mmmmcclxx

Hippity Hoppity

when is easter this year?
i’m not sure why i ask. i’m
certainly not in the market
for a new bonnet. nor will

i attend a service of any sort.
although anything is possible.
no, i suppose i’m just nostalgic
for spring, which is silly for a

couple of reasons. one, it has
already sprung, officially, yes
terday. and two, for nearly
twenty-four years now i’ve

lived in a city where there are
no significant calendar-associative
weather changes at all. boiled
eggs, the shells of which have

been plopped into dye, along
with big white chocolate bunnies
can have me harboring warm
associative thoughts, as well,

i suppose. or maybe it’s peter
the personified bunny, a rabbit
among a bevy of bouncing bunnies
with human-like characteristics.

and then i remember watership
down. a book i read almost as
many times as the first few
chronicles of narnia. of course

the most prominent reason
for all of this blabbity-blab
about bunnies and perverted
holidays – i’ve either way too

much free time on my hands
thinking about such hullaballoo
or else i’m doing an awfully
great job at procrastinating.

Hotbox Hangdog

mmmmcclxix

Payment Postponement

there is an art to it. a
bureaucratic time-suck
that might be laid out
with charts and graphs

and medical diagnoses
and, oh, those institutions
whose purpose, it is pro
claimed, would have you

rising back above it all in no
time flat from this unexpected
set of perpetual curveballs
thrown all major league style

and with such precision and
regularity directly at your nuts.

Pecan Pralines

mmmmcclxviii

Error Emergency

i’m not fragile. i don’t like to think of myself as
fragile. i think i’m most often not very fragile.
i suppose that sometimes i can be, every once
in a while, historically. it has happened. just
not very often. i don’t like to think i am ever
fragile because help is something i was led to
believe (in a skewed manner, but with unrelent
ing intensity) was somehow unmanly, which
is bad, was something that would reduce my
independence, independence being one of
the virtues of all virtues, all-important. and
there were lessons, it was perhaps a very
foundation of my education, i think. it
taught me how to avoid being emasculated,
a word in which the whole problem is, here i go,
encapsulated. i’m less fragile than almost anyone
i’ve ever known. that was a brag. i’m not perfect,
of course. name some things that are wrong with me.

mmmmcclxvii

Ultra Unbearable

like a lot of life,
right? choir practice
in undergrad used to be
a wonderful way to pass
the time between what
we thought was the
important stuff.

on our nature walk on
one particular day the
cattails were weird, but so
pretty – their normally brown
fuzzy tops curled into the shapes
of tiny umbrella handles. they
were purple, i think.

purple is a color i often get confused.
i’m not color blind or anything, but i
do confess i wind up staring at whatever
it is and mouthing all sorts of things.
like violet, aquamarine, magenta,
fuchsia, spindrift, amber, umber,
and other colors the hues of
which i cannot seem to
clarify in my head at
ordinary moments.

purple is my 

favorite color.

but college choir tour,
springtime of 1988,
the first year i was
ever in love: one rainy
night in magnolia, arkansas,

i held the umbrella for both of us.
i had actually packed an umbrella.
imagine that, me the responsible one.
walking from the methodist church where
we had just performed to each of our respective
sponsors’ homes for the night. ours that
night turned out to be a funeral home.
the place was huge and we were
giddy and felt the
embodiment of romantic,
scouring the dozens of rooms
for caskets that weren’t empty,
imagining the shag carpets
between the twin beds were
pathways through lavender
gardens in gothic cemeteries 

where we could
get lost and miss
the morning bus.
surely nobody’d miss us.
and even if they did, they’d
never find us, the tall aromatic stalks
twice our height and then some.

mmmmcclxvi

Yuma Yowl

     Childhood living
     Is easy to do
     The things you wanted
     I bought them for you
                   —from “Wild Horses,” by The Rolling Stones

