ted banana. go2
tinderBART!—thunderBEE!
Blackberry allusions
. shook my nuts Googl
e it. (sticky note)
Monday, October 02, 2006
ccciii
more squirrel. Wal
ted banana. go2
tinderBART!—thunderBEE!
Blackberry allusions
. shook my nuts Googl
e it. (sticky note)
ted banana. go2
tinderBART!—thunderBEE!
Blackberry allusions
. shook my nuts Googl
e it. (sticky note)
Friday, September 29, 2006
cccii
Banana says we must remember this new kind
of cloud backing up into the sundown, a nice Perrier
of a day blocked by the Embarcadero number
{insert Japanese language}. Winter life.
Erin just sent me a parody of satire. It’s a
cadaver like a face staring out at the
naked people getting run over on the interestate.
Tell me more.
of cloud backing up into the sundown, a nice Perrier
of a day blocked by the Embarcadero number
{insert Japanese language}. Winter life.
Erin just sent me a parody of satire. It’s a
cadaver like a face staring out at the
naked people getting run over on the interestate.
Tell me more.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
ccci
sitting here losing teeth.
sitting here with lots of my mind
sorting a new way to start and I feel lost.
I felt a lot better freezing about it. I am feeting
and I have to pee. although I might try to
shake it out of you.
I’ll have the fritatta and the restroom please.
something meaningful with less coffee.
you’ve come with me when at some point
words stop mattering. maybe that’s
it—words. they stop mutt. I touch. I tuck
with full effect into the meanings. the meanings rub the wrong way
and get a foul. why is it do you think I
always hold out my hand? seriously do you think
I am disbelieving just to touch your
tongue? I have had some secrets I lost.
the way to the words that are meant. some
are for someone,
but nobody could be more. think of the teeth.
sitting here with lots of my mind
sorting a new way to start and I feel lost.
I felt a lot better freezing about it. I am feeting
and I have to pee. although I might try to
shake it out of you.
I’ll have the fritatta and the restroom please.
something meaningful with less coffee.
you’ve come with me when at some point
words stop mattering. maybe that’s
it—words. they stop mutt. I touch. I tuck
with full effect into the meanings. the meanings rub the wrong way
and get a foul. why is it do you think I
always hold out my hand? seriously do you think
I am disbelieving just to touch your
tongue? I have had some secrets I lost.
the way to the words that are meant. some
are for someone,
but nobody could be more. think of the teeth.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
ccc
Here’s more muse musings. Do you mind my
knowing you? Take the time.
Let’s build a birdnest,
speak Spanish (a mutual language). Well,
you know. This is a different window than
yesterday. Let’s speak Spanish. I have the
dulcimer, it’s not a critical thing (birds do it).
Big limb-like things. I want to be good, but
real? Should I aspire to such stuff? Look,
you are beautiful in poetry. Very bright
and covered in many layers. AND this
connection is yours and mine, plus better now
that I wear glasses in my cubicle.
knowing you? Take the time.
Let’s build a birdnest,
speak Spanish (a mutual language). Well,
you know. This is a different window than
yesterday. Let’s speak Spanish. I have the
dulcimer, it’s not a critical thing (birds do it).
Big limb-like things. I want to be good, but
real? Should I aspire to such stuff? Look,
you are beautiful in poetry. Very bright
and covered in many layers. AND this
connection is yours and mine, plus better now
that I wear glasses in my cubicle.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
ccxcix
Mission statement corner of 2nd, crying:
I love you very much turn off the camera.
Pick up February poetry poem in bed
all black dimly lit. Reading beautiful snow
beautiful Charles I can’t walk. Little v’s
of snow all along the bridge. Snowflakes. How
I love you very much turn off the camera.
Pick up February poetry poem in bed
all black dimly lit. Reading beautiful snow
beautiful Charles I can’t walk. Little v’s
of snow all along the bridge. Snowflakes. How
many shapes look forward. The schoolbus is
the wrong direction drop your pelvis. I
watch it. I watch the moving picture in
front of me. In front you kept changing
the best thing. Those brown birds.
the wrong direction drop your pelvis. I
watch it. I watch the moving picture in
front of me. In front you kept changing
the best thing. Those brown birds.
Monday, September 25, 2006
ccxcviii
it was love at first sight. I am over and done with
again and again. yet I am still unable to hold
the man I know how to in French or whatever language. I know how to
write a personal statement on Monday but
Monday night + Sunday afternoon = I rap.
here’s a memo taken in mathematics. find the equation
for love power that knocks you down. which is almost never. get it it’s important—
not everything is a real ditty. yes we got fairly decent out of it. the ages
say blow in which is impossible. impossible to look for babies two years now.
and so I change the way I feel. I change the way I feel. I hand over music. it
beats the way writing leaves. we can dance and be only as bad as it beats.
again and again. yet I am still unable to hold
the man I know how to in French or whatever language. I know how to
write a personal statement on Monday but
Monday night + Sunday afternoon = I rap.
here’s a memo taken in mathematics. find the equation
for love power that knocks you down. which is almost never. get it it’s important—
not everything is a real ditty. yes we got fairly decent out of it. the ages
say blow in which is impossible. impossible to look for babies two years now.
and so I change the way I feel. I change the way I feel. I hand over music. it
beats the way writing leaves. we can dance and be only as bad as it beats.
Friday, September 22, 2006
ccxcvii
seems to me I’ve been here over a year. the slothful Marlowe spirits.
queasy my curiosity always seem such
swung instant message. swing it. take me there into that plausibility—
I spill coffee on Union Square. I spill coffee like a
rubberband. this car’s going by a Massachusetts. as did I.
did I mention the time it takes me there. to get me four. four crying. step on his feet
before I fall down. that’s when I died. he changes every four minutes. every
last night is every day—
a cosmic instant message. I’ve been fucking the possibility. it seems he
hasn’t even called in. blue grudgingly. this is a pre-marriage issue—
problems keeping.
queasy my curiosity always seem such
swung instant message. swing it. take me there into that plausibility—
I spill coffee on Union Square. I spill coffee like a
rubberband. this car’s going by a Massachusetts. as did I.
did I mention the time it takes me there. to get me four. four crying. step on his feet
before I fall down. that’s when I died. he changes every four minutes. every
last night is every day—
a cosmic instant message. I’ve been fucking the possibility. it seems he
hasn’t even called in. blue grudgingly. this is a pre-marriage issue—
problems keeping.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
ccxcvi
I turned last night into a poem which
when I got back from the dance about the loss
of a long-time ago it was one of the best poems—a cosmic
backdrop—snowy hot spring baths. I love him four times.
four times I wiped my eyes over the apples and the potatoes. I’m
your special guy. pain is all around. here for example is a picture of the
rice pudding from the cous-cous truck. I shot the wet sidew
alk here — and another time here, then I shot the firetruck. I swung him over and over, I
when I got back from the dance about the loss
of a long-time ago it was one of the best poems—a cosmic
backdrop—snowy hot spring baths. I love him four times.
four times I wiped my eyes over the apples and the potatoes. I’m
your special guy. pain is all around. here for example is a picture of the
rice pudding from the cous-cous truck. I shot the wet sidew
alk here — and another time here, then I shot the firetruck. I swung him over and over, I
thank him over, over, fuck his eyes are all over. his eyes are over. fuck his eyes.
see how they shine. fuck them. I am over everyday screaming a bit. this pocket
changes me. change makes me feel united. so I write more. next is a
triple layer installation. the food is good but where’s the dick for love.
this green newspaper balls love into an upright casket. I escalated
then I felt almost everywhere. how romantic this is together. how
romantic together. notation: going on for a while. I just waive him.
I’m feeling quite indifferent. ha. I just wave at him. a cosmic wave.
see how they shine. fuck them. I am over everyday screaming a bit. this pocket
changes me. change makes me feel united. so I write more. next is a
triple layer installation. the food is good but where’s the dick for love.
this green newspaper balls love into an upright casket. I escalated
then I felt almost everywhere. how romantic this is together. how
romantic together. notation: going on for a while. I just waive him.
I’m feeling quite indifferent. ha. I just wave at him. a cosmic wave.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
ccxcv
I just fished a novel with
the above title. The spike
of John Hancock is Franz
Ferdinand (“beautiful boys on
a beautiful dancefloor”) and
nothing matters now. The window
across the river at your
face does not close. Never
closes. But it keeps changing. It
taps my spirit. It is warm-armed/fingered.
Well, it’s obvious rain for the weekend.
Why pillows always goalpost (“guitar”). 12:55.
Same bicycles in the median. Orange
coat with blond hair (sip). I am sipping
gold. One jogger passes three joggers
(the more I see the less I know).
Our wall. When we sat on that very bench what
was our explanation? No more. No way.
How we missed four holes in the cloud.
One jogger on the bridge. A squirrel with a
messed-up tail meets another at the closest tree,
runs up, runs down, digs a little, runs back up.
I love you.
the above title. The spike
of John Hancock is Franz
Ferdinand (“beautiful boys on
a beautiful dancefloor”) and
nothing matters now. The window
across the river at your
face does not close. Never
closes. But it keeps changing. It
taps my spirit. It is warm-armed/fingered.
Well, it’s obvious rain for the weekend.
Why pillows always goalpost (“guitar”). 12:55.
Same bicycles in the median. Orange
coat with blond hair (sip). I am sipping
gold. One jogger passes three joggers
(the more I see the less I know).
Our wall. When we sat on that very bench what
was our explanation? No more. No way.
How we missed four holes in the cloud.
One jogger on the bridge. A squirrel with a
messed-up tail meets another at the closest tree,
runs up, runs down, digs a little, runs back up.
I love you.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
ccxciv
these just words back from the blank page. I had a
great bedtime with your eyes down on me, keep waking.
floated and fulfilled, beautiful weather, are we dancing
taller? take a break from the interstate—
12:06—see the dirty windows. which costume are you now?
and just barely into Connecticut (our secret state) when—whiplash!
I am not you now (I do not close your eyes. I look up
and you have not closed your eyes like always. could this be
the tearing down of my life that I have always wanted?)!
I am not you now. beautiful weather—this blank page—MOMA. I went to the G
Bar — how many years was I there? in a little silkscreen
you show me your action figure. he is high.
your new jacket and strut—this is the life for five boys.
juvenilia. just keep track. just keep reading. I slept across the
street from Carnegie Hall. Depeche Mode was just here. your
face keeps changing (“my God what have we done to you?”).
typical-gay-materialistic-sexistic Miro. Japanese textiles
are eating the blank page—or Milk Chocolate Milano (intell
ectual) angels? what’s with the abbreviated thing? if God
has a master plan what is he doing here exactly six years and one day less?
great bedtime with your eyes down on me, keep waking.
floated and fulfilled, beautiful weather, are we dancing
taller? take a break from the interstate—
12:06—see the dirty windows. which costume are you now?
and just barely into Connecticut (our secret state) when—whiplash!
I am not you now (I do not close your eyes. I look up
and you have not closed your eyes like always. could this be
the tearing down of my life that I have always wanted?)!
I am not you now. beautiful weather—this blank page—MOMA. I went to the G
Bar — how many years was I there? in a little silkscreen
you show me your action figure. he is high.
your new jacket and strut—this is the life for five boys.
juvenilia. just keep track. just keep reading. I slept across the
street from Carnegie Hall. Depeche Mode was just here. your
face keeps changing (“my God what have we done to you?”).
typical-gay-materialistic-sexistic Miro. Japanese textiles
are eating the blank page—or Milk Chocolate Milano (intell
ectual) angels? what’s with the abbreviated thing? if God
has a master plan what is he doing here exactly six years and one day less?
Monday, September 18, 2006
ccxciii
I have been stopping
on this doorway, nothing went wrong
with the bridge. Our
fresh skillet finds Dove’s blue. I
paint to stay a while in that blue. I paint the big door
of your hallway, step next to the whispery night. Look,
I have not seen him in nine years so to speak.
Since then I died so to speak, screaming
on the pillow.
This is the hallway where I may see
Frank. Not you. This ride has been nice. Nothing
is wrong with the bouncing. You change. Look at
you. I was trying to shovel snow off for years. Your
face keeps changing. For years I pressed. We didn’t talk.
We escaped. In nine years or three and a half
I have been stopping or screaming. I might see you key
the mailbox. Inadvertently, this time I fell off. I got horribly
good. I showed up and started falling. You changed.
