mmcccxcii

A Butterfly’s Effect on Anxiety

Last evening’s network outage
caused a big stir, but under
tonight’s moon, a beautiful
soup sits on a white stove.

The cat purrs like a yogi.
I walked all the way to
Carmel-by-the-Sea
after dancing at Ruby

Skye all night on
Saturday, so I missed
work on Monday.
On Tuesday, I

required the assist-
ance of a cane to get
to work. Me, with
a walking cane!

Otto has a thing for
bike messengers, so
it’s too bad about
the rain. An

external hard drive
shows up between
8 and 9 p.m. It is
male in structure

and smoking hot,
and so I asked
him if he’d like some.

mmcccxci

Science and the rotation of enjoyment.
                                                 —Basil King

The oddity of fighting with fans. Fan-fighting.

(Just briefly, from the box...) It is
the rainiest March in the record-
books, or something. The network
is confusion in front of me. Perhaps
I forgot my glasses again. Perhaps
I left my glasses on the dancefloor
again. In the taxi cab again. Do I
spend another very large sum on
a pair of glasses? Back in the
day....

Rainy, rainy winter/spring. Otto
and I exchange words via tiny
computers. Via Google without
goggles. He has sent me these
after I presented a comment
about the oddity of fighting
with fans. Having now seen
this phenomenon occur in
several films.

Fold-out fans. The ones when in
hot weather, say, or of a Sunday
morning when the pastor goes 

on for five or ten minutes too
long, open like a V and get
waved to cool one’s face.
Made of paper. Or any
of various metals or
synthetic materials.

mmcccxc

For love we pursue. For entertainment
the movies give us an endless supply
of androgynous characters.
                                    —Basil King

The mummy says Whoops! as
he falls into the hole. Pause

story. I think I’d like to try
polygamy. I walked to the

fancy restaurant.  I am a
person who says fancy

restaurant.  An unknow-
able amount of pleasure

fills me as I am writing
to let you know that I

walked to the fancy
restaurant in the rain

from a business location
a few blocks away and

several stories above.
It hurt. There were

shocking pains at my
chest and on top of

my heart, also.

mmccclxxxix

I’m attempting to avoid
all doctors until after the
White Party. Maybe
that’s just stupid. I

paid a guy $200 and
now my drive is hard.
I’m in pain, asleep
at work. Rainy. Painy.

A few feet from my
desk lies a tube of
peanut butter filling.
I’m telling you this

story during a storm,
standing in a puddle,
with an attack-heart
and a head-bludgeon.

One eye isn’t opening.
Fortunately, I keep a
toothpick in my pocket to
keep the other eye open.

mmccclxxxviii

Egghead

Last night lurked briefly
on a scale of one to ten.

Last evening the work-
out cycle seemed regular,

but now it is nothing but
full of the hurt runs and

a limp that causes the
splits. Maybe it was

just something stupid
to keep me from getting

up. To keep me from
walking. I tip my hat

to everything I pass
during today’s

never ending joy.

mmccclxxxvii

Otto is shopping

with his brother

in Chinatown, ex-

changing emails

as I write this.  I

keep forgetting what

everything is called. 

There’s butter and

flower and ball and

pig with mustache. 

But what’s the

purpose of each?

I know that this is

umbrella but what

does it do?  Is it a

thing to grab hold

of so that you rise

toward heaven?  The

elevator is dizzy and

the books that protrude

from that wall of blue

are checking me out.

That wall is spindrift.

The foam of the sea

that is captured and

poured into a por-

celain cup is my

breakfast of

green tea.

mmccclxxxvi

California Poem: The Sequel

I am no fan of spoiler alerts,

so here’s one from me to you: 

at the end of the season we all

wake up in the shower together

and it slowly dawns us that

this episode is really hot.

Yep.  During the season finale,

it slowly dawns on each of us

while we’re lathering and

shampooing and whatnot

during this racy communal

shower scene that every

single episode this season—

up until we all hop into

the tub together, that is—

has been nothing but

one gigantic buzzkill.

It was all just a night-

mare; it was merely

a dream. 

I really do apologize. 

I just couldn’t help myself. 

Please.  Continue your

binge-watching.  And 

have a wonderful afternoon.

mmccclxxxv

           Grammar no
not welcome. Hush.
          —Cassie Lewis

Woke up with a pair of
flags and the memory
of a heartbeat. A gor-
geous day, like your
body after three-dollar
martinis. Like your
body of work on top
of the wardrobe. Do
note that I’ve had a
really sore foot and
the sound of the fan
(which I just now
switched to heat)
purrs like Coco 

at my feet.

mmccclxxxiv

Your Clever Glows Over Everything

Situational and stolen.
For my own benefit.
From a few words in
a book that came in a

lovely brown paper bag.
I almost always throw
the bag, the coverlet,
the whatever-you-call-it,

into the recycle bin (the
one we finally purchased
after living here something
like seven years, right?).