“hey, pioneer!”
was the hiss &
i was pissed.
my gun’s a
ghost, the
sheriff’s
toast
& wild
horses
couldn’t
drag me away
from this hellhole.
this badge is just a
couple of melted shotgun
slugs and we go way back.
i traded a revolver for this here
holster and a couple of these
dinged up posters. i know
you’re all shot up, but
you look good, man.
you’d be roiled with
worms and a fathom
down into the depths
of the quickest
swamp and
you’d still 

bring
back a
demon’s
heartbeat.
and you had
to go and lock your
hawk’s aim targeting
the stuttered hiccoughing
rhythm of mine.

mmmmcclxv

Scoop Swoop

or how an open book
gets so paradoxically
overlooked. well. you
might kindly excuse me

for having yet to step up
to today, but i rarely find
an ounce of intrigue in
loudmouths. so if this

conversation begins
with how many hits
do you get? then i am
already too old school

to participate. what
is intrigue after
all, but something
mysterious, as of yet

unknown that one
might possibly, and
with a curious thirst,
uncover. that’s

where i stand on
this subject. sure,
this might be a dated
stance, too out of

fashion for most of
us. but yet I have to
ask: who on earth do
you think i am, anyway?

mmmmcclxiv

Blueberry Boombox

skimming the screen
i scroll slowly over

an image of the
world’s largest
blueberry. it’s a
world record. and i
see it there, plopped
upon i can’t remember,
something that would
show a viewer that, yes,
that’s one behemoth
of a blueberry; a
blueberry behemoth.
but who gets the
world record, the
blueberry or the
fruit forager who
found it? and is
there incentive
beyond just being
listed in a guinness
record list? i look
again, quickly,
before continuing
my scroll toward
some juicy and
as-yet-unknown
treasure, that
will what?
suspend my
scrolling for
longer than a
merely negligible
duration of my day,
wondering more
than anything
where the actual
biggest blueberry
on the planet might
currently be hiding
out, and what
it might take
for me to
divert my
current life
path in order
to find that
monster,
so that my
name might
be, for some
shorter or longer
period of time,
publicly linked
to that blue 

freak of a fruit.

mmmmcclxiii

Xeroxed X’s

i tried to take
a picture of my
heart. we have
the technology.
and i should
know.

mmmmcclxii

Flea Frow

it wasn’t something
he wanted to get
away with. the
concertgoers
en masse were
an enormous
living breathing
etc.  two bald guys
on their way to

the restroom
bonked into each
other, knew one
another instantly.
after the bonfire
all hell broke
loose. we all
put up our dukes,
readying like bank
robbers for that
big investment.
people teamed up
based on t-shirt
color, hues
skewed by
the starless
night
and the
fire’s remains.
which were but 

the dull embers left
once the angst-ridden
dragon had what was
left of its blazing wings

(having just been clipped)

pinned deeply into the surface 

of the overburnt earth.

mmmmcclxi

World What

not sure about you,
but i happen to live
here. are your hobbies
boring? if i’ve said it
once, i’ve said it a
million times, you
navigate and i’ll
paddle. some
times the best
way to clean
things up is
to first get
as dirty as
you can.
but my
goal isn’t
to be the last
person standing.
who’d come to the
after-party? how
dull would that
parade be?
so. anyway.
what do
you do
for fun?

mmmmcclx

Kenneth’s Kin

kenneth
kimbrough’s
closest kin,
that is, his
numerous
siblings,
included
the following
lady kimbroughs:

persephone
(goes by pursie)

cassandra, who
makes a rootin-
tootin casserole

medea, the doctor,
whose surgeries
always seem
to involve the
medulla oblongata

lizzie, birth name
lysistrata, cuz
dad had had a
humdinger of a
penchant for
aristophanes

renata, who’d
grown from the
spindliest of the
litter to the hottest
gal in all of nebraska

melea, who seems
like such a shy gal
only it is really just 

an intense and general
disinterest that has
her often come across
in such a way

corrina and cornea
are the twins 

and while their 

pops knew
ancient literature
inside and out, he
was anatomically
clueless, and so
one of the twins
who also happened
to have a pair of eyes
that looked consistently
in opposite directions
was bullied from
adolescence to
graduation (yet

thanks to intense
twinly competition,
cornea fortuitously
graduated class
valedictorian, much
to corrina’s chagrin)

