Five Musings

1. Perusing
Alabaster halls, spatter
along the walls

2. Drawstrings
Pulled them shut
a certain curtain

3. Italiano
"Quanto tempo par una pizza?"
Don't answer. I won't understand the response

4. N/A

5. Slaughterhouse
Vonneguts curled up
in the cradle like cats

9. Stories by Salinger
I go to school but
for a different J.D.

A joint degree
A joint decree:
Smoke two of em
in the mourning

Three Gatherings

1. Penury

In the funhouse on the river
bald lizard men discussed smoke
and Russian women, whose bodies
are shaped with plastic, like dolls.

2.  Trial

The Catholic boys in the courtyard
tossed a football and ducked
their father, who kept giving them
chores about the family restaurant.

3. Joy

There was a gathering of egrets
waiting shyly out in the cold...
they knew nothing else.

Exclamation points are disingenuous

Question marks??? Not so much!

Elegy

The need to give names to these parts:

trachea, larynx, cochlea, sternum, to give

you an idea of fullness, the body not being

enough anymore, not just in the body,

not just being full of it. Being an inside

that can be turned, like a lip pulled down,

like a snail pulled out of its burrowing place,

like a burrowing place with a name, and nephew,

whose conversations emerge from the hush.

We are convinced there are treasures, further,

things to be found undoubtedly at least, diggers

only fools for picking any one spot. The non-rot

of arrowheads, a riot of artifacts. The ruthless

tracks with intestine logic; turns become paths

beyond where we were supposed to wait,

wowed by what’s sheer. Some magnitudes can only

be put in words of weight. So loss becomes heavy,

silence pregnant with the absence of what was there.

You were there. Perhaps you can feel the thickness

of your cartilage, sense a kaleidoscope of valves,

murmuring. The personal ocean hypothesis. So many

glowing orbs, they could certainly be beautiful,

in the right darkness. I’ve felt numerous. You are

more than just anything. An absence of proper places

belongs here, too. We would hold anything to let go.

Corporate Scones

grey-green eyes
hazelnut hair
Solid gold jams
pajama man

troll part II
the goblins attack
runnething over me
like goblets
of peach cobblers
cops robbers
indians cowboys
mexicans blacks and jews

Simon Says be accepting
be equality.
Simon Says be equality.
You're out

Horace Spoke

Red indeed to whose shade I turn.
Like oats out of the grasses freshly
mown with careful blades.
Yes, I said, oats. Those cereals right there!
Where you lay, I say! Expose your face to the sun
and only the naked will know your name!

The Stone-Scone Tragedy

To each his own; saying thus,
the Prince ate the Pauper's stone.
That is my own, said Prince.
That was a stone, cried the Pauper.
Twas a scone, Pauper!
Twas a stone, right proper.
Deny it or I shall slay thee, said the Prince.
Twas a stone, knave, spoke the Pauper.
The Prince slayed him
and, thinking he had a stone in him,
got a surgeon to take it out.
Turns out it was a scone.
Then the Prince died.

Midsummer daydream

Solstice, Equinox
Shining shoes like the sun
Coney Island ponies
Shetland and his cronies

Somewhat of a disjoint
the King broke his crown
gotta smooth it over
and get a new one - gold

the better to eschew with
to scold the prince
He wants to be a pauper
what an idiot

Ensconced in velvet, he'd rather
be lathered in royal soil
using an outhouse
and bathing only occasionally

To each his own, so I
Impeach his throne
and appoint Barry
Duke of North Carolina

Palindrome Assholes

iknow wonki
she said, out of the side of her mouth.

excuse me?
i said, in the same snarky tone of voice.

I know Wonki!
She said, with normal punctuation
and oh wow! straightforward bliss.

Fuck you! 
I said.

Thus Began A Beautiful Friendship

"I hate writing papers," Julie said.
"I'm quite a great writer actually," replied Cameron.
"Oh really..."
"Yes, I'm excellent. What are you excellent at?"
"Besides giving head? Not much." She blushed. "I'm sorry I was totally kidding, I just met you."
"No, that's okay. Please continue."

I have lots of dreams

Waxing- that's poetic
like Martin Luther was King
upon a proper gander
it's not propaganda

And no I won't spell check
just tell Beck odelay,
pendedor
rhododendron odor
Spicy

Mad spicy
like a chocolate chip
a chipper, a roundabout,
a cinnamon blunt

Take a hint
I don't know about wax
but ALL THINGS BEING EQUAL
I sooo do know about civil rights
Harriet Tubman

Underground Railroad
Hear my cry
I dream of fields, and jeannie

Hair and Vitamins

It's a Friday night, so naturally you'll find me going to CVS after work to buy some vitamins. Pretty stoked out high-voltage vitamins, vitamin D, calcium... I had a real freaking vitamin party at CVS pharmacy.

