mmcclxxxi

Retroactive Overweight Sonnet

One week from yesterday
I get a paycheck. I’m
pretty broke; in need of
paying bills down and feel-

ing I can breathe easier.
But that’s pretty normal.
“Do I look as blank as I
feel?” I wonder. Please

accept this as my letter
of resignation. Hey, I just
thought of something that
might help you understand

one part of my mind.
If I think I’m dying, I
will still wake up next to
you tomorrow morning. “Oh,

the future, Dear Future!” I say
to the big orange bowl of a sky.

mmcclxxx

chicken mouth vs. onion mouth

his big problem is
he lives in fear of
being embarrassed.

home by around 10.
sick ever since. my
nose runs. i am so

boring. perhaps i
go home?      .....
next day, feeling

much better. lunch
with erin at gaylord.
i wish i were just

frolicking around
the city aimlessly.
wouldn’t it be fun?

later in the evening,
tasting indian food
from hours ago, i’m

about to trust a com
plete stranger to pick
up & fix my laptop.

mmcclxxix

less willow
more buffy
sounds beau
tiful. i roll
over & go
back to
sleep.
think
good
thoughts
as much as
they can be
thunk. the
first thing
to do is to
let perfection
go. at least a
little. why is
my heart so
healthy?
nighty
night
for
now.

mmcclxxviii

Sad Clown

Here I am,
a sad clown.

No better
way to
put it.

mmcclxxvii

That the poem is a toy
with the structure of insomnia.
                 —Norma Cole

Even as I write
I am falling asleep.
Reminders of all the
things I need to do
keep cropping up,
yet I cannot stay
awake (even as
my mood drifts
downward again).
This morning I got
some nice little
punches. And
later, lunch with
Otto at Power
Source (it says
here “next door;
was good”).
Carolyn says
Suzy has
esophageal
cancer. Terminal.
How long now
has she lived
terminally ill?
It seems a long
time. Well....
Highlights of
the weekend:
saw Match Point
by myself. Utterly

excruciating. Gym:
4.3 miles at 6.5 mph
constant. And later,
again with Otto,
we step out to
Mezzanine for 

the Matinee.

mmcclxxvi

Tonight is movie night.
We’re doing it monthly
this “semester,” so
besides the one while
Mom was here, it’s the
second movie night of
the year. Counting
everything.

A grump I am again.
What a rollercoaster.
Last night all good,
now this. Arguing
all morning over
Strawberry Banana
Odwalla. I miss
Fresh Samantha.

Later, home via cab,
what a drag I am.
Remembering Ikiru
(Kurasawa) and the
plums on top of
the seasoned rice.

mmcclxxv

The newest stuff I’ve downloaded

Then, mumbly
with Otto
doing his first
online class –
I watched
some – it’s an
art history
class which
looks fun.
Spacing out
while the data-
base repairs it-
self. Then zzz.
Today, I do feel
ever so much
better. Work
gets me down
sometimes –
it’s so droll.
But I’m ok.
I should make
better of it.
There are so
many movies
I want to see.
I have made a
big list. The
Oscar nom-
inations just
in, Brokeback
Mountain get-
ting the ex-
pected brunt.

mmcclxxiv

My early years were cold.
                   —Maureen Thorson

I might say the same,
but I grew up in
Arkansas. We had
occasional snow

(e.g., during most
every Boy Scout
camp-out in which
I participated), but

summers were
hot and humid.
I suppose what
I mean by Ms.

Thorson’s quote
is that I was a
late bloomer. I
somehow rode

my way through
school “book-
smart,” but with
no realization.

Or so it seems
from this angle.
Now? What do
I realize? Let’s

see—thank
heavens yes-
terday is done!
          —Happily

propped up
on the city
of no air
conditioning.

mmcclxxiii

He lived in the restive staccato
Of memorabilia.
                      —Maureen Thorson

I hate work.

What would
have me be
okay with work?

That’s not entirely
true. Anxious?
I’m in a pretty

lousy mood. Plus,
I want purpose
(porpoise!),

something to
devote myself
to (time & energy)

from which I can
gain reward,
triumph.

That’s a nice word.
Rain doesn’t help.
I just want my

(heart back.)
laptop fixed.
I don’t really

mind work.
I do it daily.

mmcclxxii

While Home Alone & With It Raining Heavily

Heavy rain, starting with
Friday night. Went to see
Mars Rover at the IMAX
with Yuki; one of the
strangest things I have
ever done with him, and
on that level, delightful.

