mcmlxxxvi

There’s a pounding pain

right here.  Inside of my

chest.  It’s either a lung,

my heart, or my stomach.

It’s sweet learning how

to live slow.  Adorable.

Oddly enough, that’s

the mood I’m in.  The

feeling of walking on

a campus.  I haven’t

felt it in a good while.

Maybe I haven’t felt

good in a while. 

We all go dancing

at Mezzanine.  I

overdo it trying

to make every-

thing the best.

I’m almost too

determined.  I

am hoping for

this.  I’m ready

for time to have

done its trick and

for everything to

be okay.  I’m not

sure.  I think about

how to get paid for

this.  And what that

means.  Sitting here

in this nice, new

place.  Wondering

how long it might

last.    Everything

is really the best.

I’m really looking

forward to it.  I

really have no

idea how long

this might last.

mcmlxxxv

Fact or fiction: I just saw my
favorite underwear? In a porn
flick. I spent all day in bed
buried in clean laundry. As
soon as lunch arrived, I got
a call and had to run an errand.
Hence, no lunch. I played 95
rounds of Bubble Galaxy with
Buddies™. All without any
malaise or edginess.
In reality, it seems like
everyone’s out having a
good time but me. At my
workdesk I figure out how
to bring back the balance.
Because. Because tomorrow
is October. Because tomorrow
is Otto’s birthday party. Today,
doing nothing but sending emails
of myself sticking my tongue out to
new friends and old friends I haven’t
seen or even corresponded with in
forever. Sitting ten hours in the box
before getting up and walking over
to purchase a digital camera. Oddly
enough, that’s the mood I’m in.
Saturday night. It’s mellow.
And my chest hurts.

mcmlxxxiv

I read 1984 in 1983.

Curran called when I got home
to say he’s now an uncle. Wild.
Otto dropped off his art supplies
so he didn’t have to drag them
around everywhere. Later, I’ll
have a drink with Alessia for
her birthday. At Le Coloniel.
Last night was Fred’s bon
voyage dinner. We went to
Chow. I met a few of his
friends, all very nice. I
was BEAT. At the
birthday bash, lots
of names come and
go. Jenn was a riot.
Afterwards, we ate
pizza and watched
AbFab. Anyway,
now my back hurts
but I will try to go
to the gym. I’m
not sure why.

mcmlxxxiii

I feel sorry for anyone that has to die.
                                       —John Ashbery

I’m in the leather daddy section, drinking a
strawberry banana smoothie, trying not to be
too rational. Fun. I could come here every
Saturday. But I feel distant. Maybe I should

explore a lot more. What’s up? It’s a not-so-
hot weekend. Standing in front of the Curran
Theater in the rain. Then sleep (with parts of
8½ strewn throughout). Today is such a

blue day. I smack my head in the middle of
it. The board meeting on Saturday; a getting
up on the wrong side of bed thing. What else?
Nothing. A few folks came over, got angry

because we were in the middle of a fight.
But Sunday came. A happy morning
walking to downtown and back (which
is mostly like levitating, considering

our location). Then I napped. All
without any sense of malaise or edginess.

mcmlxxxii

How to Deflect

Do not build the ‘extra-dollar’ vanity
from Ikea. It seems none of us has
begun to digest the meal of all our
lives (John Ashbery). Yes, I am tired
of patriarchy (tired of the patriarchy).
Barf. That’s puke. Today, touchy.
Very. These days it’s probably
healthy to be able to joke about it.
We ARE sort of pretty when we
cross over that line of no return.
Nothing’s floating around in my
head but I keep reading sentences
that make me misty. That last
meeting was very vampire in
the end. There are way too
many meetings. Did the
main character become
a poem? Not to think
about it further. Does
that make sense? At a
burger joint having a
strawberry shake I feel
really cool. Am I about
to die? It’s a totally
different kind of place.
In a strange part of town.
I feel distant. Or something
severe. Perhaps I should
explore a lot more.

mcmlxxxi

‘of’ is such a top.
‘the’ is a total bottom.
but what if ‘we’ was
reversible, or, how
do they call it,
flexible, no,
transparent?
barf. that
crosses the
line, doesn’t
it? ‘to’ is
so healthy.
when it fights,
it’s good, but
it still ain’t
pretty. ‘is’
is, though.
at first I
thought
‘nothing’
was float-
ing around
in my head.
but then,
no joke,
‘that’
totally
ended it.

mcmlxxx

I still don’t know what people do
in the Bubble Galaxy. I guess it’s
just something to do every minute
through next week. That’s my

problem. Just trying to get it out.
It hardly ever works. It probably
won’t work this time. Whatever
happens that’s big around here

certainly has me touchy. First
it pissed me off. Fighting over
nothing. Another fight about
nothing. Okay, we don’t fight.