I also purchased some baby shampoo (for myself) and milky conditioner. During my junior and senior years at school in St. Louis, I went to this pretentious, gay-friendly (redundant?) salon. They examined my hair and said it had a bunch of wax on it. But how'd it get there? Supposedly it got there from chronic use of cheap shampoos and conditioners, which contain waxy secrets that eventually build up and cause your hair to be all dead and waxy-like. He illustrated his case by literally scraping a white substance off my hair. Then he put me in a cap and sat me under those hair-heat-lamp things that women salon-goers use. I was embarrassed but I got through it, and after I dare say my hair looked great.

I broached this conversation topic with a "brother" in SAE at the time. A totally dickhead, this guy said, "Are you talking about your hair? Are you fucking gay?" Or something like that. A real winner, that guy.

The reason I bring up this story is because whenever I buy hair products now, I am conscious -- I worry -- that they might contain waxy stuff. My gay "stylist" (not barber) said that all mass-produced products (i.e. those not bought at a salon) have wax. Although I don't usually bother making it a point to purchase my hair products at the salon (have I overused this word yet?) I still think about it and hope that the thought will propel me toward a wax-free future for my hair and all my loved ones. That is why I got the baby shampoo -- They wouldn't put waxy shit in BABY shampoo, would they??? -- and the more-expensive-than-I'd-normally-be-comfortable-with milk conditioner stuff.

Any comments regarding my well-being or shared knowledge about shampoo wax, please share. 

Barbecue

"Today is so salad,"she said.
You might think she misspoke
but I'm not so sure

"My life is a salad," I responded.
To my surprise, she laughed.
What the hell I was talking about

"Have you seen my stapler?"
she asked, but not like Milton
"It makes me feel British."

What? Pardon???
"I have not"
I retorted, dumbly.

I cant think of how such an inane conversation would end
so that's gonna be it for this one

not a mistake; a wish (about eaglets)

The eaglet chatterly sisters
are weaving with threads of dace.
Literally that means carp.
Take a step back. They aren't sisters.
In fact the name is fictional and they
aren't juvenile raptors.

The whole things was a mistake.

Getting Bi At Barnard

I have rolled the dice at Hofstra,
played cemetery tag at Carnegie Mellon
and taken shots with hipsters at Smith.

But for all the world
your pipe looks like the penis
of a Laotion I met while abroad,
who looked a bit like a hairless rodent
and equally small.

Still, I'll wrap my lips around it
anyway, as I did then, not because
I want to, but rather so I cannot
say I didn't give it a try.

Currant Events

There's actually a book with this title. It's Wikipedia description:

Currant Events is the twenty-eighth book of the Xanth series by Piers Anthony. And the first book in the second Xanth trilogy. The plot follows Clio the Muse of History as she finally leaves the mountain where she and her sisters live, to find the currant that can clarify her volume of Xanth's history.

Pretty weird. In fact it's so weird I can't really add anything to it. I was planning on making some absurdist list of events for currant berries at some unimagined fruit festival, but I no longer will. Thanks a lot Piers! That plot doesn't even sound remotely interesting.

The Busey Lot Tonight

Cold terrain and broken promises. The car
is parked nearby. I feel like a coal-repairmen
sent on high for the bituminous,
the luminous legislature, the
brunt beauty of architecture
climbing one wall, then another,
then disappearing altogether
in the night.

An Actual Fact About Mahmoud

A Tunnel Expert

Mr. Ahmadinejad began professional life as a transportation engineer with close ties to the Revolutionary Guards and an abiding interest in tunnels.

He helped found the Iranian Tunneling Association in 1998, according to the group’s Web site.

THE MAN LOVES TUNNELS. 

Jibber Jabber

Scones with currants
special events only
we call them
currants events

It's nighttime
dark day
a moon shadow
Nature's canopy

with a billion-hole punch
I knocked you out
You saw stars
and Mars

I palm your heart like a basketball
you let me drive even though
I don't know how to drive stick
Is there a manual?

my mission: transmission
but I can't get through to you
and not to be over the top but
those are my underwear

featherweight boxers
float like a butterfly
off the balcony
argh

Hearts of Palm

Those palms. They make some mean hearts.
I mean I don't mean to downplay
what we've already erected here - "an
allegory, sweetheart," he said,
making quotation marks.

But what it meant was just this:
every sweetheart dies. Eventually.