“Just who are you talking
to,” glares Coco the Loco,
who’s wrapped into a
skeptical curl—all foetal-

feline alert and everything.
And should I even begin to
answer? I do, in one long
breath, thinking about how

we (us, some bodies) nearly
lost you (you!) to the clover
a couple of months and a
year ago. But you arrived

home like nothing had been
overcome, not even a tiny
hurdle, a C-, so ... alive.
Your clever was never

as apparent as it should
have been. Whereas,
me, I always believed 

that I was the clever one.

mmccclxxxiii

The Cross

“Which one?”
heard the driver
of a very lengthy
limousine—

from somewhere
within the depths
of the enlarged
automobile.

There are 

so many.

mmccclxxxii

Now undo this habit.
         —Rob Halpern

“Must we always be
so undone?” mused
the nun to the other
nuns as they perched
at the precipice of 

a great abyss.

mmccclxxxi

I feel so missing 

in action (inaction)
today. Am I still a
part of the franchise?
Hang on... If I

don’t lose you once
or twice then I’m
definitely not doing
my job. Once he
thinks he might
actually mean that,

the 13th Chapter of
the Geminian Order
of the Sentient is
secretly called to order.

mmccclxxx

Our ‘Separate Vacations’ Were Such [Ad]Ventures!

Having everything
under control.

Talk about not
knowing me.

Naruto, Naruto
Naruto (episode

100 now). I’m
feeling gutty,

not my usual
temperature,

although it
could be.

I was think-
ing about

things (my-
self). Things I

hadn’t thought
in years or never.

“There always
seems to be

so much to
pack,” I think

as I walk 

out the door.

mmccclxxix

Casual Dining Island

Here on The Island of Casual Dining
       we eat. Not just the headaches 

from yesteryear.  Only more robust.

mmccclxxviii

A Moussed Mouse

Negative empathy for
the disciplinarian.

I’d like to trouble you
with the following urgent

message: your box is
gorgeous! I lurked

briefly over emails
about a foot fetish –

some left foot! Closer
to home I’m in serious

need of a workout –
so hard it causes a

limp. Walking on
knuckles isn’t so

stupid when you
really want to avoid

the podiatrist, avoid
insane, avoid internal

bleeding. The drive
back is never ending,

even though I paid 

the guy over $200.

mmccclxxvii

Give a Zebra a Canary...

It’s true,
I’m not that
cunning, Sire.

Time for my
punishment?
Your desire?

Please watch
me hard
whilst I expire.

mmccclxxvi

My life
has not
been in
order.
See,
here it
is, fall-
ing out
of itself
all at once.

mmccclxxv

So Much From Which To Choose

...up with which I shall not put!

So I am learning to hate.  It is

so easy in theory or even on paper.

For example: “I despise them all!

Every last one of them!”

            [I close my eyes,

            repeat verbally, but

    

            just above a whisper

            and with teeth con-

            sistently clenched:

            “HATE!”    “HATE!”

            and then I open my eyes.]

                      

                      Voilà.

mmccclxxiv

A Turn for the Worse

I love to drive. This
I remember. But sea-
sickness, as they say,
is seasickness. I don’t

get carsick, nor even
vertigo anymore.  Rare-
ly. Rarely just get into 

an automobile and

drive. Before GPS
I traversed the US,
these entire United
States. Or those con-

tiguous. Many of them
numerously. Well.
Aiming more for
contemplative, I

take off my smudged
glasses to let the river
flow (as they say).
I’m not granite, nor

relatively immortal,
but I do wonder if I
would be a popular
tourist attraction

had I been a canyon.
Instead of a human.
The vast airy beauty
of sleep is often

interrupted by night-
mares. Like this
morning’s fire
that destroyed

everything
that was ours.
It all went so
quickly, like

the meat half of a
split-order pizza
when you’re ex-
tremely hungry.

mmccclxxiii

I Don’t Remember

Partial fire hazard.

François, 475-4538.

The lights with the

electric stove problem.

That this goes here.

The long red burn

that encircles my

left leg mid-calf.

Erasing landscape

for livestock.  Ex-

change rates.  Ex-

changing gifts.  Gift

giving.  Thanksgiving.

I’m horrible with the

names of the people I

love the most.  I must

love the most.  I’m

not sure.  I thought

that I had arrived to

congratulate you on

something wonderful.

I have no idea what it

was.  Or if this is true.

Which makes me so

angry.  Like being

branded by fire, a

mere infant, I’m

emblazoned by

pure and visceral

anger unswervingly

aimed at you.  This

maybe went on

forever.  But I do

not remember.