What’s healthy is writing fast.
That must be what has me
all misting up.

mcmlxxix

If you think the butler did it
ask him what happened in 1979.
Hint: they don’t make those in
Arkansas. My mother kept
reminding us of how they
had to ration stuff during
World War II, like eggs
and butter (milk, maybe?).
I don’t know how to deflect.
I don’t even know the name
of the movie.

                    Several hours
later I can TALK for pizza
and cocktails. It’s some-
thing to do every minute
of the week. Hang on.

So I’m doing all my
writing with calendars.
It’s the new way. Be-
cause this office has
no soul. Barf. That’s
puke.

         Plus we could
all die at any time.

mcmlxxviii

Floating on Jetsam

You win some,
you lose some.

We clear the
air in order to

bitch. It’s
always bitch

with him. I
need to stop

that. Our
friendship

will cont
inue to

leave.
I need

to bundle
TALK into

a series.
Several

hours
later

I’m
still

sleep;
he mis

under
stands.

mcmlxxvii

     in a roomful of thinking about you
                                —Ralph Angel

I take a thousand photographs
in hopes to remember what I see.

And did what? Then to The Gap
to buy new workclothes. Who am

I? In the middle of doing a bunch
of things at once. Called a job.

Then home to shampoo with
new shower head. Keep a

poetics (emerging); save it
daily. What else? Also did

what? Donnie Darko. Sun-
day coffee. Defunct like

Frjtz (Hayes Valley).
Bought a new wallet

while Otto went to
San Jose. Autumn’s

almost here. The
season that knows

when to leave.
Spare the

long goodbye.

mcmlxxvi

It is the bicentennial
and we are making
a quilt with our
grandmothers.
It is Mrs.
Wells’ (our
3rd grade
teacher’s)
idea.

Fred
is leaving
for NYC in
two weeks
(years before
we find ourselves
Skyping about our
various ‘projects’).

Whether or not
it’s important,
memory (or
something)
is exhumed.
We call it
a job or we
call it drinking
water.

After reading
half of the issue
aloud to Otto
he says “I like
sex and repetition.
Sex and repetition.”
It is 10:42 in the morning.

mcmlxxv

My albums are the shit.
Your career never farted.
                           —Eve

Wow, I just renewed library books.
They were 8 days overdue. I’d

no idea it had been that long.
Andrew & TJ are coming up,

perhaps even to the play.
Definitely losing my

health? Nah.
Hold on!

I need to catch my boss
after he finishes a meeting.

How to tell a story at
10am in the box with

bottled water &
lemon zinger.

My red headphones
are all strung out.

It’s only 3:14pm.
Conversations

remove me from
joy. This is out

of the ordinary.
No joy. No joy, no?

mcmlxxiv

Nothing but work and sleep
yesterday. Perhaps I should
steer clear of anything remotely
“political.” What I actually
wrote was “Perhaps my
political poems suck. But
Lemon Zinger Celestial
Seasonings herb tea
does not.” Nothing
but work, sleep,
bottled water,
lemon zinger
and Joseph
Ceravalo’s
“Spring In This World of Poor Mutt’s”.

mcmlxxiii

Influenza’s Innuendo

The Lone Ranger just made me laugh.
It had tragedy written all over it.

There are many things that I have
thought about over the years.

I want to seem/ gentle and wear
leather clothes. (Tim Dlugos)

Stop and start and stop and
start and align the

stars. Organize trips for
three members of the Cross

family to visit. A first for
two of three siblings in

twenty-seven years?
Watch Viggo sit,

roll over, gimme five,
and gimme high five.

mcmlxxii

I try to catch up with a fresh artichoke (again)

I could just stop there.
Or here. But not easily.

Instead I loudmouth
teach. Everyone a

lesson or two. What
gall! The nerve, right?

It’s a lot of things,
what. But it is

not growing up
to be a Baptist

preacher. It is
not an inapprop

riate firearm.
It might not

be voting for
Reagan once

(I’m truly
sorry). A

bowl of
grapes

on the
bed.

