mmcdli

My Plastic Surgeon’s Prosthesis

I’ll attempt to get this one up
just for you, if you’ll bear with
me just a bit. I’m a guy who
likes the occasional slice of pie.

Just to set the record straight
(ugh!), I saw it all while thumb-
ing through the Instagram (some
might say only to be misproven

later by the literary journal
Jingle). Our eyes are now clothes.
Please don’t let this bother you.
No, don’t cry (sigh!). Seriously,

we just thought it was funny
while we were bathing with
the hippies. What a chic fest
up north! With lots of chickens

scrambling to get ahead of the
game. This wasn’t San Fran-
cisco, after all. Nope. But
neither was it just any neck

of the woods itching for a
menu with a reputation. My
attempt to be clear (just this 

once) was “You’re So Vain.”

mmcdl

But hearing doesn’t happen nowhere.
                          —Susan Gevirtz

The cat of making
notes on a piece of
paper is more like
dog ball. The bowl

of lunch isn’t much.
And so on. He says
he has good news
and bad news. One:

he’s dancing tonight
(which is what I
wanted to do in the
first place); and Two:

he has to work to-
morrow. Everything
was uncomfortable
for the rest of the

evening. But still,
we’re off to The
Orgy (it’s called;
a 1-shot, all-night

circuit party, if
that helps). I’ve
spent a lot of time
on a tire. Once there,

we make a movie
of it. I’m completely
ignoble, so thereafter,
a spike in the tendons

is all but certain.
Needles to say, after
that, it was curtains
for the two of us.

mmcdxlix

I Am My Own Self

Not another mantra, Martha!
Like Frank O’Hara, “Never
argue with the movies,”
George. Gorgeous Sunday

afternoon. Why don’t we
go out and play? After all,
the opera doesn’t begin ’til
three and we’ve got nothing

but time on our hands.
So he refuses to wash his
hands for several seasons.
In I come, all happy to be,

happy to be. I was waiting
in line for a hot dog, taking
it all out on him. “Penetra-
tion mi amor!” Then it’s

back to his place for a nap
while he does laundry.
And what a nice nap it is!
Later that same yesterday,

I head west, feeling fresh,
happy, myself. The breeze
as I pass Starbucks on
New Montgomery.

The chill as I approach
the tunnel that ducks be

neath Yerba Buena Island.

mmcdxlviii

While I Am Wondering How to Respond

I insert a Breath Saver

into my mouth.  Me,

my, I, ho...  Who’s gentle-

man enough to receive

me?  Because this is

the last time we will

ever do it.  After the

fire, the one that

transpired directly

after we officially

moved in, while

we were vacation-

ing in Paris (Ark-

ansas), several

months passed

before the bath-

room cabinet

stopped smell-

ing like a ham

sandwich.

mmcdxlvii

“Goodbye”

Of course

I’m on my

way out

to him

ASAP.

Until

late.

Angry

about

it all,

we

have

coffee

and play

videogames.

For an hour

I read a bit

of Bok and

head down-

town.  Lunch

at a restaurant

on the bridge

(and not very

good).  Back

home to an

accidental

nap.  Then

laundry.

Then a

laundry

accident.

I didn’t

shed a

single

tear.

mmcdxlvi

Nice Data

I’m too

sleepy

to utter.

But mad

excited

about

the

future.

Watching

Poseiden

on IMAX

(not an

adventure)

after receiving

a jarhead haircut.

So I take a sleeping

pill.  To no avail.

I write a note

to myself:

“Shakespeare

had his garden.”

It was horrible

and fun.  We

sat at the top

where I found

myself a bottom.

mmcdxlv

The typo wound be ‘paining.’

                           —Robert Hass

Who catches the wound

the first time around?

Not me.  People also

argued, as in “People

made arguments”

(also Hass), but

I didn’t bother

them today

(neither

the people

nor the arguments).

Instead, I attended

Sports Bar Trivia Night,

which was hallucinatory.

At least I’m more

photogenic (right now)

than I usually am.

mmcdxliv

Agoraphobia

He pilfers around for a while

and gets ready for things

as if I want to go have

dinner with him.  So

we walk downhill

to Burger King.

Right now I’m still fighting

this cold and I want to

go home.  Should I?

(But this is home,

isn’t it?)

Because tonight we

are going to a concert—

the symphony—

to hear something

called “Frankenstein.”

mmcdxliii

oh disasters      factories      memory and actors       dossiers
                                                                      —Barbara Guest

I wonder what will happen.

The importance of being notebook.

I holler at the writings of Tim Dlugos.

There is a canyon between it and me.

Or at least a Great Divide.

(I drop a shoe down into the divide

as I down two aspirin

plus “cold crunchers” from the office medicine cabinet,

so gung-ho about the break-up, etc.)

After dealing all day with it’s now cold,

the aspiration and the perspiration

simply do not add up.

ducking poling bumping sinking and swimming
and we arrive at the beach 

                                              —Frank O’Hara

mmcdxlii

How Do You Read This?

I have,

it appears,

taken height

to a new level.

mmcdxli

Play On, Player!

“Good morning!”
said Why Is It
Called a Flea Market?,

his favorite thing,
being of course,
the game

he never
intends to
win. He

watches me
this morning
while I mis-

place my
pocket-
watch.

