mmccxlvii

The Embarrassment

he tried to take it

all in stride, the

embarrassment.

he had even lived 
like a country that

could afford too lit-

tle too late.  but the

cinematic sirens. the 
sirens they plunged his 
eyeballs.  into his eye-
balls they plunged. and 
out poured a very large

sea, which all called the

ocean.  and all the while,

eons, the embarrassment

kept trying to get up, but

inside, the embarrassment

was filled with embarrass-

ment, and even more such

pathetic and horrible tor-

ments.  and outside, the

sea, which some call the

ocean.  the ocean of no

feeling.  the ocean of

pleas, or, for some,

the ocean of please.

but to each eye

that sees, to

each eye that

sees, the ocean,

the ocean, the ocean.

mmccxlvi

Purple Tulips

I know

they

aren’t

your

favorite.

But then

again,

neither

was I.

mmccxlv

is this the only thing?

          “...it’s the year where I keep crying or almost crying,

          I feel like a bad actor laughing at my own joke...”

                                                                           —Stephanie Young

fortunately,

however,

there are

so very

many

comedians.

comedic

as that

might

have

been,

however,

there

isn’t

very

much

fortune.

mmccxliv

is this the only thing that i do?

i don’t mind

growing up

but what if i

change my

mind?  will

it be like this

forever?

the sun

shone

down

through

all of the

radar ranges

and onto

the bulimic

flagposts.

was this

too much

to absorb,

thought

the dying

heretic.

mmccxliii

homage to the little boy in the

emergency room waiting area

...

...

...

but i write

...

that’s

just what i do

mmccxlii

a cento of love

full of augmentation

isn’t what she said or wrote

          it was argumentation

but i am allowed to change

the argument to slap it in its

face before he walks out of the

cento of love forever or never

to be seen again

what’s so important about

the center of love are not the

fireworks nor the varying sounds

of the fireworks on the third or

the fourth of whatever month

of whatever country hospital

your dad isn’t breathing well in

inside of which whatever hospital

isn’t what she said either it’s just

MY center of love she argued as she

wrote the word over and over again

          with much gratitude to stephanie young

mmccxli

being a fool

surrounded

by fools i am

silenced by

wisdom

it must be

wise i think

but it’s not me

it’s the mariachi

band through

the broken

window

i woke

up under

i didn’t

wake up

the mari
achi band

must be

the only

act of

generosity

that i can

notice

were it

a wise

band

surely

i would

surely

i would

never

have

crept

away

from

that

dream

mmccxl

Did you want me to ingest this?

“Stop talking about porn,”

I entreat, “& start talking

about yr cigarette.  !”  Or

that’s what I said I said,

and I didn’t just get this

from the voice.  “It’s just

my viscous eye,” he texts,

right back at me, always

pretty good like that.

Along with “Just look up

the word zodiac.”  You

know, as if that would

figure everything out.

And that’s me, here,

like usual, just trying

to do that one little

thing, just trying to

figure everything

out, right?  Like why

she’s flying through

the air across Market

Street.  “It’s not the

voice, you idiot!” says

the voice.  “It’s one of

those unfair treats that

come to get served on 

happiest occasions.”

A treat. Come along.

Just for me.  And

just for you.  We

both breathe to-

gether at that one.

mmccxxxix

the harder i think about it,

privacy is, well, you tell me,

i’d love to hear, cuz i only ever

think of the one reason.  sure,

we’ve each and all got some-

thing of a duplicitous nature. 

i blame culture (inasmuch

as, you know), and go look-
ing for the interesting stuff,

how a person or a people

got to this point.  or why. 

it often starts to be logical.

but pretty?  well, i guess

we all want to be pretty.

i know i do.  so why do i

wake up every morning,

get myself looking some-

thing like myself, and

walk out actually con-

centrating on being

whoever woke up,

same ol’ me, just

showered & cost-

umed up.  i sure

look pretty (or
pretty sad), and,
as far as I can tell 
(or attempt to tell), 
i still look pretty

much like myself.  
i'm a gemini, so I 
never dwell too long
on one moment, which

is always different from

the next.  me.  not me.

