Sunday, August 30, 2015


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.”

Saturday, August 29, 2015


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.

Friday, August 28, 2015


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
beneath Treasure Island.

Thursday, August 27, 2015


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

Wednesday, August 26, 2015



Of course
I’m on my
way out
to him
it all,
and play
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
nap.  Then
Then a
I didn’t
shed a

Sunday, August 23, 2015


Nice Data

I’m too
to utter.
But mad
(not an
after receiving
a jarhead haircut.
So I take a sleeping
pill.  To no avail.
I write a note
to myself:
had his garden.”
It was horrible
and fun.  We
sat at the top
where I found
myself a bottom.

Friday, August 21, 2015


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
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.

Thursday, August 20, 2015



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.”

Wednesday, August 19, 2015


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

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


How Do You Read This?

I have,
it appears,
taken height
to a new level.

Monday, August 17, 2015


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


two nickels

Glory dis-
appears at

an itch
my ear.