The
bearded

man eats like
a bear. And to

think it use to be
such a crime, eating

in bed. Just ask the bear
what wrote the law we just ate.

mcmlxxi

Heartsunk

     ...you provided the sideways like us
     with such rare and out-there company.
                 —Tilda Swinton to David Bowie, March 21, 2013
                    at the opening of “David Bowie is”
                    at Victoria and Albert Museum, London

She addresses him as Dave.  And signs off as Tilly.  My
discovery of Tilda Stardust, a blog dedicated to the belief
that Swinton and Bowie are one person.    But why sullen?

Oh.  It says right here that “I had an argument.”  And right
here it says “Exhaustion?”  Also, right here, it says: ... ... ?!
WTF does it really say he said that? ... ... ...  Heartsunk.

Hi.  Today I’m using Major Tom and Orlando as
diversionary tactics.  Not only that but mostly
revelation.  At the end of a week full of

eureka!  And then realizing that I’m not the
only love song, as it turns out.  We both are.  So
why trouble myself with an escape plan?

Why strategize to divert?  It’s a pretty day.
I am sending messages here and there.
Interspersing these very sentences and

fragments with text messages (more fragment
than sentence, those).  It says here that I then
thank him for such an “articulate brat.”  And

it says right here, just at the very bottom of the
page, that “G-chat is not quite like Yahoo instant
messenger.”  In fact, maybe it’s even better.

mcmlxx

Through the Stargate with a Wrinkled Nose

Delight creeps in. Like watching Agnes Moorehead
devour every single moment of screen time she has
in The Magnificent Ambersons. Or watching
Carol Burnett, Vicki Lawrence and Dick Van Dyke
initially feign attempts to stifle laughter (and hence
‘break character’) by bowing their heads as if in
prayer, and then each literally lose it, while
Tim Conway (Tim Conway’s ‘character’)
conveys in earnest (ever so slowly so as to
accommodate audience laughter) a story
about an elephant who was rumored to have
fallen in love with its trainer, who happened
to be a ‘dwarf.’ The pair come to a tragic
end during a purported sexual act (the
elephant has to be shot). They were
buried together. Then, another long
pause for audience laughter and
camera concentration upon the
rapt trio who’ve been attempting
to exhibit restraint (and therefore
‘character’), but who are each
beginning to fail, to succumb
to their own (non-‘character’)
senses of humor, to Tim
Conway’s deadpan delivery
of a silly story full of false
endings (each one a punch
line). After which Conway
begins another story, this one
about two circus elephants
who were Siamese twins—
they were attached by their
trunks. When one of them
would sneeze.....

After the movie, Curran
mentions that it is rumored
that Moorehead had a long fling
with Debbie Reynolds.

I’m feeling a bit vulnerable today. Heartsunk.

mcmlxix

The Final Resistance

Writing in the box,

drinking a lemon

zinger, finding my

self particularly

boring right now.

          Horses puked.

Nick’s back.  He

brought lots of

goodies.        I

find myself

soberly drawn

to rhyme, a

new addition

to my attraction

to rhythm, my

north, my end

less jungle,

          Your hands are

          like dicks

and their motivation

to commit (to be

committed).  To

go on (and on).

To concentrate

on it.  To culti

vate it.  The

going of on.

mcmlxviii

Ugh, the ominous. 

Trainwreck.

The next one will be

the last resistance.

mcmlxvii (the year i was born)

I’m sorry, it’s not okay,

everything is not okay.  I am not fine.  Sorry.
And maybe that’s not okay.  Maybe that’s a
problem, it’s a problem for me to not be fine.
This being not okay.  Or maybe it’s just fine.
This being not fine, not okay.  This being a
problem.

What I keep hearing out the living room
window mornings of late is the lumberyard
about a half mile or so away from where I
grew up.  Which, when things were quiet,
when, say, classes were in session at the
elementary school one block east of the
backyard swingset, and no Fort Chaffee 

artillery drills (which would often transpire
near Potato Hill, which rose from
a slight haze [light blue-ly]—like
one-half of a modest bustierre—about
a mile south of the backyard garden)
were audible from anywhere in the
backyard, say down by the grape arbor
near the apple and peach trees (three
apple and one peach, like the four
of us: three boys and a girl), a
morning-to-early-evening
repetition of an elongated
buzz (fifteen seconds or so)
followed by the methodical
Thud .. Thud .. Thud ..
the muffled staccato
of the fresh boards—
Paul Bunyan’s toothpicks—
being stacked .. stacked .. stacked.

