxxv

this knit funnel-neck tank top

this knit

funnel-

neck

tank top

doubles

as a

sporty

hoodie

mmcxxiv

the morning

got extended

by a black

ladybug

mmcxxiii

i invested in the pre-moment.

               —kathryn l. pringle

these boots

were made

for walking

somewhere

over the

rainbow

giuchie giuchie

ya yaaaa  dada

it has been hard living

since the pre-moment.

               —kathryn l. pringle

mmcxxii

sad solid sun

dear mr. bigstuff,

who do u think

you are?  u should

know better than

anyone that big

is in the eye of

the beholder.

here’s mud

in your eye,

not boulder

(n., this rock

i ask u2 choke-

hold at, let’s say,

around 5:30pm,

{which, by now}

which, by then)

gets gotten up

like ego; pumped,

not vacuumed

all up—or down.
—up  /  not down—

watch as it

gathers gout

at & about you

mad moon bum

mmcxxi

The brain—soft bag—collapses on itself

                                                   —Etel Adnan

watching a hummingbird

take to the droopy hearts

of the Castro on a

weekday afternoon

far from femininity

(the ocean seemingly

forever away), massive prows

jut over Market Street

intimidating hopscotch

the overshadowing of

half a dozen or so

brand new buildings—

condominiums (etc.)

triangular suited men

duck stealthily in & out

of the darkness

all futurissimo!

each checking his

watch as he emerges

into the light

then swooping

back out presto

leaving nothing

but tiny whirlwinds

fluttering up and

above—swirling

impressions—

echoing rictuses

of a hundred

or so pursed lips

mmcxx

the low-hanging brunch

mmcxix

it wasn’t sleeping

ms. birdjam’s

ampersand

sundials

or so we all thought

(whew)

mmcxviii

At the end of the

drain, I meant day...

           —Norma Cole

repetitious

recitative

is what the

interlude

?

my heart stutters

i, me, mimosa

and a mexican coke