Let's go back to the part where we came here. I went to park my car and when I came back he was helping us move our things. It wasn't raining, it was just so hot that the sweat from moving had made me remember rain. I could feel everything happening that night, like I knew it would happen and this was just some sort of postponement, a distraction from real life. The reality was that all the way back in another state we had said things, made things clear. And yet we kept driving on into something we believed could or should change us. It wasn't so much a mistake as a not looking up at something being tossed your way. Have you ever been in a supermarket and been so hungry that nothing seems fit to eat? Your understanding of hunger is no longer a topic you can tackle. uncooked rice, raw meat, packaged goods; nothing is in reach. In fact, it was raining. It was raining, but it was still hot, like in a Bollywood movie where everyone is dancing around in hot rain, not kissing. I would reach for something, anything, like a bag of flour or a package of toothpaste and I would pour out the contents into a bowl I had saved in the kitchen. Everything had something to do with something else, and nothing tasted good. Have you ever been in a supermarket and been so hungry that nothing seems fit to eat? I reached for things such as a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread and some box of wheat bran and I couldn't do it. I put the bread to my lips and all I could do was shut my eyes and imagine the thing I really wanted. Because it was thirst. I tore through the aisles of hard dry goods until I came to the section of the store that they reserve for 'cold drinks' and I scoured the display for my drink. I opened the bottle and flicked the top onto the floor. I drank the entire jug of water right there in front of the kid who was restocking the shelves, who looked at me with indifference and also maybe with a look that said 'I get off work in three hours and then I am going to leave this place'. I bought four more bottles of water and put them in the back of the car. It was raining, pouring down now. I unloaded our things into the room. I heard voices and looked around at the empty space. There was nothing in the room that seemed to want to be filled. No place for some of the things I had brought. That night I should have known that some things are set upon us before we can react to them. They are there hanging in the night. Have you ever seen a hot air balloon trying to take off while it is still secured to the grass? It doesn't really heave away or make any effort to escape, but you can see the inevitable. You can clearly see its wanting to float away and this night was no different. I should have turned around and slid out the door. I might have done that, but if I had then this story would have never found its way back to the end. I might still be there in that empty room waiting to move things around and shift its shapes. I should have put curtains up at least, but curtains seemed too permanent.

Last night I had a dream that I had lost all of my eyelashes. I was trying to paint some on the tops of my eyelids. I also had a dream about my cat. My cat has been dead for at least 4 years now, but I don't think he knew he was dead in my dream because he was looking for something to catch. I followed him in a car, I was driving extremely slowly so that I could watch him stalk whatever was in the grass. It was like a grassy swamp with my orange cat somewhere inside. I did finally get him back in the car, and I when I woke up I felt like that was a nice way to end the dream.

my friend

If I was in an allyway, the darkest part of night
I'd want you there beside me to help put up my fight
If I was sleeping drunkish next to some obsessive beast
I'd want you there beside me, in my dreams at least
If I turned into a hermit and was hidden in the woods
I'd want you to bring me rations, this I know you would
If I was climbing madly and I slipped and lost my grip
I'd want you there to hand me ropes and solidify my trip

rhyming makes me feel like something is actually happening


here comes success

iggy pop plays his song for me this morning, here comes my chinese rug
an open source, a wellspring of new ideas, something undone
can you believe all it took was a new perspective, something true
sweetheart, he's telling me, here comes the zoo
he doesn't have a lot of space in my apartment, so his shoes are on the bed
and he is leaning against the screen in my window,
I'm a little worried about his safety, but he doesn't seem to mind anything
here comes the manuals, the filling out of things, applications and forms
here comes a long road home, a broken air conditioner, a friend
here comes the best the world has offer
he's going to do the twist and go out and do anything he wants
here comes my business, my busy agendas and meetings and finger crossing
here comes some hard work, here comes not getting enough to eat
like a stampede of jungle shapes rushing out the door into a sunny field
here's to hoping they find something grand to occupy themselves
because right now, it is like after an earthquake, you miss that uneasy shaking


orange peels

a little piece broke off and has landed on the floor underneath my desk
where it will dry up and disintegrate into a million micro bursts of orange-ness.
can you imagine how long that would take?
almost as long as the furthest horizon of my patience, except that, that, is an intangible amount of time to wait to disintegrate.
if I was the bit of orange peel I would head north, roll over the bathroom tile and out the door, where the world awaits
but I am not an orange peel, and who knows what it will do

Shankar at 90

listen to the love

wednesday morning

Under a sticky leftover winter this morning is no different
pubescent buds laugh at our combined age
that truck with the gardeners slowed way down
the buds kept laughing
why drinking is a good idea
feeling stoned like you imagine it used to be
I remember my geology teacher with his pink skin
him showing us the abyssal plain
a slightly sloping, very flat ocean floor
and underneath its entire flat weight I am there, gone.

How many times will I think of that place
its smooth white horizon and its breathing beat
under the gallons, swollen waves
a half eaten pirate body and just the motion
sinking like a stone again into the salt

What good was it
the guilty notion that I could have swam away
when all i ever wanted was to be dragged as if a grey whale would prefer to tie me up and go
I think of the salt going in and out of my throat, clearing the way for more
I think of not being able to open my eyes, but still trying
and, yes, eventually being tossed ashore

Waking up next to the bird, the oldest bird
who tells me a secret and asks me seven questions
who picks the strands of flotsam from my tangled hair
who sits near my drying skin and sings back to the sea
who only loves me because I have arrived here

A new horizon, now sand and sand
dried up and salty sweat sticks to my hands
and i think of the existence of baryonic dark matter
how I'm not sure I care anymore, the start
the big smashing, crashing celebration

Steal the old birds feathers and make a bed
against the sand and the dark matter
climb in the back of the gardener's truck
smell the fresh dirt and bulbs
honey, I want you, comes out of his radio
but he can't hear the radio, only I can


too much in the world

too much in the world
the sweet and the salty sea
my own mistakes
and yours
and underwater I can finally breath
this drowning makes it seem
to be a sliver of immense infinite moments
cast over a chair like your shadow
like your daughter's hair
like the music you played out of tune
for everyone to hear and sing