Don't you just love a power outage? Me, neither.

It's a disaster here with more to come, but if you'll hang in there with me, maybe things will return by Wednesday. Fingers crossed anyway.

--I ONLY BLINKED MY EYES

      Housekeeping

What if

we never 

have sex

but just

cuddle instead?

I know, 

"but" before "cuddle"

and after "sex"

sounds like 

a compromise

or like

you're getting 

something less

than a bargain,

definitely not

a steal.

For my money,

I'd just like

to smell

your skin,

the citrus

and cinnamon

notes

hidden in

your pores.

Maybe I'll

memorize everything,

map it,

nudge or

fold it

into me

like a 

perfumed letter

in an envelope

intended to be

opened at

a later date.

"Hey, Housekeeping

give us 

a moment,

please?" 

So yeah,

see that

frustrated spider

on the ceiling,

unsure of

where to 

stitch next?

Aren't you

glad

we don't 

have that

problem with

time and industry,

uncertainty?

Shut up,

Silly Goose.

Don't answer.

Just kiss me

again

with your

eyes unsteady

but wide oopen.

For a few

savage moments,

let's pretend

the world's

unfucked,

that we 

were here first,

back before

Darwin

The Great Wall

or Jesus

when

doves wove

the very

first 

set of sheets,

the ones

we're writhing on

right now. 

 

 —LIFE WILL BE A BREEZE, YOU KNOW? I REALLY SHOULD BE GLAD

 

(This was written in spurts days ago, but if felt like something to say, or leave unabridged, for the weekend.)

 

…It’s a good thing I lost the post I was going to put up here originally, because it was anything but pretty.

 

…Just so you know ahead of time, this one may not be very pretty either.

 

…Smells like smoke in here…

 

…Do you have any idea? I don’t think so. How can you? I’ve never clearly said so.

 

…I always hate when I use fake exclamation marks. Like, when I don’t really feel any enthusiasm for what I’m writing in response to a person who’s used one, but I know they want to hear their glee and gusto repeated back, so I comply! I write: Way to go! I write: You’re the man! I write: You’re the woman! I write: You’re the They! (Actually, that last one hasn’t happened yet.)

 

…It’s funny the things that make you doubt yourself.

 

…I don’t know what it means, or says about me, but when I find a penny on the ground, if it’s Heads, I still pick it up and feel like something good is going to happen.

 

…I have a sweatshirt (two actually) that says:

DRINK WATER

LOVE HARD

FIGHT RACISM

Sometimes I wear it and forget I am. Inevitably, unless they’re a person of color, people will always comment about the water part.

 

…You go back to your hotel and I'll go back to my glamorous life of being alone. The only thing I have to come home to is a bottle of mouthwash to get the taste of cum out of my mouth. I'm tired of being alone. That's what I'm tired of. Sera, “Leaving Las Vegas” 

 

…The lamest platitude in the world has to be: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” Yet, it’s the most true.

 

…You can’t change the past, but you sure as hell can think about it. Like, a lot.

 

…You know what I’m good at fixing? 

Nothing.

 

…It’s only humiliating if you think it is.

 

…Do you ever have a word you continually misspell, after years and years and years? Mine is “occasion.” Almost always, I write “ocassion.”

 

…“Lay” or “lie,” “laid” or “layed”—those are different stories.

 

…No matter what they tell you, time doesn’t take care of everything.

 

…Something to remember: it’s always important to push “Save.”

 

…I wish I could tell you how hard it is, staying mute like this. But isn’t that what you asked for?

 

…Did we talk about “Misery loves company”? When I’m miserable, I don’t want to see, or talk to, a single soul. Unless it’s a deer, or the beaver, or Pete, or a slinky squirrel darting across the road, out of traffic, too quick to get squashed.

 

….There are 75.1 million reasons to be utterly baffled. 75.1 million “why’s” that I still have no answer for.

 

…Yesterday was a dark day, literally and figuratively. Haven’t had one like that in a while, and hope I don’t again.

 

…I’m not quite sure how you get to “Bluer than blue,” but I’ll trust Michael Johnson.