The rings. Every time you bounce
it is a different shape. I don’t try
not to make sense. The engine
has been running a while. The engine.
I have been running and falling a while
off the bridge in between the screams.
You make me run for it. The ride has been nice.
on this doorway, nothing went wrong
with the bridge. Our
fresh skillet finds Dove’s blue. I
paint to stay a while in that blue. I paint the big door
of your hallway, step next to the whispery night. Look,
I have not seen him in nine years so to speak.
Since then I died so to speak, screaming
on the pillow.
This is the hallway where I may see
Frank. Not you. This ride has been nice. Nothing
is wrong with the bouncing. You change. Look at
you. I was trying to shovel snow off for years. Your
face keeps changing. For years I pressed. We didn’t talk.
We escaped. In nine years or three and a half
I have been stopping or screaming. I might see you key
the mailbox. Inadvertently, this time I fell off. I got horribly
good. I showed up and started falling. You changed.
The rings. Every time you bounce
it is a different shape. I don’t try
not to make sense. The engine
has been running a while. The engine.
I have been running and falling a while
off the bridge in between the screams.
You make me run for it. The ride has been nice.
Friday, September 15, 2006
ccxcii
I need you like this dance over to the special corner. I’ll take
every little black sports car that zips by the wet street,
dumbs the loud bright white of a half a foot of
nobody last night. I don’t ever want that to be said.
The midday bird steps across the median and into some dumb jogger.
I have a question about your outfit – who are you today? Two squirrels
don’t want the sidewalk—they slice through the frozen rinse above the lawn.
I’m happy for the lamppost and the new gray mountains in the distance
and the black trees as they dip mostly under the bright white that opens the world...
making their noses mock the frozen river. $10,000 could also be for the dead turnpike.
Run over the snake.
Or peer into the crayon and find clouds flowing out to sea.
every little black sports car that zips by the wet street,
dumbs the loud bright white of a half a foot of
nobody last night. I don’t ever want that to be said.
The midday bird steps across the median and into some dumb jogger.
I have a question about your outfit – who are you today? Two squirrels
don’t want the sidewalk—they slice through the frozen rinse above the lawn.
I’m happy for the lamppost and the new gray mountains in the distance
and the black trees as they dip mostly under the bright white that opens the world...
making their noses mock the frozen river. $10,000 could also be for the dead turnpike.
Run over the snake.
Or peer into the crayon and find clouds flowing out to sea.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
ccxci
Well, Hazel’s all fucked up bright fog. Have
tried therapy, three saints, nothing revealed,
so maybe—as they say—sometimes it’s just good to talk.
Back to that in a minute. But first –
No No No I’m not saying you are out of touch.
tried therapy, three saints, nothing revealed,
so maybe—as they say—sometimes it’s just good to talk.
Back to that in a minute. But first –
No No No I’m not saying you are out of touch.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
ccxc
I am number 1,240 working on the
revamping project (working holes—licking
sentences—too bad fat). Fat and $65 on Friday.
To get thin working holes a dozen years after love.
Snow is expected tonight after Ginsberg. My brain is a
circle.
It was mainly a cheesy lesbian love story & a couple nights of solitude.
They go together. Are we going together? “Get the tweezer.”
“Clip my toenails.” Benziger’s muscat
before dinner this time. Dinner this time an amalgam. Mars lines up with me.
revamping project (working holes—licking
sentences—too bad fat). Fat and $65 on Friday.
To get thin working holes a dozen years after love.
Snow is expected tonight after Ginsberg. My brain is a
circle.
It was mainly a cheesy lesbian love story & a couple nights of solitude.
They go together. Are we going together? “Get the tweezer.”
“Clip my toenails.” Benziger’s muscat
before dinner this time. Dinner this time an amalgam. Mars lines up with me.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
cclxxxix (2)
What is your writing about?
Already you turn into a crab.
Here’s New Year’s & you’ve
salted your drawers. I have
this one sex here for a while.
A piece of chocolate under a
green file folder. Last night I
saw balls drop at Nathalie’s.
Then I dreamt I took LSD in
liquid champagne. Always
cautious, I only took a third
of what I was given because
I intuited the whole thing
would be too much. It was
a nicer high than LSD really is.
Count backwards from the top
window.
Already you turn into a crab.
Here’s New Year’s & you’ve
salted your drawers. I have
this one sex here for a while.
A piece of chocolate under a
green file folder. Last night I
saw balls drop at Nathalie’s.
Then I dreamt I took LSD in
liquid champagne. Always
cautious, I only took a third
of what I was given because
I intuited the whole thing
would be too much. It was
a nicer high than LSD really is.
Count backwards from the top
window.
Monday, September 11, 2006
cclxxxviii
This year my last grandparent died. Groundmother. Grand Ma.
Grandma Hazel died this year. Look up, helicopter.
This year’s glassy dishes. This is a second full thought.
This my second full year in Boston, copy. I haven’t.
Haven’t you wanted to be famous? Simple that fame.
What if everything we do is geared toward fame?
I just know it is a graceless joke did we just overlap? Did
we overlap in my calendar? GRACEFREAK. I know I am
not a words fountain stop concerning.
I am going back to school (almost pretending) and now
I am viewing now a sea-foam jade. I view browser log freezer-burn.
What was your first book of poetry goddess until now? Access? I have
only one poem and it is not going to show up until eleven.
Did we get cheese? Let’s copy this all down in manuscript.
He is not going to show up until eleven I just know it.
O last day of 1998—almost no depressions 2% to top it off
although a continuing overabundance of connections
of seeing my debt chirp. Stop churning this. It is the
year of the purple sun it is the year I see a blue sun
it is the year the fog is blooming I saw it until now
where it is no longer the year. Look up, helicopter.
Grandma Hazel died this year. Look up, helicopter.
This year’s glassy dishes. This is a second full thought.
This my second full year in Boston, copy. I haven’t.
Haven’t you wanted to be famous? Simple that fame.
What if everything we do is geared toward fame?
I just know it is a graceless joke did we just overlap? Did
we overlap in my calendar? GRACEFREAK. I know I am
not a words fountain stop concerning.
I am going back to school (almost pretending) and now
I am viewing now a sea-foam jade. I view browser log freezer-burn.
What was your first book of poetry goddess until now? Access? I have
only one poem and it is not going to show up until eleven.
Did we get cheese? Let’s copy this all down in manuscript.
He is not going to show up until eleven I just know it.
O last day of 1998—almost no depressions 2% to top it off
although a continuing overabundance of connections
of seeing my debt chirp. Stop churning this. It is the
year of the purple sun it is the year I see a blue sun
it is the year the fog is blooming I saw it until now
where it is no longer the year. Look up, helicopter.
Friday, September 08, 2006
cclxxxvii
iPod this all before. In fact, iBook this before.
One plastic binder falls unto its death. There
were three survivors. Suddenly the Compaq
revs unto life. Uber-life, extreme life? Makes
much more racket than it had been making. I
didn’t do Anything. Christmas = Over. I was
worked and ready for buzz. Buzz arrived. I
didn’t. Cool, chilly, hazy, with a box full of
onions. This box smells like onions. Box =
Cubicle. It’s already 2. I unwrapped the pres
idents on Christmas Eve morning. I am on
a magnificent book of poetry. iWords with
ear-flaps. I sure am a kid. Then we stopped
@ BankBoston to make our checking count.
Officially joint. I tried to read more iCons.
Snowman salt and pepper shakers, Mister
and Missus. Here we have snowman pot-
holders. Snowman dip dish with assorted
dips. Then we eat it all and take a nap....
Then I download a computer game from
Shanghai.
One plastic binder falls unto its death. There
were three survivors. Suddenly the Compaq
revs unto life. Uber-life, extreme life? Makes
much more racket than it had been making. I
didn’t do Anything. Christmas = Over. I was
worked and ready for buzz. Buzz arrived. I
didn’t. Cool, chilly, hazy, with a box full of
onions. This box smells like onions. Box =
Cubicle. It’s already 2. I unwrapped the pres
idents on Christmas Eve morning. I am on
a magnificent book of poetry. iWords with
ear-flaps. I sure am a kid. Then we stopped
@ BankBoston to make our checking count.
Officially joint. I tried to read more iCons.
Snowman salt and pepper shakers, Mister
and Missus. Here we have snowman pot-
holders. Snowman dip dish with assorted
dips. Then we eat it all and take a nap....
Then I download a computer game from
Shanghai.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
cclxxxvi
Text msg.: “No worries. My mom is coming tonight for ten
days. Do not worry.” He had clothes on. He sometimes had
a dental relationship. He made all A’s on hamburgers and I
got $100 from my dad. My dad’s presents not so much. Of
the charcoal haze covered up by the drug haze which covers
my memories, what memories am I going to listen to now?
12:15pm according to my telephone. Poemnotes are too long.
Controversial. Career. Before Macy’s buy underwear. Blue
and gay experimental stripes. Fitted tanktop doesn’t fit. Ha.
This song until the very end? 12:18pm accordion to my new
shiny tanktop. The hairplane arrives at 5:54pm. I think Taco.
I don’t know the erection. Anyone? Erections? Burg moat.
Bell directives. Drives word moats and sail snuff into rickets.
Not that, too. I lost my head in the directive. It shoved me a
new power: Fistfighting Pacifist-A. Go to the Taco television
and fake sitcoms like Everybody Loves Raymond. RU happy?
Laugh at me I am the middle-aged. Televisit accordion files.
Financial Times crisscrosses jetplane smokelines, makes hash.
Makes hash happy. No fit. Donuts 10am. Career headunder.
Big harp from A’s. Hamworries. McPoem. Teletickle.
days. Do not worry.” He had clothes on. He sometimes had
a dental relationship. He made all A’s on hamburgers and I
got $100 from my dad. My dad’s presents not so much. Of
the charcoal haze covered up by the drug haze which covers
my memories, what memories am I going to listen to now?
12:15pm according to my telephone. Poemnotes are too long.
Controversial. Career. Before Macy’s buy underwear. Blue
and gay experimental stripes. Fitted tanktop doesn’t fit. Ha.
This song until the very end? 12:18pm accordion to my new
shiny tanktop. The hairplane arrives at 5:54pm. I think Taco.
I don’t know the erection. Anyone? Erections? Burg moat.
Bell directives. Drives word moats and sail snuff into rickets.
Not that, too. I lost my head in the directive. It shoved me a
new power: Fistfighting Pacifist-A. Go to the Taco television
and fake sitcoms like Everybody Loves Raymond. RU happy?
Laugh at me I am the middle-aged. Televisit accordion files.
Financial Times crisscrosses jetplane smokelines, makes hash.
Makes hash happy. No fit. Donuts 10am. Career headunder.
Big harp from A’s. Hamworries. McPoem. Teletickle.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
cclxxxv
Getting ready for me
to go to Bistro Burger.
“OMG you’re adorable!
Can I kiss you?” This
pouch is releasable. Why
not quote it, then? Look,
there’s a slab of bacon
on my fries! That’s poe
try. Hello from Back Bay
Station, waiting on a train.
It’s gunmetal with a dark
green face. And that’s
an issue I promised my
self I wouldn’t dwell
on this season. Bear
in mind, Christmas in
Leominster. Anyway,
I’m on the train now,
on the way to abso
lutely nothing.
to go to Bistro Burger.
“OMG you’re adorable!
Can I kiss you?” This
pouch is releasable. Why
not quote it, then? Look,
there’s a slab of bacon
on my fries! That’s poe
try. Hello from Back Bay
Station, waiting on a train.
It’s gunmetal with a dark
green face. And that’s
an issue I promised my
self I wouldn’t dwell
on this season. Bear
in mind, Christmas in
Leominster. Anyway,
I’m on the train now,
on the way to abso
lutely nothing.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
cclxxxix
don’t charge my spirit.
it needed crash. lasted
on 2 hours trying locks
til dumb legs bolted. a
black heart got drunk
frying. ground evening
into a fuzzy white harp.
spirit seized cutie-pie in
to a buzz and paid for it.
on holiday after grab
bing me to dance this
dance. this dance wants
cross purposes. a melt.
let’s say let my swank
bunk boom. give booth.
drew its hands into my
hearts. what my last
coiled hearts wants.
it needed crash. lasted
on 2 hours trying locks
til dumb legs bolted. a
black heart got drunk
frying. ground evening
into a fuzzy white harp.
spirit seized cutie-pie in
to a buzz and paid for it.
on holiday after grab
bing me to dance this
dance. this dance wants
cross purposes. a melt.
let’s say let my swank
bunk boom. give booth.
drew its hands into my
hearts. what my last
coiled hearts wants.
