Early this morning there was a
dream of our little girl dog so
recently gone and I was about to
cover her with a blanket as she snoozed on
the bed then saw it was really
me in a tiny dog costume so I
walked on after the briefest cuddle and
in the morning proper started
to wash last night’s leftovers and
with one sponge swipe the wineglass is
reduced by a third with no blood—
Thank you great goddess of the wide
earth thank you goddess of recycling thank
you goddess who loves laughter thank you
Tag: dog
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Is it to quiet those sounds from above
that won’t leave me alone or to drown the
noise of the dog’s desperate licking where
does the source hide itself but such thoughts are
not really for me I get too excitedrest badly and when the excursion starts
I’d rather stay in bed but mostly I
want to write about something besides an
ugly bag mostly filled with water thoughit holds some moderate pleasure toothsome
despair and thick clotted rumination,
which may not be to everyone’s taste buthelps exercise the moist gray maze when
I would have had little else but sleep
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Perhaps there is something more, but with
the pressure of an undigestible
chicken knuckle cartilage nugget
pressing perhaps a breathless sip of
weed killer with lime, but no, that’s notthe monster I want to feed though a
look at my neglected hooves shows me I
have made the usual mistake of
trying to coin a word thatmeans checking to see if the dog wants
to learn to dance as a small way to
lengthen my displeasure with this workwhich is far from interesting, but
keeps me flush with fresh digital badges
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Why can’t I just say it
plain why are there so many
modifiers on this bright
morning of single digits the
dog imitates a restless seaat various locales as she
wishes while darkness sparkles and
each is questioned and crumbles
my fingers slowly covered inspots will lunch be any good is
it too early to give up and
have a smoke too late to burn mystuff and start again too late blinded
by the icicle’s gleaming drop
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In February
IIIII
I sat on the couch with a little dog pressed against me as she sighed and licked and twitched and ran and slept and stretched. I can hear the clanking of the ships in the marina in my memory. I feel like I’m going in three directions and locked in place. I am enjoying a small glass of dragon well. I am trying to log out of certain sites as a means of slowing the waste. I hear the wind and check the weather app. I want to be honest, to a point. I want to play Skyrim rather than read The Satyricon. I see the Canterbury Tales hasn’t moved. I love a Sailor nib. I have checked my email, even though I didn’t want to. I think there are things I’d like to say to you that I’d instantly regret. I instantly regret and then again and again throughout eternity and back and back. I think I need more projects or fewer projects or different projects. I enjoy the afternoon light unless I’m trying to watch TV. I can hardly bear the profundity of my many sagacious remarks. I was listening for it for a long time. I am pleased that that anger has so far not consumed me as it seemed it might. I may give up trying to find the right word. I feel a sensation like warm jelly gently jiggling as it cools near this chakra. I’m surprised by how terrible and beautiful my handwriting can be. I suppose that goes for most things. I suppose I should do something about it. I think it feels accurate and like a cheat. I wonder if this project has reached its conclusion. I wonder if it will ever find its true and needed form. I was thinking of calling it I, ai ai, but thought that might either seem silly or pretentious, but we’ll see. I wouldn’t say yes, even if she found a way to be nice about it. I know I’m to blame as well but I won’t say that publicly right now. I am prepared to go without for much longer than you would guess. I got used to having no one and now I feel suspicious of every face. I don’t know how much longer I can. I am sure I’ve said this before. I’m running out of steam, and enriched uranium, but I have plenty of dark matter. I wanted to buy that Hello Kitty fountain pen, but I cannot understand why. I suppose the minutiae of one life could be enough to build some kind of something or whatever. I think the dog only wanted some company this morning. I wonder if I’m just writing down my stray thoughts rather than building a poem. I was thinking of the Lords of Death and how they triumph and how the twins defeat them. I suppose we will never know since all those priceless works were destroyed by our idiot ancestors. I imagine they will say the same thing of us in a few hundred thousand years if we run into some very good luck.
