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The first days of October are ordinary in the way that milk just hours away from spoiling is ordinary milk. You can baptise your cornflakes with it, but part of you knows the whole thing is just shy of almost right.
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Sometimes I think there's an octopus in my stomach. In the mornings it stretches and droops its lazy head to one side — It suctions it's tentacles to the walls of my belly and pulls them together forcing me To gag, and vomit what we didn't digest of the…
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My ride, my good friend Morning was due any minute, but of course, he/she was always late. My costume was a dog. I was stuck to another dog, in the act of passion. A stuffed one. A basset hound. I said my name was Lightning.
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Sometimes he would get up at night, go outside, and stand in the middle of their back yard.
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One day my wife got so mad at me she raked her fingernails down my face.
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We're on a bench in the park under some trees close to the carousel when she tells me I can't count on having a career as a professional gambler.
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We walk in silence. We water our plants. We don’t eat as well as we should. We try to love. We try to forget.
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In 1609 Ben Jonson was hired to write a work in celebration of the opening of a new shopping mall.
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She comes and goes,gingerly at times, or, caution tossed,a headlong rushof foam and froth.No matter, I am steadfast,keen to be immersed once morein her salty splendor.
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In praise of the colorful flock with crowns
of teased cotton candy rising high above
Modular walls, stalled operating systems
staling coffee and pale corner offices
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Your distance from me is fathomable but just barely— 10.7 billion lightyears—about as far as anything possibly could be. Far from the street where my apartment is, from joy or regret or any notion of chicken salad. My friends at Wikipedia tell me…
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Gert sat in the car and wiped at the inside of the window while the defroster blasted at full strength. The shards and slivers of ice that networked across the windshield were just thick enough to hinder visibility. Bane wrenched the door open and shoved
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The soiled concrete sings to me a symphony. /
I try to place my ear on it but a millipede /
enters my brain and consumes it: /
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Hey Mojo!Where'd you go?I didn't realize you were goneuntil I noticed I had lost the springin my step.I was knocking myself against walls.I was tripping over the dog.I was petting myself.I was alone in a roomwith no music and only a Picassopainting staring back at me.What a…
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It is a dark and stormy night, naturally
We’re trying to get some sleep
at a Travelodge in Eureka
when I get up at 3 a.m. to write
“Hard motel pillow receives snoring from neighboring room”
O Thesaurus, we need another word
Maybe it sh
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On finding out that gonads are part of the female anatomy as well.
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Ode to the Monterey PeninsulaWe love…to stand on Lovers Point in the early morning watching when the waves break how water droplets rise to form fleeting rainbows.to walk by Hawk Tower in the early evening imagining Robinson Jeffers…
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Today I tweeteda picture ofmyself holding atampon. Yes,you read that correctly. It's strangethat we still talk aboutperiods in hushed tonesisn't it? Halfthe population goes throughit every month but it's notsomething we talk about openly.You know when you…
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If luscious lips lusted for love lost, they wouldn't be mine.
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No king of Ithaca, but of each/
whining, banging, dust–clouded island/
of focused, physical work
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Years later Polyphemus still remembers the wine-soaked taste of Odysseus’s men. The barley and garlic-flavored Greeks. Their flesh a fibrous, blood-hued hummus. Their crunched bones releasing sweet marrow.
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I COULD always sleep. Go "home" now and sleep. My body and my fetus—who complain of this torture—would appreciate sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have to try to wake.
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I don’t know what happened. One day I was in her room, groping the various drawers for hidden condoms, glimpses of women’s undergarments and I found a spectacular pair of blue lace panties
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There was no logic to the thing;
he’d left to drive his girl around.
She had lived and he had died.
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OF ALL 2,000 YEARS 10 Point The city after the snow was Medieval, the thousand paths wound as browsing deer. Inside her coat what wild heart. Lethe The beads were rolled-river at her throat, milk blue on a yellow string. I…
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“You think it’s a self-castrating suicide note or a self-righteous freedom speech?”
“Probably just the ramblings of a madman, pissed he lost a company baseball game.”
“Fuckin-A, Pete! Double-murder suicide for a baseball game? Ain’t nobody that craz
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