Friday, September 01, 2006
cclxxxiii
finally winter. he’s always
an obstacle. inconsequential
deconstruction. I couldn’t stop
being hard so I put the hot dog
under the seat and I took a sip.
floating sunsets. not to read
but to listen. this story will
find itself. pardon the
boob at the top.
an obstacle. inconsequential
deconstruction. I couldn’t stop
being hard so I put the hot dog
under the seat and I took a sip.
floating sunsets. not to read
but to listen. this story will
find itself. pardon the
boob at the top.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
cclxxxii
let me grab my thoughts. I
order a burger. turtles and fisting.
the heart of the story lies in the
warmth beneath the surface
of what? I’m having dinner
at the Ritz-Carlton. attendee
list with logistics.
order a burger. turtles and fisting.
the heart of the story lies in the
warmth beneath the surface
of what? I’m having dinner
at the Ritz-Carlton. attendee
list with logistics.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
cclxxxi
an optomythist. more fog than rain.
the coaster, the stapler, and the
tape dispenser. the heat I can feel
watching this story—is it you or
the story? nothing seems right.
nothing seems right.
the coaster, the stapler, and the
tape dispenser. the heat I can feel
watching this story—is it you or
the story? nothing seems right.
nothing seems right.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
cclxxx
November reminds me of her leathery
presence. I’ve agreed to be the bastion of stability.
I learned how to be a social butterfly at
his uncle’s funeral. Nothing like realizing I’m
actually frightened of having long-term friends.
She was taking prescription drugs and she was
totally stressed out. Everyone has a stick
up his butt. It’s a chilly, beautiful day.
It just started raining.
presence. I’ve agreed to be the bastion of stability.
I learned how to be a social butterfly at
his uncle’s funeral. Nothing like realizing I’m
actually frightened of having long-term friends.
She was taking prescription drugs and she was
totally stressed out. Everyone has a stick
up his butt. It’s a chilly, beautiful day.
It just started raining.
Monday, August 28, 2006
cclxxix
Tomorrow the turkey is good. Some sibling
spat, spoken in long time ( l o n g t i m e )
comes to me today, this evening, after tea,
but before tomorrow. Tomorrow is good.
What have I done these past few days?
We attend a series of movies and then
reflect how each character is ourselves. Our
own characters are not that flat, but we say to ourselves
“I want to kiss him like that.” “ I want to be so drunk.”
“I want to look at the clock and then suddenly
figure it all out.” Like that.
spat, spoken in long time ( l o n g t i m e )
comes to me today, this evening, after tea,
but before tomorrow. Tomorrow is good.
What have I done these past few days?
We attend a series of movies and then
reflect how each character is ourselves. Our
own characters are not that flat, but we say to ourselves
“I want to kiss him like that.” “ I want to be so drunk.”
“I want to look at the clock and then suddenly
figure it all out.” Like that.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
cclxxviii
Give me a couple of hours to do some work.
I did visit him last night.
I am eating this right now: “Locally roasted espresso steeped into fresh cream,
then carefully stirred into dark couverture and dipped in milk...for a strong
signature espresso au lait experience. Savor it slowly.”
It was a nice but lackluster visit and I’m not sure if I can talk about it yet.
I did visit him last night.
I am eating this right now: “Locally roasted espresso steeped into fresh cream,
then carefully stirred into dark couverture and dipped in milk...for a strong
signature espresso au lait experience. Savor it slowly.”
It was a nice but lackluster visit and I’m not sure if I can talk about it yet.
Monday, August 21, 2006
cclxxvii
today I am not. I am not
a gray minnow writing to
what minnows. a gray
widow. sip blacken.
the ample steam of frenzy
always knew love to co-exist.
I always knew nothing to co-exist.
a blacktrack journal pours like plastic.
what downtowns me so much is
a frown to remember. not one
to puff it up or out is happy
stupid. yes I
get the emotion. yes
I beat up my old friends. yes I am stable.
doom bracken such. big deal talk is
missing.
a gray minnow writing to
what minnows. a gray
widow. sip blacken.
the ample steam of frenzy
always knew love to co-exist.
I always knew nothing to co-exist.
a blacktrack journal pours like plastic.
what downtowns me so much is
a frown to remember. not one
to puff it up or out is happy
stupid. yes I
get the emotion. yes
I beat up my old friends. yes I am stable.
doom bracken such. big deal talk is
missing.
Friday, August 18, 2006
cclxxvi
A blue forest. A hill sinking.
A sun-blasted book. So I would have
a book. Blasted by bills the
muse arrives at four. After the fugue
a sign of weakening. A com-
mittee starts at nine. Thinking
follows. Thinking fellows.
I have my nose to the soulless
file upon the bleak desk filled with bluebirds.
About what? The airplanes swimming?
Someone took a knife to the smokestack.
A sun-blasted book. So I would have
a book. Blasted by bills the
muse arrives at four. After the fugue
a sign of weakening. A com-
mittee starts at nine. Thinking
follows. Thinking fellows.
I have my nose to the soulless
file upon the bleak desk filled with bluebirds.
About what? The airplanes swimming?
Someone took a knife to the smokestack.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
cclxxv
It is 4:02 and our new saint got bored so he finished a book
I hated. Meanwhile, watching the internet is like being there,
but how do we calm down without losing the explosion: insert
one aphorism after another, perhaps, until we define atrophy?
I’m doing a real lunch. Outside of the office is the real office,
but not without James Schuyler and his brown paper wig.
Then we discussed high windows at the ATM machine and
decided a leisurely drive through Pennsylvania would be lovely.
I hated. Meanwhile, watching the internet is like being there,
but how do we calm down without losing the explosion: insert
one aphorism after another, perhaps, until we define atrophy?
I’m doing a real lunch. Outside of the office is the real office,
but not without James Schuyler and his brown paper wig.
Then we discussed high windows at the ATM machine and
decided a leisurely drive through Pennsylvania would be lovely.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
cclxxiv
a chunk of my neck is a
long hour of daydreaming.
the perp of poetry is sitting
in the theatre rereading a
charcoal out of the sky.
we cannot solve it anymore
due to a lack of eyewash.
this during an elm intermission.
world is word wail tree is over.
what flukes. it is yet possible
to punch my neck into account.
please take a book. room it
under some chalk. tell the
audience to go bi. grant
a mission. be all ginger
boils and goils.
long hour of daydreaming.
the perp of poetry is sitting
in the theatre rereading a
charcoal out of the sky.
we cannot solve it anymore
due to a lack of eyewash.
this during an elm intermission.
world is word wail tree is over.
what flukes. it is yet possible
to punch my neck into account.
please take a book. room it
under some chalk. tell the
audience to go bi. grant
a mission. be all ginger
boils and goils.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
cclxxiii
To do something to be
alive put real words on
top of a sofa to live
a minute. Where else
do you want a month
to go without me?
Live until the same
ideas about moving
show up beneath the
cushions with the
spare change. I’m
growing sideburns
drinking a ginger ale.
Calling all clams!
Wait a minute...
alive put real words on
top of a sofa to live
a minute. Where else
do you want a month
to go without me?
Live until the same
ideas about moving
show up beneath the
cushions with the
spare change. I’m
growing sideburns
drinking a ginger ale.
Calling all clams!
Wait a minute...
Monday, August 14, 2006
cclxxii
“Chocolate rocks
like dirt,” says
Overheard in
Latent’s wings.
“Eating a lesbian
pizza with Kirk
Douglas beats
poetry with Jello.”
That’s enough
chill to don a
jacket—the joy
of wearing jeans,
a loose sweater
full of lies. “Wy
oming?” I start
to crying. “We
have to talk,”
like dirt,” says
Overheard in
Latent’s wings.
“Eating a lesbian
pizza with Kirk
Douglas beats
poetry with Jello.”
That’s enough
chill to don a
jacket—the joy
of wearing jeans,
a loose sweater
full of lies. “Wy
oming?” I start
to crying. “We
have to talk,”
Herc says. “Bad
moon.” “Good
coffee.” “Take
care” by “sucking
guns w/Robert
Mitchum.”
moon.” “Good
coffee.” “Take
care” by “sucking
guns w/Robert
Mitchum.”
Friday, August 11, 2006
cclxxi
I come this way for the fires. Downwind is
our inaugural hedge fund: “It’ll be worthwhile
under the belt with our items for approval.”
Speaking of my fiction and the very act of
writing, the show I’d forgotten how to end
was just beginning. Or, more accurately and
timely, the repartee with my newly-formed
Little Rock correspondent was just underway.
“My poetry was at Gayplace.com?” “Yeah,
well I see it right here, ‘Del Ray Cross’!” “Oh
...” It seems we need surgery to replace our
necks, are organizationally empowered by
the demands of the organization, and repeat
ourselves too much. Repetition either ensures
e-mail or ensnares it. He teaches fiction. I
finally sent him a missive this morning: “Red
may return to green after disheartening.” Is
that the act of cleaning away the heart? “My
class is fine, thanks.” “I finally got the Nobel Prize.”
our inaugural hedge fund: “It’ll be worthwhile
under the belt with our items for approval.”
Speaking of my fiction and the very act of
writing, the show I’d forgotten how to end
was just beginning. Or, more accurately and
timely, the repartee with my newly-formed
Little Rock correspondent was just underway.
“My poetry was at Gayplace.com?” “Yeah,
well I see it right here, ‘Del Ray Cross’!” “Oh
...” It seems we need surgery to replace our
necks, are organizationally empowered by
the demands of the organization, and repeat
ourselves too much. Repetition either ensures
e-mail or ensnares it. He teaches fiction. I
finally sent him a missive this morning: “Red
may return to green after disheartening.” Is
that the act of cleaning away the heart? “My
class is fine, thanks.” “I finally got the Nobel Prize.”
Thursday, August 10, 2006
cclxx
I want to share with you the remorse I felt
when I walked up the block and the restaurant with the
stir-fried salt cod over rice was no longer there. there is no
new way to render disappearance. however, try this:
tear out a piece of hair; rip the secret document in half;
sew it back together with the hair. this time
do it by yourself. to be myself in the afternoon
is walking into a non-existent restaurant, craving a
non-existent dish. hello (primarily members of the sex trade),
is everyone else this down when they die? okay then
I am going to drive to Portland,
walk around and see if I can find a bookstore.
I need a plot twist to be alone.
when I walked up the block and the restaurant with the
stir-fried salt cod over rice was no longer there. there is no
new way to render disappearance. however, try this:
tear out a piece of hair; rip the secret document in half;
sew it back together with the hair. this time
do it by yourself. to be myself in the afternoon
is walking into a non-existent restaurant, craving a
non-existent dish. hello (primarily members of the sex trade),
is everyone else this down when they die? okay then
I am going to drive to Portland,
walk around and see if I can find a bookstore.
I need a plot twist to be alone.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
cclxix
a computer-generated day,
the roseate blush above the
dazzled Oakland window-fires. nothing
less real, actually; a thin taupe strip of bay
lay before the beach, its land.
forefront, the tail of an island.
more fore, a boat, camouflaged,
white. I’m not wearing my glasses
or it’d all be more there. every thing
whizzes by like surface, depthless poetry, but some things,
like background, distract. twist my head into my stomach
debating sex vs. love. note Blake’s London,
his “mind-forg’d manacles” could be the haze of the
chiarascuro’d bay. Rimbaud is in Africa –
a yellow streak across the page.
the roseate blush above the
dazzled Oakland window-fires. nothing
less real, actually; a thin taupe strip of bay
lay before the beach, its land.
forefront, the tail of an island.
more fore, a boat, camouflaged,
white. I’m not wearing my glasses
or it’d all be more there. every thing
whizzes by like surface, depthless poetry, but some things,
like background, distract. twist my head into my stomach
debating sex vs. love. note Blake’s London,
his “mind-forg’d manacles” could be the haze of the
chiarascuro’d bay. Rimbaud is in Africa –
a yellow streak across the page.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
cclxviii
I’ll try (am trying).
There is no escape
but I am. Here on earth. Were I
translucence*
determined (trying)
to try new ways? Try! Try reading.
*Trees
and cloud. Rock homes. The dangers of
frienship. Be
worried about being.
Then, say, life is less sober.
Have a fries and root beer.