It’s done .. I’m sorry .. I am not okay ..

mcmlxvi

my exuberance is reduced to uberance (self-help dialog #1 & only)

too self-revealing.  too sure of myself sounding.  having a
really nice time with conflict.  joke too much about loving
conflict.  use the word engagement way too much.  too
serious about it.  too loud.  too overwhelming to people
who don’t feel the same way i do about conflict.  entirely
too unclear to anyone about how i actually feel about
conflict, resolution, friendship and passionate debate
(should use the word passionate more and the word
heated less ... ... or should i?).

maybe in the end i am just really lousy at this.  in
which case how fortunate.  now.  this newfound
wherewithal.  that it may be ME screwing every
thing up, ME zonko, ME so consumed that i
cannot step away to see the ‘real picture.’
because i’m in the way. because not only
am i obstructing the view, but i am the
dead center of all that has been, to my
consumed mind, unjust, incorrect, prob
lematizing, THE PROBLEM.

i think i can finish with an articulation
of the hopeful. without knowing or
understanding how to do
so without eviscerating.

okay.
hope.

mcmlxv

I totally get
how the photographer
sees his life
quickly passing
right in front of his
eyes.

         After which
we get up and
start walking.
Anywhere.

Union Street
--> Jamba Juice.
Down Geary.
Turn right Hyde
(indeed!). Turn
left Union. Stop
at lots of furniture.
Turn left Fillmore.

Walk through a
maze of photographs
at Aunt Bob’s –
KEEP WALKING.

mcmlxiv

We got real rich
after dinner. Passed
out early.

mcmlxiii

The Italian Stallion

Safeway on Church
for tag-team dinner.

He makes Medi-
terranean chicken

and I make
carbonara.  And

it says here
(a reminder?)

“bacon for the
movie tomorrow”

—I feel sick.
Boy,

I don’t feel
so good today.

mcmlxii

Southern Hospitality

There was a girl
in undergrad her
name (I swear)
was Lucia Brain.

If I knew her that
well, I guess I
wouldn’t be
writing this.

mcmlxi

Where once...

picking up a few
movies in Chinatown.

Shampoo,
watch some dumb

martial arts flick
(I should say),

Sunday. Up
with lipstick-covered

teeth. Asking
how to get to

Sausalito.
It’s in Houston,

darling
(with a Southern

accent)! Follow
quickly with

messy bath,
losing brain

halfway
there.

mcmlx

     But one should be aware that some people are delusional
without being unhappy.
                                                                     —Lyn Hejinian

     I’d say many are.  I’d say also that 

I went to the museum (this afternoon)
for a thousand or so cliches.  We even
sat to enjoy them (very un-museum-
like).

     We sat like tea to enjoy a thousand
or so cliches.

     “Why is this on the floor?” he asks.
     “Because it needs to be in the kitchen,”
I say.

     After which we purchase two to three
packages of fancy folders and forge many
tiny but distinct stacks of paper and other
residues in each and every room of the
apartment for the rest of the afternoon.

     (and evening)

mcmlix

The endless poem was a phrase that I found early in my career. As
a concept, it offers many possibilities.
                                                                        —Rachel Blau DuPlessis

My new mantra: This is going to take a little bit longer than I originally
anticipated. And that’s okay. I pray not to be a troll developing something
like Lord of the Rings. Something so consumed of itself. And yet. Well,
it’s a ridiculous prayer. Perhaps as ridiculous as prayer itself. But life’s
follies, its absurdities, and its poignancies are all of the same set, pretty
much, are they not?

Hey, Ron, I love your title: Senior Specialty Liaison – and I love this sentence
that I just read about Ke$ha: And now she fills a tub with oil and her glitter 

guru, named Santa, makes sure she sparkles at all times.

Pick someone and make them your project (to keep your sanity
somewhat intact).

I haven’t run on grass in so long I forgot how squishy it is.
                     —spoken by the character Brian in an episode of The New Normal

mcmlviii

Net Gain

I say aloud to everything
call me your chief fool
and I’m done
             —Eileen Myles

The kind of guy I am, I
believe, is the one who
looks back nostalgically
to times which were
perhaps the roughest
and remembers fondly.
What wonderful mo
ments educational
what a beautiful
apartment I lived
in and it was only
900 dollars rent
and within walk
ing distance of
the Toledo Mu
seum of Art, for
example.  Not
the tears for
weeks at a time
crunched down
in the corner of
a very long and
beautiful hallway.
And thus it is, gene
rically, with regard
to the gerbil village
comment, our lady
of red wine having
no idea we were a
gay couple.  Or
knowing and
finally therefore
inebriated enough
for such a low jab.

