. . . a quattuordecillion ultramarine buckminsterfullerene hemidemisemiquavering tintinnabulations . . .
bubbling with surprise
test tube contents
[Translation: a quattuordecillion (a very large number) ultramarine buckminsterfullerene (blue geometric carbon, etc.) hemidemisemiquavering (sixty-fourth note) tintinnabulations . . . (ringing, tinkling)]
the trouble with marbles is the rich kid doesn’t give them back when your kid brother chucks them over
three bags full
yuk, what do they
call this stuff
down stream the call of a bird maybe but stop at nothing while it’s still dark
you had to be
hard up against it with nowhere else to go, there’s just the crunch of gravel
another trash bag has been filled, but I’m no closer to relief
when we’re done having sex, he asks me to blow his cousin in the adjoining room…
greyhound racing life of a side piece
ice cube tray
two bottles of vodka
four bottles of beer
a few eggs
a bottle of mustard
filling up on emptiness someone’s leftovers
some people leave you in odd ways. they just disappear from your life. like that.
the absence of malice
of an owl
The best time I had was when I forgot myself. I don’t know why I ever came back.
the subway car window
shows only darkness . . .
and my reflection
I can’t figure out if mysticism is ecstatic or a sham. I go between Sufi dancing and wanting fame. Not everyone can sleep in the sand.
our first name
I have never been on hard drugs, but it seems like I am. The cacophony of conversations in the cafe melds into my thought process and my mental silence. I thought I was high on meditation this morning, but I guess coffee can cut through inner calm, despite our idealism.
rain or snow?
I remove myself