mmmmcclix

Jigsaw Jelly

the only hint the
quake had hit
was how the telly
wriggled just a wee
from back to forth
for a few secs with
msnbc on the screen,
an interview of quite
serious import. it
hadn’t seemed like
much but the place
they called home was
replete with pipes
corroded with such
rust that kerblooey!
must have went one
and then the whole
place got very smelly
in the least appetizing
way you might imagine
when the plot goes pop
in such a telling way.
ruth stood up and set
out to deduce the source
of the smelly, thinking
it had to be thattaway.
eve sat still on the cold
hard couch and switched
the channel on the telly
to anderson cooper. enid
seemed not to have noticed
a thing as she continued her
loud and off-key rendition of
lily of the valley in the back
room with the walls of green
(the shade of kelly) adorned
in such a way that one might
surely call shelly (for ruth, it
turns out, had an unruly in
fatuation with mollusks and
would collect them madly
ever since arriving from
new delhi; eve would take
the shelly heaps and pin
each one by one upon
the kelly green walls
in such a juvenile-y
way that one might
think she’d spent her
early years in cellie).
eve had switched
the telly to an episode
of happy days which
almost exclusively
featured fonz, the
fonzerelli. despite
the fact that the
original smelly had
gotten significantly
smellier. ruth was
back, but in the
kitchen making a
sandwich of peanut
butter and grape jelly.
in no time flat enid and
ruth joined eve upon
the cold and hard sofa
to watch the rest of
the sitcom featuring
arthur herbert fonzarelli.

mmmmcclviii

Railroad (Re)Route

the view was verdant,
the template of a
picturesque spring

at this end of the
desert; arboreal,
triumphant giant

redwoods would
occasionally align
with the slow-going

train. the trip thus
far had been sheer
perfection. it was

only the first day
of a nine-day trip.
arlo conked out

quite quickly in
his sleeper car
after dusk, just

before the loco
motive coasted
its way into the

arid and butted
portion of the
legendary trek,

chug-chugging
a white noise
that along with

the natural
gentle swoop
and sway of the

car of the train
nudged him into
such a deep sleep

in which, remark
ably, there would
emit from his

sleeping body
no discernible
esophageal

abrasions for
the entire night.
it was a rarity,

this rockabye baby
for arlo in that snug
sleeper. until around

six in the morning
local when he arose,
still with a rare ease

of breath. and then
came the twist of the
neck so as to catch a

glimpse of what he
assumed would be
more gorgeous. only.

the desolation. had
such a powerfully
draining impact on

his being that within
a minute he was
silently weeping.

he could not take
his eyes off the
sun-swept land

scape, and in
another minute
or so he was

sobbing violently.
rough asynchronous
gasps such that the

man had never
known. and the
feeling. the empty.

the entirety of his
focus remained
locked on the

vista as it slowly
moved from left
to right, and he

began to feel the
heat that he knew
would be nothing

compared with the
scorching that this 

hellish landscape must

surely be experiencing.
the depravity would
crescendo in such a

manner until mid-
afternoon. the heat
rose until he was

sweating so profusely.
and not one cart of
service would arrive

for the duration of
the devastating and
life-draining day in

which he could not
budge from the same
spot he had awoken,

staring out as far as
his eyes could make
out anything, which

seemed by the end
of the afternoon to
be lakes of molten

rock, mesas glowing
as if by nuclear rad
iation. at some point

was reached a limit.
by simple virtue of
what his eyes had

been taking in for
those several hours,
the feeling of loneliness

and impending death
or worse got to him.
and the heat. so that

by dusk of this horrendous
leg of the legendary train
trek through this most

austere and revered
country, the land he
loved in the country

in which he had always
lived, knocked him un
conscious. he was spent.