Anyone
can be beautiful
at 19 or 30.  This
is life.  Take a deep
look.
        —Eileen Myles

mcmlvii

It’s Fabulous What The Gays Can Teach The World

     It occurred to me on Geary Street.
     We all smell like robots.
                                    —Ron Palmer

Today’s Washington Post headline: Republicans
rediscover tolerance. But on the phone I learn
that the most popular charm is the Charm of
Precision. None of which has any poignance
(whatsoever!) around the time one discovers
one has been turned down for medical insurance.
Around the time when I get the envelope from
Blue Shield notifying me that I have been
REFUSED MEDICAL INSURANCE
DUE TO PRE-EXISTING CONDITIONS.

So you try to let it out—somewhat—to “vent”
as in to verbalize in a probably louder
than normal voice with a skin tone that
is probably a bit more flushed than during
‘normal conversations’—to the ones you
love or care about or at least to the ones
who will generally or with some predict-
ability act as if they are listening and
as if they know who you are and as if
they could (possibly or potentially)
get concerned with whatever it is
that you are heaving at them so
spastically, so illogically, so
emotionally.

Morning reading after a whining
gets up for work. Get up to go to
work, whinnying. How come fire
is so liquid-like? The fire is
roiling. The roiling ocean.
If I can’t read the words
on the page. If I can’t
remember to tell you
about the words on
the page what is
actually lost?

mcmlvi

I Don’t Like It

Today’s lesson in toilet
plumbing.

mcmlv

Today’s list,
which I shall
defeat like the
plague, is rep
lete with typ
os. We must
however face
facts. The o
dds are stack
ed. Against us.
All I’m saying
is that even if
my memory p
roves tasteles
s, I’ll still be h
ere tomorrow
with the pen
guins & xmas
trees, listenin’
to glitch mob
& crossing &
recrossing (
w/green &
sometimes
purple ink).

mcmliv

But now I’ve said enough.

Contrary to popular belief,
I do not want to die young.

And now for the arrival of
Sally Mayonnaise (with

kudos—and apologies—
to Sally Mayonnaise). And

you thought your day was
getting creepier. This has

got to share more than just a
few similarities with French

kissing a mountain lion.
Otto says I’m still in a

dollop. Maybe that’s it.
I’m not saying it’s a problem,

especially considering
my current view of the

city from the place I
call home (in my very

own world). While
the first thing I do

with any machine
or program or what-

ever that has the option
is turn off the auto-correct,

I recommend that, especially
if you correspond with me

on any basis, you check
every box available;

keep that sucker going
full grammatical, even.

Because you are always
much funnier than I am.

mcmliii

I’m here at the scene of the crime
taking pictures, as always. I live
in a world where it takes sixteen
hours to make a turkey sandwich.
But it’s an okay place to live. Really.

Sorry about the bad breath but I had
to wake up at some point. It’s just
too bad I had to wake up laughing,
I suppose. Anyway. So I change the
subject. In the world where I live

there are many, many games of
Bingo. I play some of them. When
I open the blinds and look out onto
the world where I live, it sometimes
looks like it has been raining when

it’s really just a sheen of sweat the
city is wearing. This night sweat is
the sweat of joy from living the won-
der of everything that transpires
during the mostly silent mystery

that is the night. Here in my world.
And while I’ll admit that I love a
rainy night, every once in a while
nothing beats an anxious, sweaty,
terribly dehydrated night. Or

early morning, for that matter.
Right here in my gorgeous city,
on top of my heartrendingly
beautiful, beautiful world.

mcmlii

Can you please bear with me for just a little bit?

At least you didn’t wake up singing McCavity (from
Cats, which is a musical from the 1980s). No. You
woke up working on the New York Project. On the
“type treatment,” you remind me (to which I reply

“What type of treatment?” even though I under-
stand that you are referencing typography; I
even remember the name of the font which
I most preferred [Aldo].).... Except.  Sorry,

I can’t help myself. Now I’m mischievously
skewing our conversation (the actual conversation,
not the one not taking place right this very moment
but the one taking place as it is transpiring). And

I get it. Your blank look that so clearly conveys
how I’m not that funny. Oh dear(!). And Oh,well....

mcmli

       “Here’s a quote by Will Ferrell.”

