mmdcxlvii

                               new sound:
(the sound of being circled; an O)

I am told I’d walk
circles around the
office floor, the top
floor; how I’d stop
occasionally mid-
step, pause, pause,
then move on again,

for four months. I
was, is the word
happy?, when my
assignment was
discharged. It
was a couple
of days before
Thanksgiving.

Then the facts
settled in.

Coco has
taken to
circling
me,
around
and around
while I’m sitting
in bed typing this.
Around and around
and around and around.

I couldn’t make out.
I couldn’t make out the
blurry (gray and red???)
figures in the back-
ground of the entire
triptych. I squinted;
I looked askew. I’m
sure I stood there a
very long time trying.
Until a gentleman
with a top hat stood
beside me as if out
of nowhere and
whispered into my
right ear. They’re
the carcasses 

of pigeons.

mmdcxlvi

                                      new title:
(wishing he didn’t hear a sound)

I am told
that if I
am told
some-
thing
it could
be bad
(as in
sad,
the
only
bad).
But,
I am
not
told
any-
thing
except 

happiness.

mmdcxlv

                                       if title:

(neither sound nor resounding)

This refrigerator freezes everything, milk carton.

                         —Tjanting_ebooks (found on Twitter)

If I tweeted

I wonder

how it wd

sound.

mmdcxliv

        (super-

loud!)

And Buzzcocks sing Breakdown, too unknown

To be banned by slick mixmaster

when hair hung golden or

black is the floor

& the walls

were velvet.

 —Chris Stroffolino

Too hollowed out

not to make the

noise of death,

unlike Dad’s

whistle (super

loud!), which

would often

occur seem

ingly out of

nowhere, 

like how 

my writ

ing has 

become

almost

too pat

ernal.

mmdcxliii

Dual Axles / Dueling Alexes

The distant séance made a

bit too much noise for our

taste (he bent over for a

moment, then, rising

slowly, decided

against it).

mmdcxlii

I see the garden women

in their gravy days

when hair hung golden or

black is the floor

& the walls

were velvet.

      —John Wieners

Too hollowed out

not to make the

noise of death,

unlike Dad’s

whistle (super-

loud!), which

would often

call us home

for supper (or

else just call

us home).

Can we go

back to the

farce we

created

just for

fun

or 

is

this

real-

ity just

a distance

of the census?

mmdcxli

San Francisco Health Plan

“Here’s another story I’m sure you’d
love to hear,” he says amid piles

of junk that he’s pilfering through….
“So, I decided to apply for Capital

One.”  I’m sitting here wondering
if he means a job or a credit card.

“Project number 2,” he says.  “It’s
immaterial.”  I always wonder what

he could be thinking at times like
these.  But then I wonder a lot of

things, like who’s doing the won-
dering and who’s doing the hard

thinking.  This time I was just too 

distracted.  So how was I to know

that the boat had already taken
off?  “Midnight’s gonna happen,

anyway,” I heard him mumble.
Can I go back to a reality that I

didn’t particularly create, even if for

only one blip of the nonsense of love?

mmdcxl

Call on Hold

In my mind I’m not
generally at the office.

So when my mind
shows up and it’s

at the office, and
it turns out I’ve

left the CEO on
hold for the entire

night, I simply
let my mind go

on a break 

for a while.

mmdcxxxix

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled penis.
            —Jo Ann Rothschild (from The Book of Penis)

It’s a wonderful book, I might add, full of
illustrations of dicks (I used to only use the word
penis, thinking dick too harsh; is that normal?),
like “Leaning Tower of Penis,” “Landing at Penis
Rock,” and “Ayatollah Penis.” Each primitively
sketched matching illustration is just as you
would imagine it to be. It’s genius, if you ask
me (and there’s even a “Genius” penis – right
after the “Ayatollah Penis” and directly before
penises named “Scholar” and “Critic.”  Surely
by now you’re already looking on Amazon
(or SPD or your bookstore of choice) for this
soon to be classic tome. If so, it’s from
Pressed Wafer (they’re a publisher of mine, 

happy to be guilty as charged on that one), 

out in 2010.  And be sure to read the author’s 

explanation on the back cover. “That is all for 

today”, I say, aloud, tapping my, er, tipping my

hat to you all.

mmdcxxxviii

London Calling

London is here today. And
guess who gets picked to
babysit. Is a free lunch
better than a Quiznos
turkey sandwich? I...
I’m not really sure. I
suppose it depends
on the day, on my
appetite, on my mood.... 

Am I really that difficult?

mmdcxxxvii

     …in a land
     of strung-out queens joining hands beneath
     a roseate sky…
                                      —Timothy Liu

Yeah, I left out the rest of the sentence, the
beginning and the end, which was a bit more
bleak (to say the least), but nevertheless a
gorgeous portrait (…where storm-tossed petals
vulture circled an ever-widening grave—) – that’s
just the stuff that comes after the part at the top
of the page, and, see, even Tim couldn’t turn the
end of the poem into a complete sentence.  Due
to the apocalypse, I assume.  Which of course
could happen any day.  Could have already
happened.  Are we (meaning, am I) even here?
I try to remain hopeful, despite the despair.  I hate
being this; hate even relaying it to you in this manner.
In fact, the word “HAPPY” floats over my computer after it
experiences five minutes of non-use – which includes the lack of
cat paws tip-toeing over keys, and/or her whole body hunkering
down on top of them (the keys of my laptop) for warmth, I suppose.
She’s even managed to change the name of my computer at least
twice (and no doubt has managed an email or two, as well, but un-
beknownst to me).  I try to be.  Happy, that is.  The screen saver is
a reminder that I am, right?  Even my iPhone screams HAPPY when
it’s unlocked, which doesn’t take much – just a slide of a finger
across the screen: no fingerprint nor password necessary.  And
the screams come with an ice cream cone with colorful and seemingly
inedible swirls, too.  What have I to hide, anyway (or what have I to relay
that the world, my world, that tiny ((and shrinking)) pond of whosits and
whatsits of whom I grow more and more skeptical every day... Is
this one going to be just another user? Is this one going to be an emergency
or will it show up should I have ‘an emergency?’  Is it unlikely...?),
that isn’t already out there, I mean?  Who pays attention to it all
anyway?  A lot of people didn’t even finish that last sentence.
It’s true.  And they even started it.  No one can be counted on.
Most certainly not I.  How can that fact be sold in such a way
as to convince one (myself) that it is just another part of the
‘joy of life?’  Perhaps I shouldn’t go into advertising.  What a depress-
ing reminder of a life that could’ve been.  Even today, people confuse billboards
advertising the latest installment of X-Men, the one where the really bad guy
(I think he’s supposed to be a god, actually) is strangling Jennifer Lawrence, quite realistically.  Well, his character is strangling her character. They’re both just

characters.  In a movie that many of us will see at one point, despite
the reviews.  To be fair, the bad guy is played by Oscar Isaac, but you can’t
really tell that it’s him.  After all, he’s playing a god, not a human.  And Jennifer

is the blue mutant with scales: the one with ambiguous ties to both sides
(i.e., the good guys and the bad guys).  Maybe she…or, pardon me…
maybe her character deserves to be strangled?  Well, nobody
deserves to be strangled, right?  So why the ‘feminist’ uproar, I wonder (or is it
just Rose McGowan)? It’s a movie with a couple of prominent women
included in its cast.  It’s just mind-deterring, if not thought-provoking
fiction.  Like my life, for example.  Yeah, right.  So, what’s the fuss with

reality, anyway?  What is it, really?
Peaches and love to all.