Then I throw a celebration
(a poem about Michael’s painting)
and everybody comes.
A season for which I
have to go home tonight,
write to become
glad.
There is no escape
but I am. Here on earth. Were I
translucence*
determined (trying)
to try new ways? Try! Try reading.
*Trees
and cloud. Rock homes. The dangers of
frienship. Be
worried about being.
Then, say, life is less sober.
Have a fries and root beer.
Then I throw a celebration
(a poem about Michael’s painting)
and everybody comes.
A season for which I
have to go home tonight,
write to become
glad.
Monday, August 07, 2006
cclxvii
what nancy can’t write text into
an erasure just to appease the
seemingly white swath behind
our five minute conversation an
open boat behind a white swath
our words have twin enclosures
one is a bruised popcorn cloud
of racist language & one is why
only these words help the body
(if she’s sick) which is why I
enjoy goading this white matter
into a debate of hopelessness
to cajole the sick words & then
beat them into a slick food the
erasure of an appeased enclosure
our bruised worms will often lie
among such determined snails
as those beneath the ever sweet
bleeps of our five minute bloats
an erasure just to appease the
seemingly white swath behind
our five minute conversation an
open boat behind a white swath
our words have twin enclosures
one is a bruised popcorn cloud
of racist language & one is why
only these words help the body
(if she’s sick) which is why I
enjoy goading this white matter
into a debate of hopelessness
to cajole the sick words & then
beat them into a slick food the
erasure of an appeased enclosure
our bruised worms will often lie
among such determined snails
as those beneath the ever sweet
bleeps of our five minute bloats
Friday, August 04, 2006
cclxvi
I wish I’d had a little more time struggling
with science and some more tea. I think I found a friend
in New York for a while on the ocean. It is his
one year anniversary. This is my first class:
-fix the kitchen drawer (Dustin Hoffman)
-fix the toilet (it’s wobbly) (Anne Bancroft)
-being hanged in Singapore (Eva Marie Saint)
I need to relax or something. This is my next meeting:
-I need to relax or something
-my memory blows (Lee Kang-sheng)
-a one page assignment on what poetry means to me
(neoconceptual installations in Italy)
I just realized the grit among these pages is
sand from the beach at Ogunquit. Time
to pick up movie tickets and go see James Schuyler, goodbye.
with science and some more tea. I think I found a friend
in New York for a while on the ocean. It is his
one year anniversary. This is my first class:
-fix the kitchen drawer (Dustin Hoffman)
-fix the toilet (it’s wobbly) (Anne Bancroft)
-being hanged in Singapore (Eva Marie Saint)
I need to relax or something. This is my next meeting:
-I need to relax or something
-my memory blows (Lee Kang-sheng)
-a one page assignment on what poetry means to me
(neoconceptual installations in Italy)
I just realized the grit among these pages is
sand from the beach at Ogunquit. Time
to pick up movie tickets and go see James Schuyler, goodbye.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
cclxv
The paper got wet
Sunday in Ogunquit
sitting here on the beach
in the rain that is falling.
There is oil on my notebook.
Australia stares out the window.
We find ourselves in the gay section
and we park ourselves
and we crouch real low.
“People don’t eat watermelon seeds
that much in movie theaters any more,
and in the future probably no one will.”
-Tsai Ming-Liang.
Is there a possibility
for life to change for the better?
I walked up and down the beach.
We walk up and down the beach.
Sunday in Ogunquit
sitting here on the beach
in the rain that is falling.
There is oil on my notebook.
Australia stares out the window.
We find ourselves in the gay section
and we park ourselves
and we crouch real low.
“People don’t eat watermelon seeds
that much in movie theaters any more,
and in the future probably no one will.”
-Tsai Ming-Liang.
Is there a possibility
for life to change for the better?
I walked up and down the beach.
We walk up and down the beach.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
cclxiv
I don’t know when I
can stop walking—nor
nearly the world round.
Darkness lights the face
of the Embarcadero and I’ve
wound round the advent of
autumn. The BART takes
me. I will breathe in and
cross the Charles. These
living room windows are
spotted – they dissolve days.
I can’t stop with my feet
nor the slump of watches.
When I warm my pockets
my feet are back up at the
audience, still walking
away. Someday I don’t
know poems, I’d rather
eat. On this day I prefer
a movie I argue about,
a place to be. It
tells me how flat my
life is. I don’t care.
Four books in my bag,
I walk the rain.
can stop walking—nor
nearly the world round.
Darkness lights the face
of the Embarcadero and I’ve
wound round the advent of
autumn. The BART takes
me. I will breathe in and
cross the Charles. These
living room windows are
spotted – they dissolve days.
I can’t stop with my feet
nor the slump of watches.
When I warm my pockets
my feet are back up at the
audience, still walking
away. Someday I don’t
know poems, I’d rather
eat. On this day I prefer
a movie I argue about,
a place to be. It
tells me how flat my
life is. I don’t care.
Four books in my bag,
I walk the rain.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
cclxiii
I bit my tongue until it bled.
We went miniature golfing again,
then walked Broadmoor discussing
eye-for-eye retribution and the
senselessness of media-frenzied infidelity.
I sat thinking for a long time the day
after Thanksgiving.
The flag was brilliant.
Spools of clouds
disappeared.
And then, sleeping separately,
a spectacular light storm at the 3:00 a.m. hour.
We went miniature golfing again,
then walked Broadmoor discussing
eye-for-eye retribution and the
senselessness of media-frenzied infidelity.
I sat thinking for a long time the day
after Thanksgiving.
The flag was brilliant.
Spools of clouds
disappeared.
And then, sleeping separately,
a spectacular light storm at the 3:00 a.m. hour.
Monday, July 31, 2006
cclxii
here he is again not listening. here I am again
with a current of jazz and a note full of chai. I’m
crystal distress again, aware I made a poem until
last night. like wire and something novel. what
shall I call it? disregard shall I call it myself.
this is what is outside with the cats’ poems. back
to being frequent, the cat under the bed trick,
a little S.O.S. in my diary which works better
when the tea’s good. I can call it whoever
shows up to do some laundry with the kid brother.
a silent talk that bonds with the scaredest cat.
the smokers’ eadrums are the sexiest. this
I register with the kind of attitude that makes
turkey go faster. I guess it’s okay to gossip when
deep onions are pushed onto one another. I guess
that’s okay down in the silence that stops him
at airports while he is maybe writing. it’s all okay.
with a current of jazz and a note full of chai. I’m
crystal distress again, aware I made a poem until
last night. like wire and something novel. what
shall I call it? disregard shall I call it myself.
this is what is outside with the cats’ poems. back
to being frequent, the cat under the bed trick,
a little S.O.S. in my diary which works better
when the tea’s good. I can call it whoever
shows up to do some laundry with the kid brother.
a silent talk that bonds with the scaredest cat.
the smokers’ eadrums are the sexiest. this
I register with the kind of attitude that makes
turkey go faster. I guess it’s okay to gossip when
deep onions are pushed onto one another. I guess
that’s okay down in the silence that stops him
at airports while he is maybe writing. it’s all okay.
Friday, July 28, 2006
cclxi
the buildings bring the house down
and the hills are on fire again. it has
already been a week of wasting time.
I think how oily the salad. my
heart is racing. my heart is not saying much.
I think, instead,
they sold American State Bank!
random. Sunday repeats itself.
oh he’s just wonderful, just perfect.
the building’s on fire.
movies like I Guess You Have the
Wrong Number open Friday when we
begin evaluating straight men. this one is too
lumpy. this one is too awkward.
this one is too too. the shorthaired brunette who
I think is a pediatrician.
much to recount as I flip through the
pages, bear in mind the rustic
fireplace in front of which
we made videotapes. and then there is the war,
and its belt-lipped busboy’s buildings on fire.
and the hills are on fire again. it has
already been a week of wasting time.
I think how oily the salad. my
heart is racing. my heart is not saying much.
I think, instead,
they sold American State Bank!
random. Sunday repeats itself.
oh he’s just wonderful, just perfect.
the building’s on fire.
movies like I Guess You Have the
Wrong Number open Friday when we
begin evaluating straight men. this one is too
lumpy. this one is too awkward.
this one is too too. the shorthaired brunette who
I think is a pediatrician.
much to recount as I flip through the
pages, bear in mind the rustic
fireplace in front of which
we made videotapes. and then there is the war,
and its belt-lipped busboy’s buildings on fire.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
cclx (2)
I saw the same lime green everywhere
he had his little argument
about the surgery while the
white wine buzzed a
full frontal waiterfetish
still after all these years
(not still)
he had his neat little pill for which
to see all of the boys on the floor
they hovered in some sort of vibrational
new Madonna album download
his argument about the
sugar (flip cellphone)
his argument about the surgery
is me reading someone else’s poems
and I can’t shut them up (not really) (there
was a real surgeon) (see fan buzzing to my left)
the old man in front of me in taupe shorts
his blank little calves are
charging charging
he had his little argument
about the surgery while the
white wine buzzed a
full frontal waiterfetish
still after all these years
(not still)
he had his neat little pill for which
to see all of the boys on the floor
they hovered in some sort of vibrational
new Madonna album download
his argument about the
sugar (flip cellphone)
his argument about the surgery
is me reading someone else’s poems
and I can’t shut them up (not really) (there
was a real surgeon) (see fan buzzing to my left)
the old man in front of me in taupe shorts
his blank little calves are
charging charging
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
cclix
home is where I need to say
my breath smells like vinegar
only the pink sky is awesome and
stinking like last winter when
the snow spits into the air its winter snow
spits into the air for a while over a home
this pink sky is therefore awesome
and my breath still stinks like vinegar
the almost Dove-like blue sky is
awesome or what I fail to say
for the first time in months
is the air is not
simply
a cold glass of water
ah it is a hot day in August and
my breath fills like vinegar
I’m gaining on this last breath like
the snow that is long gone long past
yet gaining to stoop and to write
(these two are like science)
home is not only what I meant
by these various words on my breath
which still
yes
these pieces of me I’d like to see again
are gone
yet nevertheless are all gone
and in me they are almost Dove-like
never to lose sight of pink
nothing much about me today
only this game I like to play
and invitations
to several parties
my breath smells like vinegar
only the pink sky is awesome and
stinking like last winter when
the snow spits into the air its winter snow
spits into the air for a while over a home
this pink sky is therefore awesome
and my breath still stinks like vinegar
the almost Dove-like blue sky is
awesome or what I fail to say
for the first time in months
is the air is not
simply
a cold glass of water
ah it is a hot day in August and
my breath fills like vinegar
I’m gaining on this last breath like
the snow that is long gone long past
yet gaining to stoop and to write
(these two are like science)
home is not only what I meant
by these various words on my breath
which still
yes
these pieces of me I’d like to see again
are gone
yet nevertheless are all gone
and in me they are almost Dove-like
never to lose sight of pink
nothing much about me today
only this game I like to play
and invitations
to several parties
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
cclviii
You guys have my hardon, right? The rumor has it
I read the news this morning and maybe it doesn’t
matter at all what we’re doing. He’s been methodically buying
cute duds and dresses lately like a skaterboy. In
side of his sleeping pants I am filtering the events of last night.
They tell me oven-roasted salmon is nothing to filter.
I say hello boyfriend those
(my joy is in here)
were the days. Look at this gorgeous day inside of the
Sierra Conference Room. Here is something
new about me: last weekend or Friday I saw
Blue Man Group. Part two. I made four reservations
it was freezing and that was the best part. Hello this boyfriend
my car got bashed. My boyfriend car got bashed. Bashed
in the parking lot behind Blanchard’s boyfriend.
Can I get the vegetarian lasagna with that? For twelve?
Caesar. No brownies.
I read the news this morning and maybe it doesn’t
matter at all what we’re doing. He’s been methodically buying
cute duds and dresses lately like a skaterboy. In
side of his sleeping pants I am filtering the events of last night.
They tell me oven-roasted salmon is nothing to filter.
I say hello boyfriend those
(my joy is in here)
were the days. Look at this gorgeous day inside of the
Sierra Conference Room. Here is something
new about me: last weekend or Friday I saw
Blue Man Group. Part two. I made four reservations
it was freezing and that was the best part. Hello this boyfriend
my car got bashed. My boyfriend car got bashed. Bashed
in the parking lot behind Blanchard’s boyfriend.
Can I get the vegetarian lasagna with that? For twelve?