       “Hold on, hold on!”

       “Nono. It’s just words.”
                                  —an actual conversation

Nor do they explain the caption under a picture
of a woman and child right here on CNN.com (I
think it’s Christina Hendricks from Mad Men?)
which says: “Parenting a child with no future” ....

[Meanwhile, back at the Ponderosa...] I’ve been
reading Denny Smith, which I’ve discovered is
the perfect little tome to keep on top of the
toilet tank. Hoping this is taken as a

compliment, by Bob anyway, I stretch my mind
back to the most glorious of all thrones, the one
in my grandmother’s west bathroom (the one
with the sliding door – her bathroom), with its

Readers Digests and its Country Livings and
(I remain pretty sure but never 100% certain
on this one) its Cosmopolitans. And, OMG,
how I woke up writing poetry this morning.

mcml

Of note: Benny Benassi’s album
Electroman (Deluxe Version)
was released the day before
my 44th birthday.

Here I was, on the perfect
morning for a fire truck,
eating pumpkin seeds.
Which I’ve already

explained twice.
I give people
head colds
for a living.

That’s just
what I do.

mcmxlix

To Ward Off Evil Spirits and Fantastic Sneezes

But you don’t believe me.

mcmxlviii

It’s exasperating to be involved with an overenthusiastic person.
                                                             —Robert Glück

I woke up this morning with Gino Vanelli
and other not-so-obscure 80’s references.

I guess being tagged at Hooters explains
the look on her face. But when I knocked

on the bathroom door this morning and
told you I was going to see if I could still

multi-task, I was focusing generally (and
with conviction) on career. Also of note:

I woke up laughing. Even this did not
phase you much (8:51am) because u r

a SUPERHERO learning how to use his
protective shield. You have such

amazing powers, to be sure. Not enough
to separate (to dis-entwine?) erotic

from esoteric. But the brand new day 

bursts into song. Because I still believe.

mcmxlvii

and part of me is pissed at you
for having little faith in me

He was thinking but I’ve got
double peanut power!! and
the stuffed monkey was
lounging in the shade.
At this late hour.

I do often wish things
were as clear-cut as
when the femme-bots
took over the world.
But conflict and its
complexity....

Would you like to
review and correct
those conflicts now?

I certainly would.

mcmxlvi

then I took a nap

it might have been a
long one. felt better?
like a few years,
maybe.

then we walked
up the wharf,
had fish & chips,
& a butterfinger
ice cream waffle
cone. & then

played air hockey.

mcmxlv

When I Don't Need to Be

OK. So I’ve done a lot
of nothing. 14 months
in a house made of pee.
Wanting instead for a

call. Or anysuch. I
write. Malicious
sonnets? There-
fore, a hello. I

think I might have
mentioned. They
are nerdy by de-
sign. A burned-

up cover. Bummed
a nice weekend off
some dragon. As
I got really splendid

I remember starting
to have a good time.
Stating: Good time.
Out of a nervous...

what? Oh. Woke up
not remembering.
Stayed in bed most
of the day humming.

Which was great.
And is. I think.
But you could just
ask him. Talk a-

bout out of it.

mcmxliv

Office Office Office Office Office.

“I’m proud of you” I hear
and turn around a hurricane
that tears off New Orleans

busy sensationalism here
amidst horrible Alzheimer’s
shouting “I love this job!”

and apparently I do
but this afternoon
I’d like to fall asleep

on the flu or most of a
12-week paycheck
which makes me wonder

who’s being flashy
(or fishy) I doubt it
or September

here in this chair
sticking medical
insurance into a

cookie jar
which we share
like our thoughts

on natural disasters
and it means
something

apparently
for maybe a
couple thousand

mcmxliii

Goodbye, Please (I Am Going to Miss You)

     The cure for love is more love
                 —Julian Talamentez Brolaski

Green beans, sausage, pasta shells, shrimp,
mushrooms. Drinking perhaps three liters of
water a day. Suddenly sleepy. Still impressed
with the rain. If it can be called that (a hard,
San Francisco rain). Sitting catty-corner to

a relatively cute neighbor, only I meant to say
“new” (not “cute”) but is he? I guess I was
too busy writing poems via instant message to
all of my friends (I have several) and being in
love.