 

…I mean, is there really such a thing as “sadder than sad?” Okay, well, I might have been close a few times in the last ten days.

 

…At this point, I’ve stopped keeping score.

 

…I hope you have a better antidote for the dark days than I do. Perhaps you could share?

 

…I’m as competitive as the next guy, probably more so, but if I’m losing, getting slaughtered, but my best friend still has a shot, I’m always right there, jumping in his corner, rooting for him.

 

…What I’ve learned is when you’re thinking of someone, you let them know, even if they might think it’s weird, or too late.

 

…I’m all over the board here, but I hope you recognize some things.

 

…I wonder if it’s okay to tell someone you miss them, knowing they’ll ask to see you, when you know that’s not possible, and that it is probably never going to happen.

 

…After the Newtown school shooting, I was at church and the pastor, a hip sort who I really admired, said, “People always want to know why, but finding out why doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring those kids back. It doesn’t reverse what happened. It adds nothing in the way of closure.” I still remember that, and I think he’s mostly right. Yet, I’m still looking for the why.

 

…“I was just thinking of you and wanted you to know,” has to be one of the best things to hear, right up there with “I love you” or “I miss you,” which are the same things, if you think about it.

 

…Even though this is a tear-jerker, it made me happy:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YCzj-SDYmY

 

…When I start to feel sorry for myself, I try to think about how fucking awful Zelenskyy has it every single day, and how bleak things must look for him now. He’s definitely on my Man Crush list.

 

…If it’s true that you can’t write when you’re happy, then I should have an incredibly productive couple of months.

 

…I never get tired of watching those dogs. Thank God for those guys and their sloppy love of water.

 

…There are a few moments when it feels like it never happened.

 

…I wonder what you’re thinking about all of this.

 

…I wonder where you are.

 

…I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re better than okay, somehow.

 

…I think the thing is, we both realized that we didn't have that much time. And I accepted him for who he was, and I didn't expect him to change, and I think he felt that for me, too. I liked his drama, and he needed me. And I loved him. I really loved him. Sera, “Leaving Las Vegas”

 

…My problem isn’t that I take everything too seriously, it’s just that I take everything around me too seriously, and for that, I’m alone to blame.

 

…I wish people wouldn’t say, “It’s okay,” or “It’s going to be okay,” when it’s clearly not okay nor is it going to be okay. Maybe a better thought would be: “Everything is horrible right now, but if you work hard enough, there’s a way to survive it. And I’ll do it with you.” Or maybe just, “I’m right here.”

 

…I’ve always wanted to be a bartender, or taxi driver, because I thought I’d get a lot of writing material from those jobs, but the only problem with that is I have no sense of direction and a tavern is the last place I need to be. Hence, I guess I’ll just have to keep using my imagination. “Bartender, pour me another sonnet, please. And make it a double.”

 

…It feels a lot longer than it’s actually been.

 

…When I lived in Oregon, I had a speedbag set up in my garage (really). I could never make the tear-shaped bag dance and dribble like you see in boxing films, but I tried. That is, until I inadvertently got metal shavings caught in my eyes from the ball bearing and had to have surgery and wear blindfolds for days until I could see again. 

 

…No good deed goes unpunished.

 

…Daylight Savings Time feels like a test of spirit at this point in the year. When I want to bitch about it, I think about those poor folks up in Alaska.

 

…It’s hard to trust anyone that doesn’t have a vice. I bet Mother Theresa secretly chewed tobacco. Probably Copenhagen Wintergreen. I bet she swore like a sailor, or a Sigma Chi, at least under her breath.

 

…It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Like a really, long, fucking minute.

 

…My body’s been trying to tell me something for quite some time, which is why I need to have my hearing checked.

 

…I see those studs with the Ironman bodies and I think, “Really? What’s the point of all that work? Are you going to live your entire life with your shirt off?” But maybe that’s just envy.

 

…I’m such a laggard. I can’t figure out Bluetooth on my car stereo, so today I punched earphones in and listened to Mt Joy, Vampire Weekend, The Smile and Dawes. I don’t even recall the drive.

 

…At some point I’m going to have to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, something that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve given up.

