Thursday, April 30, 2015


The Chinchilla Carpet

The harder the grasp, the
looser the hold.  Is it too
slippery or is it just me?
Would it matter if it were?

This is what I was thinking
as the ship set sail from the
harbors of Puerto Vallarta.
And this is what I think—

if think can be agreed upon
as these occasional flashes
that brighten an ever-expand-
ing void—as I lie here upon

what is certainly my deathbed,
my crippled fingers slowly but
spastically scribbling down—
for you—this one last line.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


A Little Discipline Never Hurt Anybody

My Great-Grandma Molly
taught me how to play
dominos and Wa-Hoo
(a home-made board

game now sold as
Sorry™) on her 
front porch.  The 
soundtrack to my 

life is stunningly
springlike.  Last 
night lurked (with 
vibrato) instead of 

I worked.  Note that 
I’ve had a very sore 
left foot (see photo 
of limp, below).  

Grandma Molly also 
dipped snuff and
collected magnets.
Some of us have a

pair of little persons (?),
one on each shoulder.
Watch them stretch
upward to whisper

into your ear.  These
are optical illusions,
but can still be instru-
mental in causing

accidents and (for
some, perhaps) get-
ting into heaven.  Here,
have a bag of my hair.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015



Odd misreading
of Salinas.

Worked out

like meeting
Jenn for

1st time
in eons

heading down
to Selfness

after shopping
in Montreal

Mom and...)...

Sunday, April 19, 2015


The Millennial Widow

This season, I’m finding it
increasingly difficult to
play the lead in this
tragedy, given the
absurdly exponential
amount of joy—
sheer ecstasy, really—
in this humble nut-
shell; my so-called life.

An electrical engineer,
the Hadron Collider,
and a nuclear reactor
walk into a bar.... 

Saturday, April 18, 2015


Stories I’m Not Supposed to Tell         

          We’re reminded that
          Truthful is an antonym for romantic.
                       —Michael Malinowicz

The dilettantes terrorized
the hordes of drunken
Santas.  It had been

suggested (advised) that
this, our historically
jubilant metaphorical

commingling of blood
and market was to be
NO FUN this go-round

and so, donning masks,
(black and white photos
of our very own faces,

as it were, with eye-shaped
holes punched into the
appropriate spots), we

went about the day and
about the night terrorizing
the hundreds of thousands

of blitzed Santas (poor
sots) whose notices had been
left at home, seals unbroken.

Friday, April 17, 2015


She would probably kill
for me: my feelings are too stupid for words
                               —Michael Malinowicz

It would quite logically flow that,
if yesterday actually occurred,
I wouldn’t be sitting here now
attempting to relay my story to you.

My recollection is hairy.  By which I
mean it's like a fogbank.  Fogbanklike.
And while the pieces each and all are
vague, it hurts not to think about it.

My head.  It hurts.  My head.   Not to.
Try to remember.  My stomach growls.
Is empty.  Like pop quizzes in Physical
Chemistry, Calculus, and Modern Design.

As I try to imagine you
Less I think of you more.
                               —Michael Malinowicz

Thursday, April 16, 2015


                             I want so little
             But expect so much.
                  —Michael Malinowicz

“Your discipline is charming,”
said the lady as the heater’s
fan blew the apartment’s

electrical circuit.  “Or do
apartments blow fuses
instead,” he thought,

“which, in turn,
annihilate circuits?”
And, furthermore,

“Fuses or fuse?  Circuit
or circuits.”  And,
later still, while the

crickets were chirping
at the circus: “I really
blew it this time,”

said the lady
blowing her nose
into yesterday’s funnies.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015


My Vice

“My advice,
Madame Vice
said the victim
to the vibrating


Severe Turbulence

I’m on my last leg
in China.  If I have
to be at the office
in 33.5 minutes and
it is now midnight
in St. Petersburg,
what time do you
think I should hop
into the shower?
The icebergs are
melting in Burbank.
The ice, the owl,
and the Adirondacks.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015


Did You Remember to Take Your Medicine?