Caesar. No brownies.
Monday, July 24, 2006
cclvii
sun softly over the chest and over the
sleeping rock until I run into Crazy Eddie
sun softly over it’s true, it’s true, sun softly
makes the glass fires on the side of the mount
and then I went home to bed
no more sun
and then I read to my grandfather and
Steven Spielberg and then cleaned my
apartment and then I napped
and then I drove to Holliston
later, sun softly over the burg is
Colorado on Saturday
it is a pretty boy party sun softly and
it rocked until I ran into Crazy Eddie
and then I felt like I was back in college
and then I think we had fun
and then I know I slept
with his friend while we were there
sun softly over the diary
sun softly over the scrambled eggs
sun softly over the embarrassment
and over the pancakes on the balcony
and then I did laundry
and then I cooked dinner
and then I watched another movie
it was twilight
sleeping rock until I run into Crazy Eddie
sun softly over it’s true, it’s true, sun softly
makes the glass fires on the side of the mount
and then I went home to bed
no more sun
and then I read to my grandfather and
Steven Spielberg and then cleaned my
apartment and then I napped
and then I drove to Holliston
later, sun softly over the burg is
Colorado on Saturday
it is a pretty boy party sun softly and
it rocked until I ran into Crazy Eddie
and then I felt like I was back in college
and then I think we had fun
and then I know I slept
with his friend while we were there
sun softly over the diary
sun softly over the scrambled eggs
sun softly over the embarrassment
and over the pancakes on the balcony
and then I did laundry
and then I cooked dinner
and then I watched another movie
it was twilight
Friday, July 21, 2006
cclvi
at first glance it would seem time to make the poetry sausage hostage but the
big boat worms itself out of the Embarcadero-lip (the Embarcadero-mouth?)
it needs to go back into its box. I am telling you this story about at first
big boat worms itself out of the Embarcadero-lip (the Embarcadero-mouth?)
it needs to go back into its box. I am telling you this story about at first
glance The Chambermaid and the Titanic (it’s a French toast fest) and the
glamourless woman who plays his wife who said the clouds and the porny sausage
(pony sausage?) who says the parfait is delicious (which one?). excuse me it’s
Tuesday late Friday and we need to go home—before that we had drinks
(mini vodka martians). “this morning’s working document shows the following:
Monday: 12:30-3:30pm telling him stuff that’s been going on (this is
almost the entire entry) Tuesday: 12:30-3:30pm it would be
time to make the poetry schnauzer but the big boat comes out of
its bruised berth” (something I don’t feel like). wait, I’m telling you this
story here from this workbench (in my workbox)—this is my workseat and
I write poetry here at [my workwork] while to my left is the woman who plays my wife.
not to be confused with what is really going on in here (bangs head).
(French cloud fist) obliterating the day. wait—his wife said the
parfait was great schnitzel. was great converschnitzel. this is almost the entire entry.
anyway, here I am with a bottle of scotch tape and a stapler for my enemies
(not for cocks) but yet we fight this war of clouds to end the daylight savings time.
glamourless woman who plays his wife who said the clouds and the porny sausage
(pony sausage?) who says the parfait is delicious (which one?). excuse me it’s
Tuesday late Friday and we need to go home—before that we had drinks
(mini vodka martians). “this morning’s working document shows the following:
Monday: 12:30-3:30pm telling him stuff that’s been going on (this is
almost the entire entry) Tuesday: 12:30-3:30pm it would be
time to make the poetry schnauzer but the big boat comes out of
its bruised berth” (something I don’t feel like). wait, I’m telling you this
story here from this workbench (in my workbox)—this is my workseat and
I write poetry here at [my workwork] while to my left is the woman who plays my wife.
not to be confused with what is really going on in here (bangs head).
(French cloud fist) obliterating the day. wait—his wife said the
parfait was great schnitzel. was great converschnitzel. this is almost the entire entry.
anyway, here I am with a bottle of scotch tape and a stapler for my enemies
(not for cocks) but yet we fight this war of clouds to end the daylight savings time.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
cclv
the gift of my body walking down McAllister in
the interest of names is wanting to hug the bricks
c’est moi since I wrote I can’t go down on Frank
there is a brains donation on Saturday after thanks
to what I am Thursday giving much to Jack as I’d
like after admitting jury to housecats I’ve got to
sit on me watching sex or I am barely able to lift
that which I could with my hand to my zipper in
a 3rd party of mind my James Market Street or
a blown off body at still 9am in this morning and
I can talk for a little bit about white picket fences
or in a couple of bony triads Mike don’t necessarily
see we are since pooled & feel “good” about Darren
blow visits into a cup of Steve about his destructive
ok it’s more than a couple of kink relationships his
dick in order to maintain this destructive kink in
Andrew so gravely connects the necktie or tuxedo
for Ians I’ve been thrown into when worn at Louis
it’s off-kilter for Joe the good to be back to be hand
some prevalent crush of a feel all Thomas who looks
good in a lion or harness or a hoary tux are you horny
horsey do these words trot and yet I am no horn we’re
set to connect but I can be Rob to do yet more damage
I can’t see but will cut off my Ed if it is 24 hours yet
the interest of names is wanting to hug the bricks
c’est moi since I wrote I can’t go down on Frank
there is a brains donation on Saturday after thanks
to what I am Thursday giving much to Jack as I’d
like after admitting jury to housecats I’ve got to
sit on me watching sex or I am barely able to lift
that which I could with my hand to my zipper in
a 3rd party of mind my James Market Street or
a blown off body at still 9am in this morning and
I can talk for a little bit about white picket fences
or in a couple of bony triads Mike don’t necessarily
see we are since pooled & feel “good” about Darren
blow visits into a cup of Steve about his destructive
ok it’s more than a couple of kink relationships his
dick in order to maintain this destructive kink in
Andrew so gravely connects the necktie or tuxedo
for Ians I’ve been thrown into when worn at Louis
it’s off-kilter for Joe the good to be back to be hand
some prevalent crush of a feel all Thomas who looks
good in a lion or harness or a hoary tux are you horny
horsey do these words trot and yet I am no horn we’re
set to connect but I can be Rob to do yet more damage
I can’t see but will cut off my Ed if it is 24 hours yet
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
ccliv
the poet’s work of late daytime keeps
poetic inevitability at bay (such a vague
redemption). sitting toward stratton
once again having been frazzled
much of the day i sit myself on my
owner’s manual while reading a
dissertation on labor (dropped w/
other gifts at my office late yesterday)
and so I had dinner & chatted w/him.
carrying him home the next evening
the diner lady wouldn’t let us in (i’m
trying to be as cordial as I can and
reiterating how happy and faithful i am).
then i watch a bird fly into a window.
this analogy is particularly re
vealing if we say we are going to die
in a few weeks, like he does, verbatim.
poetic inevitability at bay (such a vague
redemption). sitting toward stratton
once again having been frazzled
much of the day i sit myself on my
owner’s manual while reading a
dissertation on labor (dropped w/
other gifts at my office late yesterday)
and so I had dinner & chatted w/him.
carrying him home the next evening
the diner lady wouldn’t let us in (i’m
trying to be as cordial as I can and
reiterating how happy and faithful i am).
then i watch a bird fly into a window.
this analogy is particularly re
vealing if we say we are going to die
in a few weeks, like he does, verbatim.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
ccliii
today’s solution—an iPod with a new playlist—Groovin’
beeps into the dark down Sutter—stops at Starbucks
5:03am first customer—orders a triple redundant latté
this sequence consists of five of her “bodypoems”
stitched together in a sequence for New York—she’s
had various training and has been called post-Butch
at 5:04am 10 questions about your birthday presence
and a creme de siècle revelation—empty pockets—
I don’t have half a million dollars for a studio-condo
but today’s problem—I want to have sex with everyone—
enjoys a pre-dawn glow down Sutter—I stop at Starbucks
6:08am and he should be just the person to talk to about it
these bodypoems—inspired by Jean Cocteau and loosely
based on elusive fragmentary texts which are printed—
printed in the program of fragmentary texts—printed at
7:05am when the videoconferencing technician has
stirred up a creme de siècle revolution—Gay Pride
Saturday is postponed from last month’s Starbucks flood
it is the fifth and longest section—“Moon Moss Blossom”
where she smears her lovely face and upper body with
bronze makeup—works her way into a fantastical
whirlpool: me—1:51pm—dodges questions about birth
day birds—yesterday at the Unitarian church—I’ve blown
the first Starbucks customer—order me a triple Margaret
beeps into the dark down Sutter—stops at Starbucks
5:03am first customer—orders a triple redundant latté
this sequence consists of five of her “bodypoems”
stitched together in a sequence for New York—she’s
had various training and has been called post-Butch
at 5:04am 10 questions about your birthday presence
and a creme de siècle revelation—empty pockets—
I don’t have half a million dollars for a studio-condo
but today’s problem—I want to have sex with everyone—
enjoys a pre-dawn glow down Sutter—I stop at Starbucks
6:08am and he should be just the person to talk to about it
these bodypoems—inspired by Jean Cocteau and loosely
based on elusive fragmentary texts which are printed—
printed in the program of fragmentary texts—printed at
7:05am when the videoconferencing technician has
stirred up a creme de siècle revolution—Gay Pride
Saturday is postponed from last month’s Starbucks flood
it is the fifth and longest section—“Moon Moss Blossom”
where she smears her lovely face and upper body with
bronze makeup—works her way into a fantastical
whirlpool: me—1:51pm—dodges questions about birth
day birds—yesterday at the Unitarian church—I’ve blown
the first Starbucks customer—order me a triple Margaret
Monday, July 17, 2006
cclii
Took a lot of time walking Powell Street for a MUNI
bong. The sun contemplating self has arrived, its
big long cloud is my damnedest mirrors. Treasure
Island slightly windy. Tonight Jamaica Pond and
a fang-reading after buying a hearse. Dinner with a
Connecticut Yankee. I have no time to myself not
poking at all. Mulch kinda funny. Nice uncomf
ortable boats in the bay. Such as BankBoston.
Mortgage more lifespan into each poem. We’ll see.
Got color and spoke. No more time for me too loose.
big long cloud is my damnedest mirrors. Treasure
Island slightly windy. Tonight Jamaica Pond and
a fang-reading after buying a hearse. Dinner with a
Connecticut Yankee. I have no time to myself not
poking at all. Mulch kinda funny. Nice uncomf
ortable boats in the bay. Such as BankBoston.
Mortgage more lifespan into each poem. We’ll see.
Got color and spoke. No more time for me too loose.
Friday, July 14, 2006
ccli
I come to this place to swindle
coming not to be an artist
I could write for days here
a blueness that doesn’t lose me
is adazzle in the arbor I’m looking at
look at the jazz with my BOY
FRIEND fairly whomever I could want
I want to want to write with what I
am I spoke with him earlier
coming not to be an artist
I could write for days here
a blueness that doesn’t lose me
is adazzle in the arbor I’m looking at
look at the jazz with my BOY
FRIEND fairly whomever I could want
I want to want to write with what I
am I spoke with him earlier
about this cloudmatter
but now he is sick at the sun shining
I could come for days to swindle an
artist coming not to write for arbor
for arbor doesn’t lose me but
I have wrapped myself into a world
and now I have a cold blueness
a cool place I wanted I could write
a warmer place I wanted with jazz
I could write for days here but
there is no need for either of us
but now he is sick at the sun shining
I could come for days to swindle an
artist coming not to write for arbor
for arbor doesn’t lose me but
I have wrapped myself into a world
and now I have a cold blueness
a cool place I wanted I could write
a warmer place I wanted with jazz
I could write for days here but
there is no need for either of us
to get dependent on the luxuries
of whatever art and truth might be
for I have come to this place to swindle
for I have come to this place to swindle
and—ohh!—
what a sense of accomplishment it would
have given me to have thought that
perhaps, just maybe, I could have
fooled you into believing
Thursday, July 13, 2006
ccl
we made leeway on the Myles Myles Stratton. gone UMP
is my diet of trees and trees and June. but hopefully it is
gaining in Blackberry and noseblowing (TRIUMPH
ant) characteristics of noseblowing and
hopefully pounds back. treesblowing is it is a veterin
arian is where is the rental car and June? I am Angel Memorial
or is that two L’s as in “Del with one L” – trees RUMPH –
treesblowing leeway on the veteran pounds I am gonna
go do that now. back! I have been going through a bit of
Semester. immediately. yesterday we WE got an orange
reminder the fact is that that is now 3:41 EDGY.
andisEDGY. but hopefully I noses immediately (one L).
is my diet of trees and trees and June. but hopefully it is
gaining in Blackberry and noseblowing (TRIUMPH
ant) characteristics of noseblowing and
hopefully pounds back. treesblowing is it is a veterin
arian is where is the rental car and June? I am Angel Memorial
or is that two L’s as in “Del with one L” – trees RUMPH –
treesblowing leeway on the veteran pounds I am gonna
go do that now. back! I have been going through a bit of
Semester. immediately. yesterday we WE got an orange
reminder the fact is that that is now 3:41 EDGY.
andisEDGY. but hopefully I noses immediately (one L).