Something
miraculous
happens:

two nickels
appear!
“G’morning!”

But glory dis-
appears at
dusk; leaves

an itch
behind 

each ear.

mmcdxl

High Fashion

Sentences are so
ugly these days.

Especially mine.

mmcdxxxix

Remote Control Sonnet

     When they murdered us by remote control, they
     sang to themselves a lot.
                                                 —Alice Notley

My motivation is
killing me. I’ve lost
the one that counted,
so a shopping spree

is impossible. He’s
right, of course, to
be in love with the
two of them. Add

it up; it only makes
sense. Something is
going to be repaired
in my apartment today.

I guess I will find out 

what it is around 2pm.

mmcdxxxviii

I Thought You Said This Was the Wrong Planet

What to do, apologetically?
Go to bed at the wrong
hour. Float. Nothing
does any good.
Always shoot
fire into the 

River of Hope.

mmcdxxxvii

Uncomfortable Talk Show

Late night anxiety.
Please don’t open
your camera on me!

mmcdxxxvi

I feel like I’m in a story I can’t follow.
                            —Alice Notley

“Can you tell the difference?
I’m trying to make myself

sick,” he says, adding that
he hasn’t showered in a

couple of weeks (at least).
After which he reminds me

to walk the streets, saying
it just like that, “Don’t forget

to walk the streets!” Then
he gives me a hug and

walks out the door, maybe
this one last time, to do

exactly that. Because he 

has remembered to do so.

mmcdxxxv

asdf jkl;

He taught me
how to flip a
coin. Twelve
years of piano
lessons with
eight comp-
uters (three
of them lap-
tops!). I stand
in solidarity
with those
emotional
rollercoast-
ers. Con-
vinced, I
chant “It
is no good;
it is no good;
it is no good.”
I should not
be writing
any of this,
I know. It’s
not helping,
but this I can
do without
even thinking,
without even
blinking. I
attempt a
full stop,
but having
moved away
from the keys
my fingers keep
going, tap-tap-
tapping on any-
thing surface,
but knowingly,
as if this moment
were always here,
as if this dance is
utterly inescapable,
yet ongoing, in- 

finite, incapable.

mmcdxxxiv

Technical Difficulties

The wrong phone is buzzing.
I can see how this could be
a problem. I have one year
left in Boston (I will catch up
with myself in San Francisco,
eventually). I write ‘check out
new e-zine: Jacket’ on June 24.
Oh, Fortune Teller, now it is
Cinco de Mayo, and I find my-
self so suddenly single. Is it
serious (as in real)? Or am I
perhaps mental or ill? At
this time, 2:01am, I honestly
have no idea. So I sit down
and try to feel. Which is not
the brightest idea on an
occasion such as this, I must
admit. Piece by piece, I
empty the box, which
has no answers, just a
deadpan observer. Life is
one dumb question after
another. I have never felt
more certain of this, I
say to the empty box. So
sure am I that I comp-
letely forget to go to the
movies. Instead, I nod
off, sinking comfortably
deeper into this recliner,
looking no doubt like
a mere wisp of my
former[?] self, snoring
through lips that have
learned to remain frozen
in a pitiful snarl until
somebody finds me,
tickles the back of my
neck until the snarl
relaxes into something
like me[?]. What will be
is not what was, nor is it
whatever will be. What a
fix! I’m glad you’re still
here, even if I’m out like
the bright round moon
on a foggy night in San
Francisco. May tomorrow 

glow with a similar
radiance to the sheen
of this somewhat
familiar dream.

mmcdxxxiii

Complicated and Complex

Where my handwriting gets
old (e.g., I can’t tell whether
this says “the candy is in”
or “I’m dying”), for me,
isn’t just a means through
which to pass the night
or whatever.

To pass through it, not
over it is key, I think.

If I were filming such
an atrocious movie,
I would begin here.
Not again.

From now on I
will do two
things at once.

Presently,
I’m drinking
orange juice,
and the conf-
erence call
has just
begun.

What an
excellent
afternoon,
I think,
walking
my way
into the
sunset.

mmcdxxxii

We Have Arrived

As we’ve done
many times
before, we
spilled spagh-
etti sauce on
the page just
previous to 

this one.

mmcdxxxi

You’re Driving and I’m Not Pissy

We should arrive by dusk.
Arriving was never your
strong point, though.

Continue on Panoramic
Highway for 3 miles
(That’s with pop songs, FYI!).

Ah, the Ambien. Do you not
like it when I sing along
with your favorite song?

“Welcome to America!”
you say to me. As if I don’t 

already know exactly where I am.

mmcdxxx

Blondie Constantly

It’s ridiculous to carry a lifelong
disregard (or, most especially,
disdain) when McDondald’s
is constantly evolving. Today
is no tomorrow. I think this
is a good thing to keep in mind.

All day long “Whatever Lola Wants”
is the song that is sucking up my
head. Let’s have the breeze
take over our lives as we
head for a hike on Mount
Tamalpais. Numbers are
structure, are our very
science, and I am nothing
if not a lover of architects.
They concoct our homes
and supply our shopping
structures: the places
where we go to get 

fabric softener.

mmcdxxix

Stopgap

The simplicity
of the mind
(mine, at
least), has
me stupid
with awe
sometimes.