this had not been what
he had expected. he
awoke the next day

to warily glare out of 

that same window a river 

the train ran alongside

all morning in which
fish were flopping,
nature was replete,

beavers were damming,
frogs were leaping from
lily pad to overhung branch 

and back again, the occa

sional snake slithered for a 

while with its nose at 

the surface. breakfast

arrived and was
delicious. arlo,

however, was a
million light years
from the joy he

had experienced
on the first day of
the trip, when he

was but a rookie.
how would he
deal with this,

he kept wondering
all day, and the next
and the next. it was

all that mattered
to him. his life had
been irrevocably

twisted into the gloom
of a new purpose, an
overwhelming desire,

to do what? there
could surely be no…
remedy...for that into

which his very soul
had been immersed
for that one eternal day.

mmmmcclvii

Queen Quickly

girlfriend

how

mmmmcclvi

Inkblot Interior

is a bit similar to an
interior monologue
that is more of a
psychological test
in which the interior
of your skull is wall
papered with Ror
schach inkblots that
are decorative and
otherwise perfectly
impractical. except
if you could see how
lovely it is in here.
as i stare at these
beautiful abstract
designs draped
along the walls
of my interior,
i find that the
splotches, rather
than pull the un
developed ramb
ling ditherings
about in my
head not to
ward a notion
of what might
really be going
on within the
depths of my
mind, but instead
keep things open,
distracted from the
less abstract goings-
on that can diminish
or relinquish my focus
from where it needs to
be in order to get me
from where i am in
this droll exterior
world in which i float
about to wherever
it is that i am per
haps attempting
or wanting or
needing to be.
but then the prob
lem becomes rem
embering where that
is or might be, or
even finding a hint
about a general
direction. currently
i’m looking up,
at a supposed
ceiling, for any bit
of light that might
emit as if toward
me from those
heights. the
feeling this gives
is that of a man
trapped in a se
wer desperately
looking for a man
hole cover, anything
such from which i
might escape these
hellish depths. what
lovely wallpaper! it
keeps me on my toes
and has me going
places no one,
not even i, might
possibly know.

mmmmcclv

Vim, Vigor

these are strange times.
anything you say or do
might turn you into an
enemy, put you in dan
ger. the state of our
union ain’t that great,
as far as i can see.
but when you’re
way over and
into the pasture
on the idealist side
of the fence, it’s a
bit of a relief to see
that a man nearly
twice your age can
hold his own in what
one might call the
traditional court
of law. i’ll take
even an ounce
of that feisty
for myself,
if you don’t
mind. if you
find those
words to be
fighting words,
then perhaps you’d
best reign yourself
and your herd of
bullying elephants
in just a smidge,
else this pacifist
might be ready
for a knock-down
drag-out good old
fashioned fight.
i hope not.
but i still
feel it
right to
say.
just
in case.

mmmmccliv

Ohio Out

is a mood piece,
let’s say. geo
metrically it’s
a sagging ark
ansas. but,
hey, i’ve bad
mouthed geo
metry for dec
ades. i got a
post-graduate
degree in the
upper left cor
ner. the parch
ment was like
the frozen cov
er of earth the
frosty wind sw
ept over six
months out of
each year in
that desolation
—and there
were five.
don’t ask me
how i made it
out alive as i
barely remem
ber. but boy,
i packed that
car without a
heater full of
everything i
decided to
keep – a
bunch of
no good
stuff i’d
finally lose
the rest of
two coasts
and down
the road a
few years
later. my
face got
brighter, i’d
dare say, the
further away i
got from that
unbeveled and
bedeviled tun
dra. behind
a leathern
wheel i
skated out
to colder
climes i did.
with a hot
heart and
a harder
happiness
than i’d ev
er seen in
that most
godforsa
ken state.

mmmmccliii

Googling Gatekeepers

I was barely warned of these
etymological tectonics just

yesterday. To our horror,
someone had shot a llama

from a cannon. Up through
the biosphere it went, the

warbling llama. What else
is there to do when sweaters

have a distinct downturn in
the trend-o-sphere and

spittoons are no longer a
dime a dozen? These are

the things that will keep us
up at night for the rest of the

year. Stay tuned next week
for a new generation gap.

