mmdlxx

The Burnt Sugar Brigade

There’s no way you can feel …

     or

This new Star Wars trailer makes me …

“This has to be the new me,” I write

     today

upon “processed panda poop”

I sweat a few beads while rearranging

     my

makeshift bookshelf

which includes all of the books I’m

     currently

reading (I put it up after we lost the panda.

Or not.) ...

     I

am writing

presently upon a product made

     100%

of “recycled and odorless panda poo”

upon which I find it quite

     difficult

to pen these few, distant words.

mmdlxix

Tune In Tomorrow For My Demise

I’m startled.
Yesterday
I checked out

the new mall
down the hill
which houses

a gourmet grocer
in its basement.
While I’m very

excited about
this fact, it
nevertheless

depresses
me that the
grocer remains

hungry—
almost to
the edge of

starvation—
in that lonely
shopping

center base-
ment for
two

very long
decades.

mmdlxviii

     I was made for loving you, baby,
     You were made for loving me.
                                    —KISS

It was a couple of months
before I even realized that
he was living here with me
(It had been a rough couple
of years). Can this even be
correct? Is it summary or

pretext? Yeah. It’d been
a really lousy couple of
years, the existence of
which I’d never have
even begun to wrap
my head around,

until then, the couple
of years that lasted
at least a decade,
(and not in a good,
way).... He always
had to stop at cross-

walks—to either
wait for the green
pedestrian sign
or else to wait
for passersby
to stop and wait

with him. I write
to total strangers
every day. No-
body seems to
mind. But if
caught talking

to myself, or my
computer, or to
a washing ma-
chine, he always
continues. Often
so abruptly that

I’m startled.
Yesterday
I checked out

(tune in tomorrow for my demise)

mmdlxvii

...I Still Remember Now

tt in 1973, sorry),
then I sauntered
uphill where I
fell promptly
to sleep,

only to
dream of
what remains
of my own dirt-
y laundry, which

you can see air-
ing on the line
presently,
through the
time lapses

or capsules
or glasses.
it must be
one of those
rare moments,

like the first
time we saw
the scissor
sisters per-
form (giving

such meaning
to “live at the
Warfield!”),
a freebie
that

was
loose-
ly ass-
ociated
with

concept-
ual love.

(the end)

mmdlxvi

I Remember Now

We were listening
to Christeene, or,
well, were watching
her latest music video
(Tears From My Pussy).

I was almost finished
with The Corrections
and I’d been attempt-
ing to communicate.
With Kasey. Regard-

ing Robert Frost (it’s
true!). Blooming-
dale’s is whatever.
It’s my first flight
to The Big Apple,

feeling good (well,
maybe not the first
time at that), try-
ing to do things
besides WORK (

parenthetical
ditto). Right
now I’m on a
conference call
with the other

participants
(e.g., build-
ings pass away:
“O’Farrell…”
“Hotel Nikkei

…” “… a van-
illa latte”) ....
I was in one
of those tall,
cushy chairs

taking in the
“sea of dull-
ness” (that’s
Marlon Brand-
o to Dick Cave-

(please stay tuned for the next installment)

mmdlxv

I remember “This is the last thing I’m going to tell you.”

                                                                —Joe Brainard

It is nothing

but a blur

now.  We

picked up

the jury

summons.

I was so

mad.  Hell,

I have no

idea, really.

Today, all

I can feel

is the guilt.

mmdlxiv

Is this platform even on?

              —Stephanie Young

Hello, I am here!

If only I could

leave it at that.

I mean I’ve left,

but, unfortun-

ately(?), have yet

to leave.  Every-

thing’s funny in

San Francisco.

I am still here,

still reinventing

myself.  How

is Oakland

these days?  

Lubs from SF,

drc

mmdlxiii

Parody

I sent him

a mote,

saying I’m

so dorry,

what a

porrible

mistake

I’ve named.

The forgiveness

is so all-encom-

passing and

nutual.

mmdlxii

They were

marshmallow,

like the peeps

they wore in

the photographs

of the old cinema.