I Don't Want To

All I want to do is eat Chinese food,
and walk around.

If You Say So

It's time to bring in
the experts.

I'm Not The Best One To Ask

You are.

To The Ends Of The Earth

Then what?

The Sun Always Sets

Still, things are crooked,
and there's too much to do.

They Asked Me If I Was Happy

"I am now," I said.

Neverending

Slight movement from air
deep under the sea.

Things Could Always Get Worse

Should should should
shroud.

Written while my back was turned and the floor was covered, sometime last summer.

The carpets the room.

Last Up The Stairs

Last up the stairs,
First to the street.

Something with a photo.

This is where
you can find it.

June 6, 2010

June 2, June 2

(untitled [revisited])

Mike Hauser
Badger Mascot
Port Sandusky Restaurant
Mineola Diner
Stephanie Katona
Rattlesnake Island
self portrait
This Book Will Save Your Life
Markley's
Unabomber's Shack
Nuevo Leon
Paramount Studios
Duane Thorpe
Pelee Island Sunset
fresh strawberry donuts
Infinity Donuts
screw head
plate-o-food
synonyms for "said"
"your name here"
Las Vegas panorama

(untitled)

Mike Hauser
a hat
Paramount water tower
Bagaceira
a bird
the hole in Buffalo Street
Anita O'Day
pink donut
Secret of the Caves
The Blue Hole
self-portrait with pink fish
the moon and two planets

June 2, June2

(no poem)

(untitled)

Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk Dark Chocolate Nantucket Crispy Cookies
Firm Tofu
Paper Towels

June 2, June 2

Diddley Dead At 79
Diddy Slams Diaz Rumors

He Was Hungry

He was hungry, so he made himself a snake.

(untitled)

so is Choward's Violet candy

To The End Of The Line

Spent the morning at the Delancey farm, helping out with chores like painting some recently repaired fence. Got out of milking, however! Left with a dozen of the freshest eggs you can imagine.

Once over the river, the land spread out on the long island like a terrible, endless job. Looked for someone named Marcy. There was no one by that name.

Is Hewes another spelling for Hughes? Or is it related to hewn, like hewn stone, which is what this city is built on. That, and—like the Tower of Babel—a mountain of the piled bones of the bright-eyed and optimistic.

They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. They say there's always magic in the air. They say the women treat you fine on Broadway... wait... that's a different Broadway.

Central nervous system time zone casting library park America.

What is a Knickerbocker, anyway? It is the name for those trousers that always seem to be on the verge of falling down, first made popular by Dutch settlers in the 18th Century in what is now known as New York, whose religious views prevented them from wearing belts or suspenders.

Myrtle is the street I always confuse with Flatbush and Flushing (Flatbush and Flushing because they both start with "F" then "L" then a vowel, and Myrtle because it's the street I always confuse with Flatbush and Flushing). Myrtle always makes me think of "Myrtle Gordon" —the character in Opening Night (John Cassavetes, 1977) —and if you ever saw that movie, whenever you hear the word "myrtle" you would think of Myrtle Gordon, too.

Had to kill alota Seneca to make this place safe for my wives and child. Give 'em a stop on the subway make 'em happy. Now shut up and drink yer sweet wine.

Used to be a Forest here, had to cut it down to make room for all the shitty cars to park. Left a tree.

Fresh Pond. Yeah, right.

Middle Village always used to make me think of Middle Earth. At least until they made a movie out of Lord of The Rings, which essentially bludgeoned my imagination, on the matter, to death. 

Paradise Casino is a sprawling, billion dollar entertainment complex, operated by former Native Americans, once relocated to Germany who have returned in order to take advantage of a tenuous— soon to be abolished—gambling law and taxation loophole.

El Dorado

Heaven

Nirvana

Sloppy Joe's

Jealous Of My Own Shadow

Joined with
each other for
all time we’re
lovers completely
out of bounds and
under the radar top
secret.

Open doors and you’re afraid you’ll
find new lovers where
my heart used to connect to
yours.

Oh, I know
we don’t really own anything and we
never possess anything at all.

Silently in the back of my mind
her memory is
alive as if it were here, but I’m
dead now because it’s all
over and it
will never come back.

Bad Letter

(I was hurried)
I sent a bad (I chose pretentious stationary)
letter, and even (I didn’t connect my thoughts) though
it’s rare to get a letter (I only wrote about me)
at all these days, is it possible
(I was boring) that a bad letter
is worse (I was depressing)
than no letter at all?
(I apologized in advance)

The Ballad of Day by Day

The ballad of the blessed “I owe you”
played out caustically at the Ghost Drum Apartments
in the glum evening while the cat’s paw
inadvertently grazed any passersby within reach.

The day’s advanced hue
agreed with the skipper of the rink oiler
sewn together with the day’s ballad
that oath I was harassed by: “I owe you.”

Paw dashed off the ballad as he and Hydra swayed
harassed by obsessive seeds they owed the thugs
shouting acceptance of them on sight.

Paw adds chaff day by day
bashfully afraid to withdraw from deal hunger.

He agreed to the eye gift
as the Arctic Fleet team aptly raged a heating party
they ate their way west as thirty yodel herds
heated the western air to a flaw ballad he had ha-ha-ha-ed.

The oath I harassed to owe now acts as fetus, okay?
Aptly, the weal hue agreed with rink oiler
sewn together west on the airboat I harassed you with
the ballad of apt paw dashed away and wreaked
in agreement with the rink oiler.

The western airway gaggled the oily few into a yawn ballad
then harassed owed thong to accept suck on the dashboard.

We agreed with the rink thief
about how the west air had hewn the airflow
the ballad harassed now acute and dumb with paw prints
on the dashboard far away from the “k” tool.

I agreed to the jail oath “thou rink is oily”
played out caustically as west air aptly raged
the ballad of obsessive day by day
the skipper agreed that life is oily.

Easter Sunday

Tom ato Ketch up
Pour able Mus tard
Supe rior Cof fee
No More Hot Cho colate
Fru it Ju ice
Lem on ade
Cran berry Ju ice
Or ange Ju ice
Ora nge Ju ice
Supe rior
War ning
War mer
7
Om ega
Ap pet iz ers & Sal ads
Tha nk You.

Carnelian

The only thing that is remembered is
redness in the dark. The slaughter at
the drive-in serves customers whose
appetites hold the spiritual accountable.
Room for dessert and an assortment
of insensitive variations
of a loving manner.

The starlight swims in the milky lake.
You can see its depth, but you can’t see
into it. Anxious and worldly, the fleshy
chromatically tuned bells obtain a
meandering course, cutting rather than
tearing, tearing rather than cutting.
A removal of merrymaking, a removal
of meat.

Time is opposed to eternity. It leans
over to one side in a headlong manner
an organized program of exhibitionist
travesty to illustrate the effect of grief
on the variable color of human flesh.
From pale to the grayish yellow
of tooth decay.

The effort to avoid omissions gives
emotional support to the irresponsible
in the face of the sphinx. The unread
books are quickly spent. Warm weather
means trouble. There is no longer life
on Mars.

(untitled)

I am forever waiting
behind four or five oranges
each with its own place to go
rolling along in the twilight.