mmmmcclii

Libido Limbo

“I don’t make these things,
I just sell them.” “On

commission?!” Theodore
was already glum enough

before Skyler showed.
“I have to go,” said Skyler,

as if on cue. Theo wasn’t
much for goodbyes. The

day dimmed as if into the
depths of a bleak mythical

labyrinth. While Theo’s
soul dripped from his

very being into the
darkest cavern of

Purgatory, Skyler,
already several blocks

from his love’s shoppe,
was so overwhelmed

with desire that he
stopped dead in his

tracks, unable to
budge for what

might have been
an eternity.

mmmmccli

Define Deranged

Rod Serling’s This is the dimension of the
imagination has in the reality of today

presented a dish of tartare, which can be
any number of things depending on when

and where you discover it, from where you are

looking at it, whether or not you are going 

to have the opportunity to eat it, whether you
even want to, or under what circumstances

you will or won’t be shoveling it into your
own digestive system, who pays for it, if

anyone, the setting, your age, your experi
ence with ingesting raw meat, should you

have had any up to this point, etc., and whe
ther or not you are listening to political

commentary at the time, what we might have
called news at some point previous, while

ruminating over such potentially nausea
ting and/or appetizing topics.  Are you the

master of your domain?  Whose domain, if
any, do you master?  Does multi-tasking

make you feel like a special master or a
target inundated by rubber-dipped (prac

tice) ordnance?  Is this a story of war games
or good taste or both?  Would you have any

better topics rolling around in your head if for
four out of the five past weekends you’d found

yourself ambulanced to then lying flat on a
bed in a local emergency room for no less

than twelve hours each trip? Thanks to
severe nausea and diarrhea, which you

can now predict in a fairly timely fashion
by the preceding set of burps that taste

precisely so, and the horrifying weakness
that comes in a slow enough crawl during

the process.  Yes, you can predict when it will
hit you to within a few seconds, so you now

manage to call the ambulance just in time
to throw up all over its cargo bay (and team)

once you are situated snugly inside its well.
Yes, you have known what is coming and

you are ready for it.  You are at the ready
and have learned to have a bag packed

for these things that come like clockwork.
You go ahead.  I’ll be right here.  If logic

dictates, at least.  Until about an hour
and forty five minutes from right, ahem,

excuse me...from right...ahem...hang on
just a second...from right.  This.  Moment....

mmmmccl

Tuna Tartare

“This requires
good taste.”

(Define good.
Define taste.)

(Divine taste.)
“Taste changes,”

as in over long

or short periods

of time. Or some

times, say, when 

you bite into some
thing disgusting

(“Oh, did you

ever think it

was going to
be so very

tasty?”). So

it might be

worth repeat
ing that taste

changes. Duh!
(Define ranges.)

mmmmccxlix

Atonal Amtrak

This will put you off of it.
Mired for days, like a sugar
plum in hell with diarrhea and
the croup. A man can dream,

can’t he? I say whoa to this no,
the fan blades whirring for their
1,000th consecutive day. Maybe
a memory will help when all is else

sheer swill. I pull the wool over my
peepers and I’m on a train heading
south to NYC. Gliding past a gas
station in CT some kid filling an SUV

under a mosquito’d halo lit by a halo
gen moon sees me wave, waves back.

mmmmccxlviii

The Optimist’s Remorse

Idealism is a cruel thing. To
keep a shred of it will grate 

and splinter one’s facade 

until eaten clean through

the skull, so that a so-called
optimist eternal, as those
walls are hacked at, rot and/
or corrode, the bloody soul may 

in but a blink of a moment find 

the surfaces of a once resplen
dent home infested with a
thousand glasses, each half

empty with a liquid that would
drown but always fail to quench.

mmmmccxlvii

Perhaps Among Other Things

I build this thing of how I feel and who
I was and what I do to pin down and
get within reach—perhaps among other
things—of who I am and what I want. It’s

on display (this thing), my clumsy efforts
just to see and say and hew through all
the ugly and the beauty—and the freedom,
tense with insistent constraints—of the now

(all of which pass swiftly by). And this I
do to try to know (and yet I never do) a
bit of how to live among you and remain
(and yet so publicly?) as curious and con

tent as humanly I might, while ever near
ing who I truly am and where I best will be.

mmmmccxlvi

And So Today

There is war. Lives are lost and
lives go on. Lyn Hejinian passes
away and we mourn. This, we find
out, the morning after attending a

celebration of the work of kari
edwards. Are we just one big fun
eral? Where does this go, but
directly back to me? I can’t fix

anything. Except I live. Somehow.
For now. I’ve an appointment with
my doctor to go over my lab work
this afternoon. I self-diagnose. I feel.