probably about as fast

as I can get the word me

out of my mouth (not the

best place for me, by the

way), the consistency in the

inconsistence, it’s fun,

as I often persist to insist,

while feeling like else

but loving like me,

which is always pretty—

and surely, more often

than not, pretty much

looks and feels like me—

for which i’m glad, i ask my
self most nights, right to sleep.

mmccxxxviii

I distrust Halloween, as if people weren’t costumed already
                                                             —Anselm Berrigan

The privacy

of the stupid

is all fine and

dandy in terms

of, you know,

evolution.  Ex-

cept, you know,

stupid people

are simply not

private.       So,

I think tonight,

that rather than

go as Divine,

I’ll just don

my lucky Dick

Nixon face.

Cuz, you know.

mmccxxxvii

To be is to have been and intending to be.           

                                            —Etel Adnan

u’ve been in here
4ever, haven’t u,
Olive?   Zero?  O?

since the day
the jacks jumped
out of their boxes

thru anydays
when i wd
accident, tell u

what’s in the
bOX (u weren’t
supposed to no).

yes those kinds
of everydays.
esp. the 1’s where

we’re dressed
to the 9’s.  like
u always r.

and why shouldn’t
u b, my Olive,
my Zero?  drawing

ever nearer, of
course; ever clearer
...?  but where,

dear Zero? not
nowhere.  but
where o where

o where o where?
...why surely there.
so closest to here.

as among us as
Italy’s perfectest
pigeons, our

dappled most
dapperest hero, our
dearest-dearest Zero.

mmccxxxvi

I have a sincere desire to change

                              —Stephanie Young

Three-wheeled baby.

Man, this is gonna

burn.  Man, this is

gonna be good.  The

heater kicks in.  The

heater kicks out. 

200 mints and the

world keeps starving;

keeps on keepin’ on.

Tick to the tock. 

Tooth to the shark.

                                Understand,

there’s a miniature boot on a keychain

pointed at my head.

Just keep walking.

                                  —Stephanie Young

mmccxxxv

what was he

    a hyena hitherto?

but for the sound

of the will o’ the wisp

blowin’ against a

dead mad wind,

and our footsteps

tramplin’ the

midnight leaves

of the deepdark forest

   ...ah, there he was,

an elfin heaven!

mmccxxxiv

As far as I can tell,

the only book I

ever stole was

from the Boston

Public Library

(stamped due

May 04 1998).

It was Your

Native Land,

Your Life by

Adrienne Rich.

mmccxxxiii

Coco

is

throw-

ing up.

You’re

gone.

mmccxxxii

California woman dies with kitten in lap

                                      —SFGate.com headline

17 locals who should be in wax museum

                                      —SFGate.com headline

mmccxxxi

give me

1 moment

in time &

i’ll give u

a couple

dozen.

mmccxxx

20th century

pop chart

+

shaggy of

scooby

_______________

so long

casey kasem

mmccxxix

whilst

this stretch

just breath

and sigh

wondering

how long

before

no longer

just while

or whiling.

mmccxxviii

this stretch is

just breathing

and sighing.  i

keep wonder

ing how long

before the

next big

push.

this stretch

just breath

and sigh

wondering

how long

before the

next big

promise.

while

away

time

whilst

eating.

mmccxxvii

my lap

top wd

not boot

up this

morning.

setting up

review mtgs

having just

arrived from

gym.  ordered...

does this say

here ordered

courtesy? i

read boring

this last few

years but

particularly?

is it just me

or is my

scribble

particularly?

back to my

laptop is

top of my

to do

since

i have

a dot

com

on

Mon

day.

mmccxxvi

“Sorry, I’m word this morning.”

Word from Everyman.  Word.

mmccxxv

sad songs.

loud and sad.

to wake u up.

not just on

Monday.  not

only on the

weekend.

this is called

why in the

hell do u

wanna

crank out

an over

wrought

round of

sad super

sad sad

songs

     every

   single

morning?

mmccxxiv

Friday morning,

my blue iFood

(thanks, Otto)

sits steaming

next to a red

notebook re

charging