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
ccxlix
I made a new KLEENEX for the truth about
a postcard of. of me attending a conference in London L
ondon Look at the PACKING TAPE I am writing a brand new
PACKING TAPE pretending this is why I write pah see
feh go to The Grove and eat BIG BLUE BINDERS this is
the way I this is the leaves are beautiful in October
are blood oranges and everything I read about the Chicken Kickers
but the ocean is all I have to say. all I have to Find me hiding. all I
alive hiding underneath alive the redbrown lights of the. all I’ve
WHITE-OUT is not how a thing goes wrong I made a TRUTH
about the London it was writing a leaf chicken. fuck red.
light out ocean HANGING FILE FOLDERS are beautiful are.
a postcard of. of me attending a conference in London L
ondon Look at the PACKING TAPE I am writing a brand new
PACKING TAPE pretending this is why I write pah see
feh go to The Grove and eat BIG BLUE BINDERS this is
the way I this is the leaves are beautiful in October
are blood oranges and everything I read about the Chicken Kickers
but the ocean is all I have to say. all I have to Find me hiding. all I
alive hiding underneath alive the redbrown lights of the. all I’ve
WHITE-OUT is not how a thing goes wrong I made a TRUTH
about the London it was writing a leaf chicken. fuck red.
light out ocean HANGING FILE FOLDERS are beautiful are.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
ccxlviii
Five fifty-six o’clock and the
tacos are clear. I check the bathroom
financials and think about eternity savings time.
A poetry I haven’t written is this tree I travel
to the lightning I lost. It’s like a cut-off cushion
under the sun-puffed clouds and I like it. It makes me
whole. I lost last night in the corner of the park next to
a meal I couldn’t eat. It was the tree in me.
An ochre chrysanthemum.
tacos are clear. I check the bathroom
financials and think about eternity savings time.
A poetry I haven’t written is this tree I travel
to the lightning I lost. It’s like a cut-off cushion
under the sun-puffed clouds and I like it. It makes me
whole. I lost last night in the corner of the park next to
a meal I couldn’t eat. It was the tree in me.
An ochre chrysanthemum.
Monday, July 10, 2006
ccxlvii
marketing the subversive, here’s when you
know it’s not for you: read it once, stop,
go back and read it again, not remembering
a thing, stop, read it again, don’t remember
where I was on the page, nothing familiar,
all in ten minutes, phone rings, Peony
Pavilion here, ride the train, say goodbye,
forget to ever write again, women and
surrealism (lots of Kahlo), halt, Mike’s
Pastries (typo: Pasties), naked Francesca....
next May we sit in Starbucks, sip triple
you-know-whats, dine in fondue then
crash, fizzle, crashes tickle (tickle,
tickle), not at all funny, where is my humor,
not at all worth reading. I go back and read it
three times for nothing, eating sweets, hell,
going back to the butterflies, back to Stafford.
know it’s not for you: read it once, stop,
go back and read it again, not remembering
a thing, stop, read it again, don’t remember
where I was on the page, nothing familiar,
all in ten minutes, phone rings, Peony
Pavilion here, ride the train, say goodbye,
forget to ever write again, women and
surrealism (lots of Kahlo), halt, Mike’s
Pastries (typo: Pasties), naked Francesca....
next May we sit in Starbucks, sip triple
you-know-whats, dine in fondue then
crash, fizzle, crashes tickle (tickle,
tickle), not at all funny, where is my humor,
not at all worth reading. I go back and read it
three times for nothing, eating sweets, hell,
going back to the butterflies, back to Stafford.
Friday, July 07, 2006
ccxlvi
Hello there poster child for a foreign exotic country,
welcome to the new sound of freak-folk! Also, the
timing of your courtesy flush is way off. But nice
news (mews) a baby cat in the sky gives us paws a
bove the war (on words). Half of Wednesday off
life adjustment—never a dull moment in the box.
Hello, I am looking at the pictures from our trip to
Arkansas and I have lost nine pounds all in one week
after walking to Waterstone’s and vacuuming my bed
room. Now my stomach is a wee bit upset. Hark
October! Hark tree of life and all that good stuff,
pretty one, beside my tummy, snapped for posterity!
welcome to the new sound of freak-folk! Also, the
timing of your courtesy flush is way off. But nice
news (mews) a baby cat in the sky gives us paws a
bove the war (on words). Half of Wednesday off
life adjustment—never a dull moment in the box.
Hello, I am looking at the pictures from our trip to
Arkansas and I have lost nine pounds all in one week
after walking to Waterstone’s and vacuuming my bed
room. Now my stomach is a wee bit upset. Hark
October! Hark tree of life and all that good stuff,
pretty one, beside my tummy, snapped for posterity!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
ccxlv
Wow, great juice of an English bulldog,
food tastes GOOD! Hello
guy eating an apple I love! Mark
the night with rivets make it riveting!
Seven years and thirty pounds later I wonder
at material. This stuff
sucks. Remind me I got a cat to
night to call my own. Remind my mouth to
mato weather of the English wonderdrug. Hello
Hello Sepia the Cat and Dr. Superintendent. I am morning poem.
Hey two cats:
I’m so hungry let’s try that again.
food tastes GOOD! Hello
guy eating an apple I love! Mark
the night with rivets make it riveting!
Seven years and thirty pounds later I wonder
at material. This stuff
sucks. Remind me I got a cat to
night to call my own. Remind my mouth to
mato weather of the English wonderdrug. Hello
Hello Sepia the Cat and Dr. Superintendent. I am morning poem.
Hey two cats:
I’m so hungry let’s try that again.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
ccxliv
it’s rather a little unusual for
him to show up
in these poems. the fog
is eating the cheesemartians. i can’t
help it. says the ocean. those cart-
wheelers who shot at the blue and then.
(this is the future) stephanie
reading a poem to a congress of hummingbirds.
him to show up
in these poems. the fog
is eating the cheesemartians. i can’t
help it. says the ocean. those cart-
wheelers who shot at the blue and then.
(this is the future) stephanie
reading a poem to a congress of hummingbirds.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
ccxliii
never a better time for codename
provincetown 1.436. it was a rebirth
day of surprise and omigod a poetics.
stolen excerpts include: “nebulous
sojourn for the mineral...currency”??
and who doesn’t like caps (“capsule”)
in a pill of “retro-jello” (why quote
now?) but “slippery rocks” of “in
significance” “on wax waterwings”
must win something 6.09.10.20.fog.
provincetown 1.436. it was a rebirth
day of surprise and omigod a poetics.
stolen excerpts include: “nebulous
sojourn for the mineral...currency”??
and who doesn’t like caps (“capsule”)
in a pill of “retro-jello” (why quote
now?) but “slippery rocks” of “in
significance” “on wax waterwings”
must win something 6.09.10.20.fog.
Monday, July 03, 2006
ccxlii
never once-over a page like some
glimmering on the other side read
ing it like a bomb. which is to say
boom you say that? yes next page a
goldmine full of vipers’ vests and
a spooked out clambake. this bake’s
disorganized, disengorged, and what’s
more, I wait it out to be hungry to be.
poetry—tab—schoolwork and look,
a few more leaves blown while the
world collapses like clockwork,
only this time with feeling. how
many times did you say that feeling
breath-rent—half gone to keynotes;
half to phone messages? block time
for quoting, reread this a third time
and feel sad, feel ugly. nothing
doing. dance like a goldfish
out of goldwater. finish big
like a goldbomb at a goldbake.
glimmering on the other side read
ing it like a bomb. which is to say
boom you say that? yes next page a
goldmine full of vipers’ vests and
a spooked out clambake. this bake’s
disorganized, disengorged, and what’s
more, I wait it out to be hungry to be.
poetry—tab—schoolwork and look,
a few more leaves blown while the
world collapses like clockwork,
only this time with feeling. how
many times did you say that feeling
breath-rent—half gone to keynotes;
half to phone messages? block time
for quoting, reread this a third time
and feel sad, feel ugly. nothing
doing. dance like a goldfish
out of goldwater. finish big
like a goldbomb at a goldbake.
Friday, June 30, 2006
ccxli
a spidercloud flies over a trolleycar on calif
ornia street and they’re shooting another movie
on pine. says here the hominy is cooked with
cheddar cheese followed by the sky falling in a
pleasant sort of way. happy birthday to me at
addis red sea with a cast of a thousand forgotten
canvases on the living room floor. big crane
building up a new hotel on top of the hotel astoria.
stop for a minute. rue bush at café de la presse.
take chicken from freezer and place it in the ref
rigerator “that never thaws it does it?” turn thirty-
one bend over and stretch a little.
ornia street and they’re shooting another movie
on pine. says here the hominy is cooked with
cheddar cheese followed by the sky falling in a
pleasant sort of way. happy birthday to me at
addis red sea with a cast of a thousand forgotten
canvases on the living room floor. big crane
building up a new hotel on top of the hotel astoria.
stop for a minute. rue bush at café de la presse.
take chicken from freezer and place it in the ref
rigerator “that never thaws it does it?” turn thirty-
one bend over and stretch a little.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
ccxl
you need to go swallow a dollar
I snuggle in bed with your resignation
the walking FBI offers a reason to feel sixty more
I look at my blackberry bill I am on a salary
your resignation allows my resignation I am a cell
my cell has walking dogs becomes 3 cells more in one note
your church’s soft-skinned note is not burning
it swallows repetition for a rude aworkening
but the entire lipstick is a note full of burned necks
lots from stretched cars which go down lost
this note scaled down by FBI museums and birds looks at
my blackberry from a still life with two gold oranges and at
a still life with two oranges forcing me
on a scale of one to green resignation
I snuggle in bed with your resignation
the walking FBI offers a reason to feel sixty more
I look at my blackberry bill I am on a salary
your resignation allows my resignation I am a cell
my cell has walking dogs becomes 3 cells more in one note
your church’s soft-skinned note is not burning
it swallows repetition for a rude aworkening
but the entire lipstick is a note full of burned necks
lots from stretched cars which go down lost
this note scaled down by FBI museums and birds looks at
my blackberry from a still life with two gold oranges and at
a still life with two oranges forcing me
on a scale of one to green resignation
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
ccxxxix
Friday get a better voice therapist.
Where are they going to love me to
day? Not here under the disingenuous
stormcloud. Find a tree that looks
perfect and make another snap. Snap.
Drink your breakfast and find another
tree. Snap. Go to the luncheon and
peel off a rose that doesn’t snap. Ah,
June and we’re practically naked.
Where are they going to love me to
day? Not here under the disingenuous
stormcloud. Find a tree that looks
perfect and make another snap. Snap.
Drink your breakfast and find another
tree. Snap. Go to the luncheon and
peel off a rose that doesn’t snap. Ah,
June and we’re practically naked.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
ccxxxviii
Thursday get a better Massachusetts
with a little bit of torsion. Relax,
my fax number is outside the window
with your priest. Death plus love equals
more salad (snaps). Yes, it’s the two of us at
Clos Pegase (more snaps) – nice view,
great thumb! What was your question again?
I’ll see if I can make that change on the
spreadsheet—but be sure to look at everything I
erased in answering your question.
with a little bit of torsion. Relax,
my fax number is outside the window
with your priest. Death plus love equals
more salad (snaps). Yes, it’s the two of us at
Clos Pegase (more snaps) – nice view,
great thumb! What was your question again?
I’ll see if I can make that change on the
spreadsheet—but be sure to look at everything I
erased in answering your question.
Monday, June 26, 2006
ccxxxvii
Wednesday get a better haircut.
In the street holding hands I was
halted mid-thought by a smile I forgot.