I say a thing or two. It goes without
saying, then, that art is not enough.

mmmmccxlv

Direct Contact Information

Scary. Helping? For payment
methods. Email or send some
thing nostalgic. Call Urology
Dept. Check other listings

for $65. 746-9720. Pick up
Maalox. Scratch that. Pick up
money order for rent. Figure
out how to lick LinkedIn. Pay

AT&T. It’s the same bill every
day. Pay Mocha. Pay Ally. Pay
CreditOne. Pay Capital One. It
goes on forever. How do I call

the doctor? Would you like it to
be different? Yes, I asked that.

mmmmccxliv

Giant Question Mark

Bill gets knocked out 2nd,
says Customer Service. I
take that to mean day after
tomorrow and, to my dis

advantage, do not investig
ate further. So much of this
tax information is gay. For
example, $250 in the land

of legal requirements. More
like the land of oxymoronic
(illegal residents?). My resi
dence is suffocating, but how

could I possibly complain?
It’s tiny. I’m ill. I suffocate.

mmmmccxliii

Comedy As Art
(Isn’t It Always?)

In what specific cases should one re
state a thing they’ve already stated,
perhaps innumerable times (Is this
art?), exactly as they’ve said it before;

verbatim? Not a question for poetry 

(Obvy). It stung as if by dart [comme
par un fléchette!] when he yelped:
Grandmaaa!! How embarrassingggg!!

Don’t you have some candy you need
to crush?! This, the butt of a joke re
layed at the end of a bit in which
those words would’ve been directed

at none other than Grandmama Hill
ary Rodham Clinton. [C’est de l’art.]

(Where to Begin?)
Art As Comedy

mmmmccxlii

Dreamscapes

Flashing on the screen like
a PowerPoint presentation
of gut-wrenching import:
$644, $185, $288, $25.

Less important things I
(hesitate to say) need: a)
new swivel chair for desk
(with armrests); b) new

desk; c) larger refrigerator;
d) an actual filing cabinet;
e) 2 dress shirts; f) dressy
shoes. Never ask for a dime

from anyone ever again.
Phone bill is due, $107.34.

Nightmares

mmmmccxli

Statistician

go through all OneDrive video
files – organize in style of my 

profile section in LinkedIn (which
needs to be radically updated

first). complete spreadsheet on
subject “Who I Am” – answer
exactly and thoroughly. Equifax,
Experian, Transunion (memorize

my numbers, including the angle
of each vector’s trajectory, the 

mean and the median, etc.). Ex

cise all guilt. Research to determine

most effective CBD:THC ratio for
anxiety/chill and vape accordingly.

Obsessive Compulsive

mmmmccxl

User Unfriendly

Knock, knock. Bear Day.
25 Live classroom sched
ule on Bear Day is very
unfriendly. Very user un

friendly. More notes. Tr
aining with Yvonne. A box
is a cloud. Slack is the cav
ernous flights/cars/hotels.

Cancellations will be excu
sed, if not extended. Wel
come travels. Do you travel?
I welcome travel. No credit

cards. $62 a day for meals.
Ground transportation only.

mmmmccxxxix

Passion

I don’t think she’s
ready to have a cat.
Just say you’re wel
come. M: I don’t

mind standing my
ground. His brother:
He does not like con
flict. Niece: difficult.

Brother: ungrateful.
Nevertheless, love
abounds (also, he’s
out of touch). Call

Mom. Text Dunder
head. Poems. Jobs.

mmmmccxxxviii

Scritch-Scratch

AIC. AIC. Hemoglobin. 10
Mar. 7.2 May. w/Adler Fri
day the 20th. Scribble and
scribble. Take 1,000 * per

day. Written for tomorrow.
Questions: a) mobility issues;
b) because of a sock; c) look
for pho; d) red spots on chest.

