Sunday, September 29, 2019


You only have the right to piss in the fountain
If you are beautiful.
                                —Jack Spicer

Yesterday I did not
encounter any fountains.
Well, this is not true.

My youth is enshrined
within hope for a future.
The scan of the hustle

and bustle around me
until I spot the one that
brings a little tingle up

my spine.  The scan of
the hustle and bustle
around me at Union

Square or at Target at
the Metreon at nine-thirty
at night or at Fisherman's

Wharf (ever so happily
playing the tourist in my
own city!) until I spot

The One.  I am enshrined
in the twill (or the tulle)
until I spot The One.

I am enshrined in the twill
of the until.  ’Twill happen,
one day, this Until.  Like

Ponce de Leon’s ’discovery’ of
Arkansas while searching for
the Fountain of Youth, which

he’d had on authority
was somewhere nestled in
the Ouachitas, where now

sits the city of Hot Springs.*
*Hot Springs, Arkansas.  de
Leon being the ‘disoverer’ of

The Natural State, the great 
imaginary homebase of the 
imagination of yours truly;

that wondrous would be
Land of Opportunity.  And,
as we also learned in that

same Arkansas History 
Class, it was then the home
of the Chocktaw, Chick-

asaw, Cherokee and
Creek.  And Some-
times, also, the Sioux.

Thursday, September 26, 2019


Wednesday Handshake

Unsteady hand

job which I
lost yesterday.

It sucks, but
many problems
suck.  One

sliver of a
silver lining
is that most

problems are

Note to
self:  to-

try thumb