Technical
Difficulty
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 observation:
life is one dumb question.
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
into 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 will
ever 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 like this
peaceful dream.