My mom is a redhead. Skill.
I have. Lover. Back. Oh.
Shit. Lower back. I have
lower back peen. Gained

weight [diabetes foreshad
owing]. Viagra is ok. I lost.

mmmmccxxxvii

The Hot Bod of Blog

This is my growth stage start
up: I am much less spastic than
I normally look. But I am abnormal,
running free through pastures. Is

that weird, though? All I’d ask of you
is if you existed prior to me, be less
specific, press on for more input. By 

me? By anybody, sister. These doubts 

no doubt aid delinquency. These dolts 

or maybe donuts. That either of you
could relay my new address is aspir
ational. What is happening at your

desk right now? In the world? That
we are all so very concerned about?

mmmmccxxxvi

Job Junk, Etc.

among the hodgepodge of notes,
one to do: write acrostic piece
using “finding a job can be a
challenge” – file under under

statement. at the top of the
same page, the words neuro
divergent and autistic atop the
parenthetical a subset. no idea.

to do for today: call jen at tax 

defense network. call calfresh.
pick up check. 2-2:30pm phone
interview. pick up muni pass.

deposit check. call credit one
regarding delinquency notice.

mmmmccxxxv

Enter Rude

Who needs a break? Are you looking at the tv, out the
window, at your knees or onto the darker side of your
eyelids? I met the 6th and 7th hurdles in an interminable
set of interviews this week (yes, for the same job). No

word back yet. Need to buy a new pair of dress shoes,
deodorant, some super glue, a new belt, Scotch Pads, a
new charger for my Alexa (which has me sounding like
I’m complaining a bit too loudly, I suppose), file folders,

dish liquid and laundry detergent, which I’ve used to clean
all clothes and cloth items by pail in my coffin-sized hotbox
for the past couple of years. And that isn’t as long as I’ve
refused to step into the shower here. I bathe in the sink.

It’s even too disgusting and sad to use the one toilet at
the end of the hall that, on the rare occasion, is usable.

No Coda as of Yet
(what if shrinking time makes
no room for its appearance?)

mmmmccxxxiv

Why This Does Not Count

I could. Say what you mean. This must make sense.
What would be the point if no parable could be derived
from this garbled lack. Fate lies in our hands now. “But
what about the inevitability of censorship?” says some

kid in the balcony who may or may not have raised
their hand beforehand (I’m not wearing my glasses).
I walk all the way up and hand him the textbook, which
is half theory and half fiction. And maybe a smidge of

poetry, but who’d know? “We expand the arts and the
natural sciences,” the professor says. I profess that I’m
not a firm believer in the evolution of a species, anthro
pologically speaking, of course. I mean, my feet may

seem to stand upon a firm slab of desiccated terra firma.
But how can anyone negate the facts? We’re all doomed.

The Pile of Words Dithers No Matter
Their Cumulative Geometrical Guise

mmmmccxxxiii

Valentine’s Playlist

Make one, I did. Not your trad
itional music playlist. Almost no
music at all. We can go through
and, one by one, discuss each.

Hone that list. I would like to begin
by going over the 5 x 5 questions and
answers we developed at our last meet
ing. Picture graduate school in Greece.

It’s pretty isn’t it? Erase that photo. Pur
chase a TV. I mean a tv-sized monitor
for all of the most intense chemistry and
math and geometry. Follow up on plans

since nobody goes to college anymore.
Gather in another week for 3rd brainstorm.

Valhalla

mmmmccxxxii

For Whom?

No, or, well, yes. But no. I don’t
know. But is this not a fundamental
question of what we do, those of us
who cannot help but ‘pen’ such piffle

and then audaciously put it out there
for people like you to scrutinize? To
someone with a related degree or three,
this question might seem pedantic, but

I prefer to call it basic. Connect with
Renata Blender (Spender?). Work with
Rafa to get M&Ms set up at every meeting
involving Sarah (she’s the boss and she

loves them, presumably; why would I
remember such things?). I miss this?

Get a Job
(right)