We are the unlucky few, many of us exploding
five nuclear warheads in retaliation for
Clinton’s speech on murder. Stop the
violence! No I’m serious! Everyone is
speaking Stradivarian in here, be at my
In the street holding hands I was
halted mid-thought by a smile I forgot.
We are the unlucky few, many of us exploding
five nuclear warheads in retaliation for
Clinton’s speech on murder. Stop the
violence! No I’m serious! Everyone is
speaking Stradivarian in here, be at my
place around ten. Nice reading last night,
do I get a raise? This is why I haven’t
responded to your lovely note.
do I get a raise? This is why I haven’t
responded to your lovely note.
Friday, June 23, 2006
ccxxxvi
Tuesday get a better job. Repeat after me:
please note: I rec’d the invitation to my birthday:
a one-hour working session re:
making sure we’re not going to London: Done!
I used to sleep with you and yet attractive artists
everywhere are torn between making future plans
and wanting to leave things more open,
tentative title. Marauding blood pressure and
work-related massage at the
Ethiopian restaurant. P.S. Please
keep November free.
please note: I rec’d the invitation to my birthday:
a one-hour working session re:
making sure we’re not going to London: Done!
I used to sleep with you and yet attractive artists
everywhere are torn between making future plans
and wanting to leave things more open,
tentative title. Marauding blood pressure and
work-related massage at the
Ethiopian restaurant. P.S. Please
keep November free.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
ccxxxv
each clunk a feeling in my gut that rises like taking off with
my best friend or something in here missing rather than losing our
lovers on the airplanes of inevitability or where we might as well take off our
selves or send our best friends’ lovers to those bosses
who land by the way in some undiclosed locations
which are only undisclosed because unihabitable by MY SELVES.
now it leans toward me this poem of disrepair. I would not know it more willing in
Boston Common nor know it better in this box, my incessant box,
nor on Treasure Island which I mention in
cessantly because I cannot see it but from my box nor never will touch it nor since
it does not matter with my own hands up inside of it. swans over there fading.
Wallace and Gromit warehouses burning down and
Wallace and Gromit movies at number one on the box office and
Wallace and Gromit cartoons next to David Hockney and
Isabella Stewart Gardner over the rush of what I do not have but more
work to do. each boat which leaves another trail of pigeons each
absolute perfection of temperature each Saturday where no one
showed up for the poetry each dinner at Bickford’s followed by
come home and cuddle on the back porch before this war
that can’t happen its way out of my head. ducks and swans
and muppets and devils and delusions of lovers and lovers of lovers and lovers I never
take off nor possess nor whatever it is that one is supposed to DO with them.
I must I must museum with some of my imagined somethings things missed is always
always un un
my best friend or something in here missing rather than losing our
lovers on the airplanes of inevitability or where we might as well take off our
selves or send our best friends’ lovers to those bosses
who land by the way in some undiclosed locations
which are only undisclosed because unihabitable by MY SELVES.
now it leans toward me this poem of disrepair. I would not know it more willing in
Boston Common nor know it better in this box, my incessant box,
nor on Treasure Island which I mention in
cessantly because I cannot see it but from my box nor never will touch it nor since
it does not matter with my own hands up inside of it. swans over there fading.
Wallace and Gromit warehouses burning down and
Wallace and Gromit movies at number one on the box office and
Wallace and Gromit cartoons next to David Hockney and
Isabella Stewart Gardner over the rush of what I do not have but more
work to do. each boat which leaves another trail of pigeons each
absolute perfection of temperature each Saturday where no one
showed up for the poetry each dinner at Bickford’s followed by
come home and cuddle on the back porch before this war
that can’t happen its way out of my head. ducks and swans
and muppets and devils and delusions of lovers and lovers of lovers and lovers I never
take off nor possess nor whatever it is that one is supposed to DO with them.
I must I must museum with some of my imagined somethings things missed is always
always un un
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
ccxxxiv
and seeds we could to flower. but hey guess what?
I believe you need to reach the lab tonight.
I think (on the porch) I’ll order us the cheeseburger pizza when I get home too.
I got home last night guess what? you reach to wonder why
I don’t need to go to lab tonight. I slow
I slow never mind and guess. I guess I never smile last night to reach out reach out
to you. do you like your new camera flower? it shoots from leaps and roots with
sadness. the negative sadness. no sadness it springs to saps from leaps to
how’s my head? (a little late) breathe.
hey guess what I need to take a new flower of your head that holds
its rings inside mine with a brown leather bracelet.
I believe you need to reach the lab tonight.
I think (on the porch) I’ll order us the cheeseburger pizza when I get home too.
I got home last night guess what? you reach to wonder why
I don’t need to go to lab tonight. I slow
I slow never mind and guess. I guess I never smile last night to reach out reach out
to you. do you like your new camera flower? it shoots from leaps and roots with
sadness. the negative sadness. no sadness it springs to saps from leaps to
how’s my head? (a little late) breathe.
hey guess what I need to take a new flower of your head that holds
its rings inside mine with a brown leather bracelet.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
ccxxxiii
Do you pace in elevators? We burke the question. “Youth
isn’t the automatic turn-on it used to be.” Things that go away:
like a headache
reading a magazine
in the jury pool.
I still have a little trouble in the chest tuesday 45 minutes beyond the
prescription. At the picnic: sunshine 12:30pm chime street vendors
older man in mascara with swimming pool parties (thank God we never went)
you picking out the fat pigeons the cool pigeons the seagulls that chase the
pigeons the fresh fruit salad with your fingers til I give you the fork.
Last night I
dreamt of
him who can
never leave me. A DREAM.
You and I grow older every minute. Summer sun soft glow. See
the sailboats play with each other making new shapes. Moonlit headrush.
Dry mind
and hunger.
This is why I should be writing. Take me to the uncomfortable
picture somewhere let it out. I spoke again long distance. Hunk curve
ocean bull whispers horn salve. Thank God I’m
consistent.
isn’t the automatic turn-on it used to be.” Things that go away:
like a headache
reading a magazine
in the jury pool.
I still have a little trouble in the chest tuesday 45 minutes beyond the
prescription. At the picnic: sunshine 12:30pm chime street vendors
older man in mascara with swimming pool parties (thank God we never went)
you picking out the fat pigeons the cool pigeons the seagulls that chase the
pigeons the fresh fruit salad with your fingers til I give you the fork.
Last night I
dreamt of
him who can
never leave me. A DREAM.
You and I grow older every minute. Summer sun soft glow. See
the sailboats play with each other making new shapes. Moonlit headrush.
Dry mind
and hunger.
This is why I should be writing. Take me to the uncomfortable
picture somewhere let it out. I spoke again long distance. Hunk curve
ocean bull whispers horn salve. Thank God I’m
consistent.
Monday, June 19, 2006
ccxxxii
Yesterday when I was giving away more heartattacks
I put this information from an old diary entry into today’s thoughts,
events, environments and then I e-mailed all of my lust for the
tall skaterguy who showed up on yet another Oscar-winning spring day.
I’ve never worked in a place where so many people fart at the urinals.
Here I sit creating life, a new fiction that sorts out our selves, plus: (sad sad bleak)
which I occasionally get to write about while at work,
like when I wrestled with the whole idea of writing flower
spaghetti sorbet and strawberries on my nose. Since I write all of my memories
this sort of thing teases me into reremembering,
shakes up what it can, like that square poem about bonding with the moon
or for blueboy who died yesterday.
Sometimes we become more boring
without a diary,
we cannot label nor reinvent our life. Look out:
I am breaking into another peach.
I put this information from an old diary entry into today’s thoughts,
events, environments and then I e-mailed all of my lust for the
tall skaterguy who showed up on yet another Oscar-winning spring day.
I’ve never worked in a place where so many people fart at the urinals.
Here I sit creating life, a new fiction that sorts out our selves, plus: (sad sad bleak)
which I occasionally get to write about while at work,
like when I wrestled with the whole idea of writing flower
spaghetti sorbet and strawberries on my nose. Since I write all of my memories
this sort of thing teases me into reremembering,
shakes up what it can, like that square poem about bonding with the moon
or for blueboy who died yesterday.
Sometimes we become more boring
without a diary,
we cannot label nor reinvent our life. Look out:
I am breaking into another peach.
Friday, June 16, 2006
ccxxxi
wait liberally
til tomorrow to not inspire
to tell _______. reading Mom
to tell you I did call mine
tomorrow at the lap of dawn.
face V legs drawn sit on drawn lap.
I am more at ease more at ease
with the French dearth I think I heard.
face pants. V liberally til
I am more at ease. force more
ease to move. ease a trident
force entry easy symbolism. love the
trident. wait. an embolism
of sexual liberation. a rid
iculous tenet of liberationship. slip tri
dent. await forced entry drawn lap. legs
a V to not inspire. force. force.
at ease.
til tomorrow to not inspire
to tell _______. reading Mom
to tell you I did call mine
tomorrow at the lap of dawn.
face V legs drawn sit on drawn lap.
I am more at ease more at ease
with the French dearth I think I heard.
face pants. V liberally til
I am more at ease. force more
ease to move. ease a trident
force entry easy symbolism. love the
trident. wait. an embolism
of sexual liberation. a rid
iculous tenet of liberationship. slip tri
dent. await forced entry drawn lap. legs
a V to not inspire. force. force.
at ease.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
ccxxx
let me tell you the dream last night of us being neighbors.
somehow i was hiding from you (who is you?). then there was
a slice and then another slice, like lemons, with a bit of pucker –
couches, carpets, backyards – the things you can have as neighbors.
right here is where i splice tombstones and sandwiches, indiscriminately,
into tombstone sandwiches with backyard condiments, this is my recollection
of the dream, a dream i remembered while we were brushing our teeth,
together, your arm draped over my shoulder, each of us looking into
the mirror at us. you are my love birds, me and you and that mirror.
somehow i was hiding from you (who is you?). then there was
a slice and then another slice, like lemons, with a bit of pucker –
couches, carpets, backyards – the things you can have as neighbors.
right here is where i splice tombstones and sandwiches, indiscriminately,
into tombstone sandwiches with backyard condiments, this is my recollection
of the dream, a dream i remembered while we were brushing our teeth,
together, your arm draped over my shoulder, each of us looking into
the mirror at us. you are my love birds, me and you and that mirror.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
ccxxix
more about me
I sip the green tea like that for it is of myself to want to sip
two cups per day question mark getting a picture taken during cocaine
my chest blurts evidently the left side my left occasionally a great blurt
a great blurt of pain erupts my chest at the top of my head momentarily but shocking
we are spoiled buildings ready to be demolished I should get to the root of it
what the problem is is we should note more about the buildings being broken
being destroyed in our left lung is not symptomatic of my telling you what I am wearing
what I am wearing is the problem that could arise by how I like to enter
I like to enter any machine that needs to be troubeshot
but more more about me later
I sip the green tea like that for it is of myself to want to sip
two cups per day question mark getting a picture taken during cocaine
my chest blurts evidently the left side my left occasionally a great blurt
a great blurt of pain erupts my chest at the top of my head momentarily but shocking
we are spoiled buildings ready to be demolished I should get to the root of it
what the problem is is we should note more about the buildings being broken
being destroyed in our left lung is not symptomatic of my telling you what I am wearing
what I am wearing is the problem that could arise by how I like to enter
I like to enter any machine that needs to be troubeshot
but more more about me later
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
ccxxviii
I want you to know how it really is. My lip swells, or just above
my lip, just below my nose, usually on the right side, my right side,
after I take aspirin or ibuprofin. I feel boxed in because I am.
Nice view and all, but I’m bored. Not bored all the time, because I
don’t have enough time to think. When I do think, it is for nothing.
That’s not true, either, as I do think sometimes of you. Most often.
But I think of other people, too. How are we connected? In the
simplest terms, I mean. It’s 2:30pm and my boss is conducting an
interview. Is he looking for my replacement? No. I drink more
water. This is filtered water from the sink next to the refrigerator.
The southeast refrigerator. In my candor I forgot to mention my
brothers’ birthday. They are 29. I mean they are 36. Jogging.
Sit-ups. How demoralizing.
my lip, just below my nose, usually on the right side, my right side,
after I take aspirin or ibuprofin. I feel boxed in because I am.
Nice view and all, but I’m bored. Not bored all the time, because I
don’t have enough time to think. When I do think, it is for nothing.
That’s not true, either, as I do think sometimes of you. Most often.
