Sunday, July 13, 2014

1:03 AM

(A Drama in Five Acts – at 140 characters each Act)

I’m spending this time now, spending it with you – and I’m sorry about that – but I have to say so I will say something, I want to spend some time just to say something to you.

This drink I am now drinking reminds me of you, of summers sunny spent past, and how there was a porch we all sat upon and said stupid things so I’m saying stupid now, true.

I always wanted to spend time with you, and I did, and now I spend time with everyone hoping that that time was well spent, spending it with everyone, always apologizing.

There are ways to say so much as such:  I could carry that for you; I can carry you; I can carry that for you but I can’t because I can’t carry anything, anything over 5lbs now.

There are things to try in red, things to call green. But everything is sweeter in time and distance and how greatly the tears might stop and how sorry, how sorry, he says.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Tombstone Idea No. 1157

Congratulations:  You're alive*.

*So place a flower next to this so I know you know you know, ya know?

Saturday, July 5, 2014

The Morning After (5th of July, 1985)

After the fun, it was
always exciting to wake
up and run outside,
collecting all the bits and butts

that lay strewn across the neighborhood concrete.

(Surely it was a way for
parents to have the little-
ones go out and clean up
after the teens on the block

destroyed vast stretches of blacktop and tar.)

I always liked surveying
the remains, the burnt-out
blisterings of a time well had,
and collecting them in plastic

bags that would wrap around my tiny wrist like a bracelet.

Years later, I would often
love surveying the remains
of a good night:  the destroyed
apartment; the body full of

burns and ache; the terrible things we do in the name of fun.

And this, this afterthought,
was always something that
I thought was fun:  seeing what
was left, both still real yet dead,

the things we brush aside, considering them useless altogether.

Fetish No. 8,912,607

Picture weeping into hands as a sexual gesture.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Potatoes & Sparklers (4th of July, 1985)

My memory, per
family tradition,
of the 4th of July
always involved

sticking sparklers
into potatoes.

There were numerous pleasures involved.

(This, of course,
was meant as
a precaution, so
not to harm our

soft little hands
so close to a fire.

We never had any need to be afraid, though.)

First, there was
the exact pleasure
of pushing the
metal stick into
the firm yet inviting

potato, a piercing that
still produces pleasure.

This was something that stuck with me.

Second, there was
the idea of sticking
something man-
made into something

flesh, of the earth
something that was.

The difference being in the level of effort involved.

Finally, the sheer
light that extended
onto the potato
itself, something

that made me see
it as something else.

Something that I never thought about, until now.

Thursday, June 19, 2014


The “fact” that I have to put “scare quotes” around much of my “vocabulary” that I “use” in “situations” that are not “relevant” to my current “situation” makes me feel extremely


And that’s all “I” have to say on the subject.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014


I’m not here
to tell a
            No. I’m not here
for this, nor for that, but this:

The standard oil building,
the holy grail, the under
and under
                    as she went
never to be told of again.

Or, again, in only whispered
tones; thinking and drinking
by ones self; down the stairs
and through the doors, always

telling stories, 
                        still moving.