$ 1,423.00
$ 1,986.99
$ 1,012.40
$    207.85
$    800.00
$    100.00
$       15.87
­So let’s talk

So no dough for

Monday, April 13, 2015


Sunscreen Love U More

“Del will follow up to schedule
the call,” said the stuffed panda
slightly hidden from view on
the bottom shelf (just beneath

the printer).  We were both won-
dering who was showering,
following intently the sound
of the stream of the steamy

water spewing from the spigot,
the head.  We allowed our
thoughts to drift slowly down
the hallway. . . .   until “I

believe I need to tinkle.”
The poor panda didn’t even
get the whole thing out of its
cottony mouth before I was

up and down the elegant
halloway.  “Up and down,
up and down, up and down,”
the panda thought.  That’s

Canada without its three-
piece suit, for you.  Up.
and.  down.   It wriggled
its way off the bottom

shelf and rolled itself
into the walk-in closet.
For it was time to get
dressed and meet the

day (as they say).  “Oh
yes, I am!!” said the panda
to the naked apartment.

Friday, April 10, 2015


Drugs, Sex, and Rock & Roll

Dim sum at Lychee Garden.
Then I dragged Otto out to
finally shop for some new clothes.

Picked up jeans, t-shirt, underwear,
shoes, then went dancing, supposedly.
Next-to-the-last-time at Mezzanine.

Arguing with myself during the walk
home.  Well, forget that.  Rain on
Sunday.  Talked with Fred.  Hung

out a bit with Yuki.  Worked
plenty on the new issue of
the magazine.  It’s looking

good, I think.  I flew home.
Sleep.  No, first Otto recited
various tidbits in study prep

for his Art History midterm.
Then sleep.  Then, here it is,
Monday.  I’m writing some-

thing so ugly that it includes
“war in Yugoslavia.”  My
new guilty pleasure is

reading poetry
by James Tate.

Wednesday, April 08, 2015


Infinite Flush

Flush it once
and it never
stops.  Flushing

like always a
Cherry red

to the bitter
end.  That’s
how you get

a croaked
spinster.  By
contrast, a

wolf can be
heard.  Its
tinny howl

splits the
silence into
two gargantuan

curtains.  You
know you’re a
goner when

the opening act
lasts forever
(and ever).

Tuesday, April 07, 2015


Hazarded abroad.
            —Forrest Gander

If the cops don’t talk about
sexism, who will?  Feeling

very clear, relatively.
Email untaught me

how to complete a
sentence.  Texting

sucks.  I broke two
thumbs trying to

come up with a
cure for flying.  And

when I finally made
the discovery, it

lost me two jobs.  Disc-
rimination against drug

use (it was just a silly
anecdote about Xanax). 

What, no howl?  I
suppose I should be

in on the joke by now. 
My attempts at comedy

often run afoul.  Here,
take a look at this graph

of the people I have
offended the most.

Monday, April 06, 2015


Should I do this
or two coffees?

isn’t the name
of this cafe

Because (or
yet) Here.  In-

correct you are.
I sit in this,

my San Francisco
chalet, waving

a glass of
juiced brut

so that it
almost drools

over my Swiss
omelet like a

pair of tree’d dogs.

Sunday, April 05, 2015


A Beautiful Lunch

Suddenly, I feel
like my hometown.
Cokey, honest with
myself or anyone.
What a long after-
noon!  A day full
of baloney sand-
wiches, made
It’s a picnic,
of course!  And
you’ve tied a
bandana around
each pink Tup-
perware bowl.

Saturday, April 04, 2015


Does taking blames
on my horrible party
make me (any) dumber?

Does taking blames
on my horrible party
make me (any)

dumber?  Or partly?
Doing absolutely no-
thing useful would

make my weekend soar
into this sentence.
Hardly useless, the

impossible.  Get a
grip!  What can be
done?  I would like

to knit you a little
something.  Like
perhaps a jar full

of aging grapes,
a tugboat filled
with griping

apes, or an 

angry gravy
boat stuck in 

the middle of a
very bloated

Wednesday, April 01, 2015


Defending the Offensive

Would you like some
details of the defense?

Were I not the very
Red Devil himself,

at least to your
Emperor (and his Em-

press), they would
almost surely impress.