afternoon, Canterbury, couch, dog, dragon well, february, fountain pen, Hello Kitty, Lords of Death, marina, memory, nib, Sailor, Satyricon, ships, Skyrim, tea, weather, wind
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In February
III
I am afraid I have missed my shot. I’m thinking of whiskey or maybe mezcal. I admire the white jellyfish on the nib when I pause. I wonder if this is any better than what I was writing in high school. I find the tea too bitter and nearly cold. I try to wait as long as I can before the evening entertainments. I think about looking for a proper job with a 401(k) and all that and feel the concrete coconut slip and grate farther down my gut. I find it harder and harder to imagine a future in which I want to participate though I know my imagination is part of the problem. I wonder how many minutes the dog spends licking various parts on average during an average day. I wonder what I will make for lunch since disposing of the suspicious stir-fry leftovers. I wonder how many days I should do this. I’m aiming for Midwinter Lite rather than Maximus Junior. I find it slightly irritating how the paper slightly curls when I try to write in this notebook on top of this notebook on top of a pillow that rests on my lap. I do like the size of this notebook, the paper one, which is more or less the size of ones I used in college but much thinner. I don’t know why any of that seemed relevant. I’m not really sure how to judge. I’m concerned this may start to sound too similar to itself. I want to add fire. I just watched the episode of The X-Files called Fire which starred an actor I almost didn’t recognize because he was so young. I remember him from an episode of Firefly and Doctor Who as well. I have been enjoying The X-Files and Twin Peaks and Farscape. I worry that I’m falling into the poison idiot quicksand of nostalgia. I desperately want new toys. I wonder if I worry too much or not enough. I just sent the wife a picture of the pooch. I tried to record her snoring, but the beauty was far too subtle for these coarse machines. I wonder when the delivery will get here. I worry about my wife when she goes out to meet friends and the weather is less than perfect, which is how I was raised. I think my parents must have made themselves sick with my sister and then my own rebellions. I think I must be a late bloomer, but perhaps my sister is just faster than me with certain things. I can dish it out but I can’t take it. I remember finding a bit of poop on the carpet that was swirled with green and brown and red. I mean the carpet. I feel as though I was eating a sloppy joe and a pellet of joe slipped out and that is when I discovered the poop and why I never liked sloppy joes. I’m not sure if this is conflating two memories. I’m pretty sure it happened. I can see certain aspects of the home in my memory, but it swirls and is liable to be unstable. I think of the poetics of space and maybe I should try to read that again. I remember enjoying what I read, but it’s something you have to approach with plenty of time and patience. I already feel quite hungry and it’s only a quarter past ten. I recall the line time is an illusion lunchtime doubly so, but have to look it up to get it right.
coconut, Doctor Who, dog, Farscape, february, friends, imagination, lunch, Maximus, mexcal, midwinter, poop, sloppy joe, tea, Twin Peaks, whisky, wife, X-Files
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The cool morning clouds radio chatter
from nearby. This rough dark fabric with me
in air on ground through cruel layovers
now a wheel city
sidewalks half consumed must be replaced orthe last journey was the last journey my
sturdy friend so with hands clean and odd tools
a few small turns and off it pops but peek
inside look an unknown wound festered nowsharp shards of broken plastic slide smoothly
from the gap the room fills with perfume of
action figure trapper keeper childhoodtears trials in rough slivers and
the radio moans the dog licksaction figure, city streets, clouds, dog, fabric, journey, layovers, radio, slivers, tools, trapper keeper, wheel, wound
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Why not a sonnet while the dog
sleeps her little sleep before bed
while I write a sonnet while the
dog sleeps before night in which we
might dream a scurry of squirrelsfree from bonnets and the snores of
little dogs resting before the
big sleep while I write what might one
day snore into a sonnet fora little whitening dog who
sleeps her little dog sleep here on
the sofa minutes before bedwhere a big sleep may creep unto
all sleeping dogs creeping to sleep
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with the storm passed on her side the dog the
drone of the fan and what else may stroll through
this thickness what can save bruised fruit and/or
we should wrap this up before we all give
up again but let me start again itall just went so far no matter how I
tried part of me still longed to name a new
kind of apple the ragamuffin the
sesquipedalian splendor but Ican’t go back to that store anymore though
hope one day a corner of a part of
the mystery may but look the slow blueof one of my favorite skies I feel
so attracted to the clouds, those edges
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All of the Above
the epic I am planning as I shop for pens
with golden accents. Perhaps if not for the dog’s
unspeakable licking. But at the end
of the day what.I know that look the crab apple
felled by lightning. So many deardead dogs later still in one piece
and place hands empty soif the usual resins from a walk
through the oldish pines should refuse easy
removal there are two options neitherof which but these days with the funnels we
must wear though who would know as long as you
can smize through hours of unneeded meetingslike one of those knives for chestnuts
which gave her hunting a slight edge
so she fed and bred better her
descendants had the same feature
that time licked into the precise
claw you see before youthen brave the cloying perfume of
seeping garbage trucks to catch a
meager and reluctant yes you
can cut them off or use this corrosive
but how will you feel one day when feet are
back in fashion
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Fragment 23
I want to take a break and I think that helps. One thing that’s been irritating me this week is a case of cracked lips.