(I have really missed
Otto this weekend.)

Anyway, after the
movie, we made our
way to Sparky’s
for dinner and good
conversation, then
our separate ways.
I to bed rather early
and then up early
on Saturday to
the gym—Embar-
cadero—after
Sutter Stockton
Starbucks. But
my gym was

flooded, so I
detour to the
Tenderloin Y,
run two miles.

mmcclxxi

I remember trying to figure out what it’s all about.  (Life.)
                                                                   —Joe Brainard

I learned a few things,
had a nice time this
weekend and, all-
in-all, was just
bored solid
yesterday
afternoon.

mmcclxx

Awaiting lunch.

Last night, I

danced for

3 hours with

the Comma

and his room-

mate.  The

Question Mark

was there, even

though he said

he wouldn’t be,

“Because it is

so boing!”

Right?  I

notice now

that he called

this morning

at 5:30am.  I

apparently

didn’t hear

the phone.

My lunch-

mate, Semi-

colon, says

that this is

probably

fortunate.

mmcclxix

It takes you so long to apologize

                                —Tim Dlugos

I am particularly boring

these last few years.  We

order some green stuff,

stay only a few minutes

because he’s got a dot-

com interview on Mon-

day that sounds promis-

ing.  And

Dude had a date last night. 

Then Otto and I watched

a million episodes of

Naruto

whilst eating

our din-din.  Many

episodes, four or five, I

think.  Then to bed where

I dreamed about zombies.

mmcclxviii

                                   i hold your hand

       because i thought you loved me;

       those games are better left

       for the sane.

                                —John Thomson

Do you know how I can tell

that you are very concerned?

That’s the spirit.  Enmeshed

within (or upon) your web,

I try every sticky angle.

The spirits do assess.

I am told that a goblin

once laughed a melan-

choly laugh upon (or

over) my travails.  With

tail tucked inward I heave

and weep childishly in hopes,

in heaven’s hopes, to un-

secure the spider’s hold.

mmcclxvii

Failure is the offshoot of argument—but then failure occurs too from a
               lack of it
                                                           —Lyn Hejinian

Being a media consultant
is hard work. I wake up
ready to engage. The
media are already on
my lap. I cradle and
they coo and then
I’m off to consulting.

For lunch, I eat a
can of beans and a
fresh salad (usually
Caesar’s). And then
it’s back to consulting.

Dinner comes too late,
and all too oft without
a date. I go to bed
sad and sleepless.

mmcclxvi

The Two Thieves

It seems that we’ve
stolen and stolen
from each other in such
deep and beautiful ways.

For example, I always
awaken to the most
wonderful sky filled
with white fluffy pillows.

For example, I awaken
to darkness, a resplendent
darkness because you’re
using me as your fluffy pillow.

Always on the run, often
kleptomaniacal, we glisten
over one magazine or the
other, taking snapshots in our heads.

These get developed, blown-
up, inevitably, by strange
and divergent processes that
neither quite gleans from the other.

mmcclxv

         Every time you try to write
     the truth it changes.
—Stephanie Young

and then
it was
night.


but
what
a beaut-
iful outspok-
en moon shone
clear through it.


         More happens.
           —Stephanie Young

mmcclxiv

Unbuttoned Triceratops..

or that’s what it says right
here on the last page of
writing in this undated
notebook. Clearly it’s
my writing. And it can’t
have been forever ago.

And furthermore,
that would, you’d
think, be quite the
memorable title for
a poem. What follows—
the supposed body of
the piece called “Un-
buttoned Triceratops”
—is pretty good, too.
Simply:

     Scratching two items off the list, I
     lift my arms.

Well, if I did eventually
type it up to include in
here, I could fairly eas-
ily find it behind this
page somewhere, un-
der whatever roman
numeral. But I cert-
ainly don’t remember
it. Which is too bad,
too. Because this
spoils everything.

mmcclxiii

No words here. Like I am at least
bubbling over with excitement.
That is, as I battle it out with
someone who was probably
born during the bicentennial
and whose screen name has
allusions to an early Hall &
Oates song (they, too, are
from the U.S.A.).

mmcclxii

Open your mouth say what you think you might mean
                                                     —Alli Warren

I wish. I mean I do
but the voice trans-
criber always fucks
things up. What is
that smell that just
became our apart-
ment? “Could you
drop by professionally?”
I ask. To which I get no
response. Round over.