Like I love the clouds Otto painted in our
bedroom nearly nine years ago. Like I love
Coco, and the drizzle (a much better word
for it, I am thinking) and the comfort of
the company of good friends. In our
apartment. Where it’s not so very
cloudy, today.

The laundry is half-folded. And now,
thanks to my breaking the bedroom
window (which, despite the accusa-

tions, was a freak accident and not 

my fault), forcing us to move things

around a little during its replacement,
I have a new secret cubbyhole for
books that I love (and/or am current-
ly reading), right here next to the bed.
Under blue, partly cloudy skies.

mcmxlii

Just when I’m feeling my worst,
Coco pukes on the carpet. Right
in the middle of the entrance hall-
way. But seriously, I’m not really
at my worst. I’m okay. I’ve got
love, a dripping upward kind of
love. One with a warm fire above
and a cool, deep water below. So,

basically, I do nothing. I post
a twentieth poem for the whole
world to see. I use Roman
numerals. XX. I have a guy
who doesn’t have to work at
Banana Republic, even though
they really want him there.

Instead, he paints fire and
water with drips from his
heart, which somehow
float upwards and are
always just above us.
While we sleep, any-
way. Where love is.

Love is unimaginable
words which intend
only to conjure very
specific individual
colors. In my heart.
In your head. For
our eyes (which can
all four see that color,
even without its pre-
sence) and in our
dreams.

What is a very
specific, individual
color which at present
only exists in my
head? And in
your heart?

mcmxli

As a reminder: The truly ugly can be revered as hero.
By me. It’s better not to forget. And by ugly I mean
on the inside. Which is nevertheless just as subjective
as the use of the same word in reference to outward
appearance. So have I gone anywhere in these first
lines? Thus far? Three pages into a new book and
five minutes of relearning how to make words with
something that isn’t held in my right hand. I could
have been doing laundry.

Making such a (re)discovery is depressing (duh!). Not
just the realization that I’m wasting my time, but
also or especially that moment when provided with
certain evidence which knocks ‘my hero’ (ergo also
ME) down a few notches. What’s lost? Or what
was ever gained in the first place? How to adjust?
How do we adjust? How do you adjust?

But anyway, who needs to be depressed? Let today
wash such things away. Fast forward to the turn of
the page, rendering timelessness. To events nearly
eight years in one direction or the other (another).
To Lemon Zinger. To V-8. To heating leftovers
for lunch at 2:00pm, now 3:20pm, still tasting
the delicious [adjective, adjective] shrimp....

mcmxl

And What Did I Purchase?

Taylor’s new book

Julian’s Advice for Lovers

Bob’s Jack the Modernist

Jack Collom’s Second Nature

Renee Gladman’s The Activist

Joseph Ceravolo’s collected

Juliana’s Well Then There Now

a new issue of Shiny

Yedda’s Darkness

                               and...

Snowflake / different streets by Eileen Myles

mcmxxxix

At work. Monday. Start of week 4.
Soul food on Fillmore, then off to meet
the adorable Bucket Vancouver. Have
I got it right? All down pat with the pet?

But what happened Saturday? What did
I do on Saturday...?
Jogging along the Embarcadero to
Mission Bay. It feels like a movie.

Not how a movie feels, silly! Foggy.
Beautiful. Later, take nap. Wake up
grumpy. 3rd big fight we’ve snapped
into, tense evenings these last few

weeks. Stress. Breakdown. Retract.
But we got okay. I took us out for a
stroll (ever the [revisionist] hero),
Walgreen’s, dinner at David’s, up

to City Lights to spend my $50
gift certificate I got for working
for 5 years in San Francisco.

mcmxxxviii

Ah, sorry, I’ve accidentally broken your culture.
                                                          —Alice Notley

How long do you think it takes to read a
book? It takes me? To read this book?

She doesn’t care. She cares she answers
with a series of purrs. The jets do not

scream. The tour is starting down the
hill. “We’ll talk a little bit about our

farming practices,” says the tour guide.
Etc. I’m a little nervous. About tonight’s

SHAMPOO 5th Anniversary Celebration
and Reading. My mind a-daze from my

third week on the thirty-second floor. The
elevator drops. The elevator lands with a

thud. I step out of the elevator. I am in
step. I am on top of things. The dashing

lead, the man who has raced to the ends
of the earth for his dame, arrives early
at the premiere with his lover, Pierre.