why do you ask oh I see well yes that’s fair maybe that should be my catchphrase but in that tree no that one over there you’ll see the bird that stole a jewel from your hair you assumed you’d never see him again but that tiny hat is unmistakeable unless things have taken another strange turn in the woods I suppose nothing would be too surprising these days but you’re right we should pretend not to see him we don’t want any trouble this forenoon so here we come to the stone ruin the information plaque is badly faded
I think they got chapped or maybe sunburned? I can trace it to when we were eating outside at Valencia last weekend. I had the sun on my face for the whole meal. I don’t know if that’s what did it but that was the last time I remember not
but we can make out a date from the last century and something about a fire and a great experiment that’s mostly the story of all of our lives isn’t it if only there were something steady to stand on instead of these slimy rocks but then beneath they work day and night perfecting pestos and symphonies guarding eggs and their tender young they scatter when the rock is lifted though I know we won’t do anything quite so cruel today will we I can see that glint in your eye when you’ve had your last cup of tea and
the dog is curled up snoring beside you when the world seems a word of calm between breaths and pick up your book while we wait for the apocalypse that is taking its sweet time think of that person whose death will give you wings but if we don’t find that inspiring perhaps we can review the correct pronunciations of the latest drugs and open that box they asked us to keep safe and sealed what’s the worst that could happen of course it’s just a slight song from the dinky walnut deep inside your brain or deep inside the
forest which is the analogy we’ll use for your mind brain included at no cost though skip the extended warranty if you oh you have money to burn well burn away who am I to stop you I just feel so tired so unable to there comes a time when you think perhaps the rotten floorboards should be replaced before we lose another guest in a sudden collapse and have to clean the carpets yet again I know we should have dealt with it centuries ago but time being what it is and our hands what they are the moment
having a problem with my lips. I’ve tried to use some lip balm a few times but I don’t know how much that really helps.
[And click here if you’d like to take the plunge.]
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in dark before dawn just above
a little dog green yellow light
off on again in corkscrew paths
over hosta and brown lawn blinkbefore
these small legs running from light to
flying light in summer’s sleepy
sticky arms didn’t know why I
needed this brightness in my hand
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Sonnet
but what we got was some sequel
made for the merchandising rights
so let’s instead unpack this strange
light after a summer storm near
evening with its light bouquet of
back pain—in those glowing clouds you
could believe the benevolent
aliens might pop down for tea
and cake and perhaps slip you a
few space-time secrets but they fail
to arrive again so climb to
bed and nudge the little dog from
her pillow throne and sink and sigh
chest collapsed but eyes on the sky
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early evening early in the death thinking about death all day the video game deaths I played the music death all the death TV shows the same even if they try to death it my back still sore but better death than the dog deaths her new toy
and no I never did get around to that I gave up on connection and went down paths they warned me about to make blurred photocopies of those same mistakes my hands stumbling fat then thin leaves fell and grew the early sun in winter faithfully rendered in Minecraft reddened the tips of things in a neighborhood or that or this heavy frenemy in my chest sometimes makes his strange will speak
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red the dog barks at sunset clouds but not forever
(First published in Under the Basho.)
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I am a dog walker I am cooking beans I am the misprint in the formula I am heavy snow at night the scrape of the plow I am bored and ashamed of my boredom I am eating cashews pecans sunflower seeds I am a deer of seven tines I am the sluggish pulse I am a new sound in the deep forest just once I am an empty bag of highly flavored corn chips by the off ramp I am the mistake that leads to greatness I am a wave breaking on dark rock I am a wave breaking on sand
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Seven in the morning of the first
of May already so bright in clear
blue air birds make their plans
immense. Time for our little
dog to darken the earth with her
mighty stream and then a few thimbles
of kibble. As I doze my way back
and glance at the car of the neighbor
I try to avoid
a wide disc of wood from some
unlucky loved tree on
the driver’s seat.
I guess everything I
thought about the spring is wrong.
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my boss, a collector of insomniacs walks the halls on stilts, examines every coffee cup, for progress and, avoids the stairs today is Friday, and the small dog always by her side, will have its nails cut, when we hear the yelping we instinctively check our 401(k)s, and count the leaves of the cypress, as our greatest asset, in a moment the weekend will, begin and the dreams we share, shift to images of pirate ships, chained to a monstrous wave of silver fish
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Excerpts from My Autobiography
xxxxx
once the image has life an emptiness says
it will always be so I stare into the distance
blind to trees and flowers
begging to be born but the refrigerator hey
are we doing stream of consciousness
cool and the snow gets sharp in these
huge piles in the back of the lot
days later my handwriting
starts to rot never to recoverxxxx
suicide off the table you start working again
with a miniature saucepan and the clock trying
to rid the mind of all the rules you’ve
made &
feel your hand tight around the thick
rope now only good for that
silly exercise you lovexxxx
away from the neighbor’s dog
across stinging fields we grow
smaller so slowly we don’t
notice until grasshopper parts become
our yard sticks and blades
of grass jostle and topple us in this
dream-familiar landscape we
learn secrets of slow growth, the rootlike
lineages of wormkind and a love
of the sweetness that writhes up from
dark earth and we long to pass
it on to our children who have
grown monstrous in the orange light
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News Feed
hoping for something chocolate
covered hurry up wait what
was I saying the shorelines
shorten birds
gone from the sky
due to a
lack of how’s it with you those
headaches back I have just the
oil and volcanoes waiting
maybe for & the
coasts blame the
center and vice versus the
scattered poems to stitch it all
but we’re in it together
did you hear
what the final
butterfly
whispered as your phone oh I’m
no better I just like to
talk and that sting in your should
you maybe
check out the dog
filter that
clown one does nothing for you
other animals 