during my first charity auction
i never act, make a peep, raise
a finger but just try to witness
which leads of course to
daydreams about somber
chores, about needing to
wash or clobber a draft
of an odd sonnet written
on an even day while my
dead publisher yells at me
like a nuclear reactor (i just
cannot find that comfortability
with death that everyone else
seems at peace with).
now it’s the weekend
of a bunch of firsts.
am i the only charity
here? it’s the first first
of a bunch of stuff that
will probably come after;
each first a zombie piling
onto the other stiffly-
quickened quackers.
so what’s it going to
2 B? i ask myself as
if i am always and
forever in love.
black-eyed peas and
middle eastern sides,
which hopefully can
have bacon (can they?
i am suddenly doubting).
i could fry catfish (cat
fish? but yes, i am
from arkansas, so fried
catfish!) with uber
handsome uberteer
cruising aside
the bay?
or take my chances
and smash my
kisses over strangers’
modern studios
kisses over strangers’
modern studios
(also alongside
the bay)?
i sure hope one
i sure hope one
comes ready for
apologies and has
at least as nice a
view as mine.
at least as nice a
view as mine.