Sad Pete has a thought

I need a new heart
this old one, I’ve worn it out
in grottos of trash, banquets of sorrow;
the new ash tray in the lawn.
If you don’t understand how to move
then you just lament. Iron another t-shirt.
And we’ll relax. Just sitting here. Utter torment.
Perhaps terror. Maybe it’ll just turn out swell.
Probably not.

"My vocabulary is tropical"

she said, without a hint of irony
"Who are you, the Lorax?" I replied,
with a sprinkle of sarcasm.
"No, I'm Katie," she deadpanned.

This time there was irony
but she clearly didn't see it
missing the forest for the trees
for whom she supposedly speaks.

Not only did I think her name was Lucy,
but the twinkle in her eye made me think
that she was fucking with me. I pressed on:
"Did you know that hearts of palm are endangered?"

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, "are you serious?"
"Serious as a heart attack, Katie. And I fucking
love those things. A crucial part of any salad."
She turned away. I heard a muffled sob.

"Hey listen, there's other fun stuff you can put in there.
Artichokes, green olives...it's not the end of the world."
She turned towards me "I don't care about hearts of palm.
I didn't even believe you to begin with. That was a sneeze."

"Oh, well bless you then"
"Too late"
"What??? I retract my blessing."
"You're a jerk."
"Takes one to know one, Lucy."
"Why don't y--Hey! how'd you know my real name?"
"You're wearing a nametag."
"No, I'm not."
"Oh. Whatever, talk to you later."

I left her standing there, looking puzzled.
I, myself, was flummoxed too. But playing it down.
Wait til she finds out who we are. The royal we, that is.
We are Siamese if you please.

I'm my own twin
I share organs with myself
I have two dicks and three balls
and Lucy will be mine.

That was victorian

Bogus valedictorian
speeching
Kerrigans weeping
Thesis.

Hyper tension
I have A-D-whatever
drink OJ from concentrate
this ritalin is what I'm riddlin

Helps me focus
like a Ford I spin tires
and oregon tales
of oregon trails

and Chippewa trails
Island of the Blue Whales
(alluding to the Aleuts-
another type of injun)

I'm half injun myself
a Semi-Nole
My tribe is called
Quest

Just Above The Ocean

Out just above the ocean
bands of pale fire
reawaken from their daytime jog
across the valleys of the sky.

It sounds strange,
but the sun doesn't sleep on our time
but on its own: it makes time
with every sleepy puff of infinite heat
and light--blessed sunrays--streaming
from its celestial, inanimate center;
an unimaginable power.

A Distressting Thought At The Bank

Today I went to the bank to do some business when my heretofore calm mind happened upon a sign, garishly blasted on the wall of the bank, which read:

SAVE
is the new
SPEND

In bold red and blue, with an "attractive" man headlining the absurdly propaganda-ish tone of the whole charade. It really turned my stomach if you wanna know the truth. I really cannot say enough about it, by which I mean, I really have nothing to say about it. I imagined hypothetical protest signs to put up next to it:

WORDS
do not mean
SHIT

I thought, or how about

MEANING
does not
MATTER

or even

BLACK
is actually exactly the same as
WHITE

But even this exercise finds some redemption in the suggestion: "So, you're saying, black is white? Up is down? How can I possibly resolve this cognitive dissonance?" On the sign, is just a fat fart of an announcement, a sneeze, a petulant dressed-up slut now already gone on the street walking past you, leaving without the chance for you to make a salacious judgment.

Alas, distressing thoughts on a friendly bank errand.

Chimichangas

It’s amazing what people can do in an hour and a half long law class. I mean, tens of students, on their laptops, with INTERNET. Most of the guys are checking out their fantasy football team or the blonde ice queen in the seventh row, second from the left. Pretty much everyone has a solid stream of gchat or facebook conversations, periodically switching over to type something in their notes. Girls be shopping, girls be shopping. As for me, every time a hand goes up, my right hand instinctively moves the touchpad so that the arrow hovers over “Mozilla Firefox” (Internet Explorer is so 2000s – what, do you still use AOL too? You do?) and *click-click* fucking google.com. Having any other homepage is reprehensible, at best. It's not that I don't care what my classmates have to say, it's just...well yeah, that's probably it. Sue me. Don't.

One time when I was sitting just one row from the top, I could have sworn the kid behind me was playing a computer game. Judging from the sounds, I knew which one, too. I looked over to my left and whispered to my friend Drew: “Dude, this kid is playing Civilization I back here! This is unprecedented!” Drew smiled and chuckled silently, but clearly wanted no part of the conversation. I managed a glance back at the kid to see if he had heard, and to see if maybe I had guessed right, but he was engrossed with the screen. Probably busy deciding between building a granary or a catapult.