 

…Can you share a life with someone and not be physically in it? I guess that’s called Pen Pals. I guess it has to be something super special to keep it going.

 

…If you’ve never watched “Parenthood,” (the series, not the film), you should. It’s network TV, so you have to allow for that, but it’s mostly spectacular. I’m learning a lot, the second time watching it. What I noticed is the cast, the characters, they never forget to tell the important people in their life that they love them. Like, they do it all the time. 

 

… Are you desirable? Are you irresistible? Maybe if you drank bourbon with me, it would help. Maybe if you kissed me and I could taste the sting in your mouth it would help. If you drank bourbon with me naked. If you smelled of bourbon as you fucked me, it would help. It would increase my esteem for you. If you poured bourbon onto your naked body and said to me "drink this". If you spread your legs and you had bourbon dripping from your breasts and your pussy and said "drink here" then I could fall in love with you. Because then I would have a purpose. To clean you up and that, that would prove that I'm worth something. I'd lick you clean so that you could go away and fuck someone else. Ben Sanderson, “Leaving Las Vegas

 

…If you’ve ever wanted to read someone’s diary, like I have, well, you’re almost there.

 

…Try not to throw up.

 

…Sorry, not sorry.

 

…And so, here come the Holidays. Wish me luck.

 

—IT’S THE RIGHT NIGHT, BUT THE WRONG COMPANY

 

 Sustenance

 

They feed us 

yellow 

a softer shade 

of poison 

untraceable 

yet delicious 

like an unremembered 

dream

Someone plays 

Moonlight Sonata 

someone else 

a snuff film 

It’s a fix 

as chaos and 

contagion commingle 

Elsewhere there are 

deer in the glade 

drunk on crab apples 

and ignorance

staggering through 

nature and time zones 

chewing leaves 

with their sideways jaws

unaware of the enemy

bones littered 

beneath their hooves

 

—ONLY A MOMENT AGO, IT WAS SPRING AND I WAS SINGING

  

Novus Ordo Seclorum

  

It’s easy 

enough

to change skin 

& eyes & 

dye our hair 

a faultless shade 

of flaxseed

You take 

the first step 

to test if the 

street will buckle 

if the helmets will notice

but no one does

except the brown 

and yellow children 

holding a hand 

to shield the glare 

as well as another 

to salute in fear

like the dutiful Kike kids 

we once were

 —EVERYTHING HERE IS FRAGILE 

This is Not a Love Poem (Part 2)

  

     I tell myself Go to Hell because there’s no one else around

I tell the trees and the lake and those ducks I love so much Go to Hell

    When my friends call I stare at their throbbing names but don’t pick up and instead tell the screen Go to Hell

I tell God Go to Hell

     I tell the air and sun and some men on a moon I can’t even see Go to Hell

I tell this chair and stained carpet Go to Hell

     I tell the spiders dangling on panes Go to Hell then tell their unborn babies Go to Hell too

I tell the Christians I know Go to Hell

     I tell the grandchildren I will never have Go to Hell

I tell those airhead dogs frolicking in the water Go to Hell

     I tell history George Washington and Gandhi Go to Hell 

I tell this cup of coffee the eagle and beaver electric vehicles and every poem or loaded love song Go to Hell

     I tell Lucy’s ghost Go to Hell

I tell myself Go to Hell again

     I don’t tell Satan Go to Hell because he’s already seated wiping a bloody scepter across His lips while every doting star winks on command

—I’M NOT SICK, BUT I’M NOT WELL

  

eulogy for the last morning

 

woke up to the water 

shimmering & unclear

the only thing that won’t

turn me down 

maybe I'll get lucky

and drown 

sorting through your 

memory cauldron 

it’s enough it’s enough 

to make me wish I didn’t 

wish I hadn’t 

can't stop what’s swirling 

in my cesspool head 

a barren landscape

respite for the dead

instead I skip 

some half-formed stones

watch the waves warn me 

I’m all alone stopping

liquid taxis with no way home

it’s enough it’s enough 

some days babe 

they get awfully rough 

the bottom falls

silence like a thug

rain on the panes 

carefully drawing 

each curtain closed 

as if that’s all there is 

but never enough