But I think of other people, too. How are we connected? In the
simplest terms, I mean. It’s 2:30pm and my boss is conducting an
interview. Is he looking for my replacement? No. I drink more
water. This is filtered water from the sink next to the refrigerator.
The southeast refrigerator. In my candor I forgot to mention my
brothers’ birthday. They are 29. I mean they are 36. Jogging.
Sit-ups. How demoralizing.
Monday, June 12, 2006
ccxxvii
well, yes, I wasted last night with MORE
MARTINIS! so now it’s time to go to Le Coloniel
and colonize YET MORE MARTIANS! I was trying to
say let’s have a couple of vodka commas
but then it became one of those vodka commas at the end of each line
vs. a couple of no commas things. I
could add: (I caught you smoking)
through the smoking corridor
but it’s nearly time to rocky road.
ha! false alarm. the sun is brainy.
we chow down at Doyle’s for his sexual
recidivism paper and then I help him with his
sexual offenders. after that we walk
for days (we always seem to do this) (thru non-smoking corridors no less!). hey
I got something special for your book!
I have this special bookmark I got
in Cantonese: HOUSE OF FURY. it
marks page 33 well (cue new look):
says “hot hunk undresses off showing his great body”
underneath “check out this new high quality insect site.” ok no more false spams.
oh and next time we kiss at the corner of
Fremont and Mission let’s please not forget
there are people walking around with hot dogs in their hands.
nor the building across the street that got demolished. end of story for now.
MARTINIS! so now it’s time to go to Le Coloniel
and colonize YET MORE MARTIANS! I was trying to
say let’s have a couple of vodka commas
but then it became one of those vodka commas at the end of each line
vs. a couple of no commas things. I
could add: (I caught you smoking)
through the smoking corridor
but it’s nearly time to rocky road.
ha! false alarm. the sun is brainy.
we chow down at Doyle’s for his sexual
recidivism paper and then I help him with his
sexual offenders. after that we walk
for days (we always seem to do this) (thru non-smoking corridors no less!). hey
I got something special for your book!
I have this special bookmark I got
in Cantonese: HOUSE OF FURY. it
marks page 33 well (cue new look):
says “hot hunk undresses off showing his great body”
underneath “check out this new high quality insect site.” ok no more false spams.
oh and next time we kiss at the corner of
Fremont and Mission let’s please not forget
there are people walking around with hot dogs in their hands.
nor the building across the street that got demolished. end of story for now.
Friday, June 09, 2006
ccxxvi
we set up a bridge
for le beautiful nonsense...
its “unlet downy days”
is what is written and they are
too much comfort for my shrunken face. no
quotes allowed for the laptop shock,
the equivalent of which – “are we grounded?” –
gets no answer under “not this biscuit!”
this biscuit
has leather two-piece snaplets we reach out and
grab to remove hence bread is a
red herring (best eaten and beaten with cattails) which reveals:
“sunswiped pea.” a beachbum swordfight ensues
on the beach,
that’s the rock-fisted gist of it:
swishbuckle! so then I bought roses because I’m addicted.
pink ones seem to do the trick but there’s also
do laundry kiss and make up for being all tied down
strapped and spanked – I mean
cuz I got the folze, the fourscore frizzzles
(poetry) (beams) the Folsom ffotos of you (finch
buns) a la dolce ziti.
for le beautiful nonsense...
its “unlet downy days”
is what is written and they are
too much comfort for my shrunken face. no
quotes allowed for the laptop shock,
the equivalent of which – “are we grounded?” –
gets no answer under “not this biscuit!”
this biscuit
has leather two-piece snaplets we reach out and
grab to remove hence bread is a
red herring (best eaten and beaten with cattails) which reveals:
“sunswiped pea.” a beachbum swordfight ensues
on the beach,
that’s the rock-fisted gist of it:
swishbuckle! so then I bought roses because I’m addicted.
pink ones seem to do the trick but there’s also
do laundry kiss and make up for being all tied down
strapped and spanked – I mean
cuz I got the folze, the fourscore frizzzles
(poetry) (beams) the Folsom ffotos of you (finch
buns) a la dolce ziti.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
ccxxv
Dis
connected. Was I
walking down Folsom
when a distant friend called?
A pear and two golden-wrapped
pats of butter. Now I’m finishing a book
at Union Square when it decides to happen,
but I’m reluctant to remember everything at once.
An ice cold boyfriend (meaning each old boyfriend),
each translucent riddle. Many friends are giving birth
to books, each joy a dim remembrance. Not 100% true.
I get a big shock to my head every once in a while.
It’s a flashpan invocation of the threesome rule:
take a nap stepping backwards (with fever pitch).
He’s swatting flies in the living room. Big one.
Tiny one. Still life with cones. Still life with
pitcher and two apples (green and red). Still
life with bananas, lemons and indecipherable.
Still life at the shoeshine with a hug and a kiss.
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Noises are
reminiscent. The cat’s lazy. Flies slap
the window. The plants need water.
Trolley cars buzz the breeze.
Green couch. Brown socks.
I finished a book. It was
good. Honk. The
sky soars.
connected. Was I
walking down Folsom
when a distant friend called?
A pear and two golden-wrapped
pats of butter. Now I’m finishing a book
at Union Square when it decides to happen,
but I’m reluctant to remember everything at once.
An ice cold boyfriend (meaning each old boyfriend),
each translucent riddle. Many friends are giving birth
to books, each joy a dim remembrance. Not 100% true.
I get a big shock to my head every once in a while.
It’s a flashpan invocation of the threesome rule:
take a nap stepping backwards (with fever pitch).
He’s swatting flies in the living room. Big one.
Tiny one. Still life with cones. Still life with
pitcher and two apples (green and red). Still
life with bananas, lemons and indecipherable.
Still life at the shoeshine with a hug and a kiss.
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Noises are
reminiscent. The cat’s lazy. Flies slap
the window. The plants need water.
Trolley cars buzz the breeze.
Green couch. Brown socks.
I finished a book. It was
good. Honk. The
sky soars.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
ccxxiv
Good evening from the sympathy ride. I tried calling you several times to
tell you that the Red Sox were hurting. There was no number so I wasn’t
sorry enough. I died and they sent me to Cleveland for still MORE sympathy.
They brought me back to life and we played frisbee for a while but then
I needed a blood transfusion. The only blood that would work was
Fenway Park so I tried calling you again. Still there was no answer. So I
died again. I’m in hell now. Awww. 1-800-560-7702.
tell you that the Red Sox were hurting. There was no number so I wasn’t
sorry enough. I died and they sent me to Cleveland for still MORE sympathy.
They brought me back to life and we played frisbee for a while but then
I needed a blood transfusion. The only blood that would work was
Fenway Park so I tried calling you again. Still there was no answer. So I
died again. I’m in hell now. Awww. 1-800-560-7702.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
ccxxiii
woke hell up
working
broke early
music beacon
fourth floor
window barking
he sat up up
set so gets
up works
barks Boston
beats last
warm drum
barks some
more ful
some quest
ions gets got gets
worked gets
pored over
I wish he was
up so much
working
broke early
music beacon
fourth floor
window barking
he sat up up
set so gets
up works
barks Boston
beats last
warm drum
barks some
more ful
some quest
ions gets got gets
worked gets
pored over
I wish he was
up so much
Monday, June 05, 2006
ccxxii
misted committees
of hooligan tugs
secretaries of the
Embarcaderos
whooshes
into an avowed lesbian
of less than an hour
sew some pretty flowers
on my boyfriend
me: boyfriend.
boyfriend: yes?
me: pretty flowers.
boyfriend paints me
sitting in my tea he’s
bleeding on the trains
I cries and misses
the next red paint meeting
makes me a money check
for silly romances
it was Easter
17 of us around a table
11.8% vegetarian
daisies tulips
pretty little headaches
sprung up before
churches antiquities
noses in roses lavenders
honeybees’ honeysuckles
of hooligan tugs
secretaries of the
Embarcaderos
whooshes
into an avowed lesbian
of less than an hour
sew some pretty flowers
on my boyfriend
me: boyfriend.
boyfriend: yes?
me: pretty flowers.
boyfriend paints me
sitting in my tea he’s
bleeding on the trains
I cries and misses
the next red paint meeting
makes me a money check
for silly romances
it was Easter
17 of us around a table
11.8% vegetarian
daisies tulips
pretty little headaches
sprung up before
churches antiquities
noses in roses lavenders
honeybees’ honeysuckles
Friday, June 02, 2006
ccxxi
nothing universal about the poetry I SCREAM and called
the bank yesterday as it basically told me that I was over
drawn thru existential crisis—it was amazing without
feeling and kinda PLUS on the manic side which with me
always puts me into an exaggerated intensity. I have
so much fun writing narrative poems and as I’ve said before
I should try to combine these two styles into a narrative
urgency somewhere near the surface of PEACE like how
I’m using my emotiCons and at the same time not really feeling
that sort of blankity-blankity-blank kind of FUCK the other
half of the world loves to get paid I LOVE TO GET PAID I
love to get paid a lot on Friday which makes my emotions all
ROCKIN IT SO HARD otherwise maybe we can have some
drinks. something’s definitely eating me off today these
faces of my favorite poets these faces of my all-time favorites I
FACE THE PROBLEM I say hey I’m free tomorrow this
sense of urgency every night to tell a fucking story I can’t
sense the urgency every night to tell a fucking story I can’t
remember even having that consciously intentional KNOW
LEDGE that kind of “walk in my shoes” thing where I’m grip
ping this guy & he’s “driven” with a LICENSE TO GRIPE
that replaces all of my periods with quotation marks. no this
wasn’t today. it was rather today’s instance. it was only one
of several where I learned another sort of meditation. NO THIS
wasn’t today it was rather an afterimage. it was only the NO
instant which today stands for. is how it was today THIS?
the bank yesterday as it basically told me that I was over
drawn thru existential crisis—it was amazing without
feeling and kinda PLUS on the manic side which with me
always puts me into an exaggerated intensity. I have
so much fun writing narrative poems and as I’ve said before
I should try to combine these two styles into a narrative
urgency somewhere near the surface of PEACE like how
I’m using my emotiCons and at the same time not really feeling
that sort of blankity-blankity-blank kind of FUCK the other
half of the world loves to get paid I LOVE TO GET PAID I
love to get paid a lot on Friday which makes my emotions all
ROCKIN IT SO HARD otherwise maybe we can have some
drinks. something’s definitely eating me off today these
faces of my favorite poets these faces of my all-time favorites I
FACE THE PROBLEM I say hey I’m free tomorrow this
sense of urgency every night to tell a fucking story I can’t
sense the urgency every night to tell a fucking story I can’t
remember even having that consciously intentional KNOW
LEDGE that kind of “walk in my shoes” thing where I’m grip
ping this guy & he’s “driven” with a LICENSE TO GRIPE
that replaces all of my periods with quotation marks. no this
wasn’t today. it was rather today’s instance. it was only one
of several where I learned another sort of meditation. NO THIS
wasn’t today it was rather an afterimage. it was only the NO
instant which today stands for. is how it was today THIS?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
ccxx
Some Ideas For The Poem I Will Write:
ArtList DoList NewProject Keep Going.
Fresh But Tell A REAL Story! ReEvaluation:
Why Is Memory Important? I’m waiting
for the SUNDAY MONDAY TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY it’s just me sitting here
JUST ME conFusing words I Like
(Not This Poem) (Read Less Poems)
The Fog “Yes You Can Go In Now.”
this does not work to slow things down
I Love You Even Though My Heart
Hurts (Maybe Just Gas?) NOT
EATING THIS YEAR...but finding
how uncomfortable it is to wear
the wrong pants. pants that are
NOT THE RIGHT SIZE. particularly if they are too long
or too tight or too short (that never
happens). I got rejected. I cried.
End Of The World Now.
ArtList DoList NewProject Keep Going.
Fresh But Tell A REAL Story! ReEvaluation:
Why Is Memory Important? I’m waiting
for the SUNDAY MONDAY TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY it’s just me sitting here
JUST ME conFusing words I Like
(Not This Poem) (Read Less Poems)
The Fog “Yes You Can Go In Now.”
this does not work to slow things down
I Love You Even Though My Heart
Hurts (Maybe Just Gas?) NOT
EATING THIS YEAR...but finding
how uncomfortable it is to wear
the wrong pants. pants that are
NOT THE RIGHT SIZE. particularly if they are too long
or too tight or too short (that never
happens). I got rejected. I cried.
End Of The World Now.
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