A light crackle of rain against the glass...

The morning was amazing in quiet. My neighbors even noticed and chose not to physically express their loves for each other directly above my head and I was allowed to lay there and fall in and out of consciousness. Different dreams about different things, including one dream of strange haunting. It wasn't altogether unpleasant either, though the world I embodied clearly had intention of grasping me in some fashion.

The Heater is Dead

Cold like a womb
the plush carpet stiff
under foot naked
tripping forward into
brilliant missiles

_______________________________


Car in the shop so working to get a ride from a co-worker. Should happen, get out of the shell apartment with its dripping windows of condescension. Yeah, that's what I said. But then when I'm not getting what I want done, everything challenges me.

Fire to Ice to the Floor of the Huckleberry Inn

Because pizza demands the skin of its labor
the burn of the taste lingers in the apartment
while my arm flies 5000 feet in the year

The frozen earth demands immediate respect
a landing less than expected but it should have been
and the arm tears tears tears away

A moment passed twice
and linger in single digits
the cafe with gravy and skin
warmth of a burn frozen to folds
rolled and curled on the floor
of the Huckleberry inn

Sunny Day...

I guess sunny days really are easier to get up to. Except when you don't want to - which is a lot of days. But that said, I found a piece of last nights pizza crust on the counter and that was a delicious little treat.

Rivulets...

New Year's Eve has been ponderous for me every year now for the past few. I think last year I spent it inside, listening to the din of my neighbor's blasting crackers in the street. I don't think I even went out. Year before, made it down to Hawthorne only to be too stoned to enjoy the craziness of it all. I walked home in the cold rain around 11:45 pm, only hearing the celebratory car horns just as I reached Stark St. Then there was the first year that I'd decided not to go too big, as it were, and spend the evening walking around the city with my love. Nobody else wanted to hear that and the pressure to do something grew until I ran away and spent the evening wandering the streets of the lower Haight for hours, profoundly sad and alone.

Rivulets

the snow caved to the wet deluge pouring from my coat
around me hoards of revelers milled
in dark masses against the silver night snow
like marauding invaders they bellowed
delirious in the New Year
their happiness unbridled
unaware

some ask me to flip the switch off
everybody has problems they say
don't be a drag they mean

motionless in the snow
the rain slapped against my parka
and burned the crystals below me and to my side
the tip of hair next to my ear felt like ice
while the rivulets pooled and froze
somewhere out of sight

Slept for 13 hours last night...

Besides some rather obtuse dreams, I was only awoken once by the pounding syncopated rhythms of fucking above my head. The neighbors are the height of schedulers, consistently engaging in coitus between 11:15 pm and 12:15 am. While it may not be every night, it's certainly enough to classify as a routine. Good for them. Not so much for me who has found the natural curiosity of others in the throngs to have worn thin. So while their penetration takes place upstairs, another takes place below: my fingertips in my ear holes. Though yes, I am a little jealous.

Cash in the pocket...

Bout my tips

little toes of tiddly winks
at counter throes and deft advertisements
cue'd all time lows
and misguided hijinks
once again force me to spend
these little bills
on my little me