February 28


February 27
  7:21  am

monday monday

February 26
  8:57 am

i spent the last few hours making a competitive five-star dinner, planning my project at the same time, breaking off a candle between lunch and evening service and then hunting down two amazing things to see just before nearly being lost in the night fog on a path so narrow that the car disappeared, climbing a dark grey piece of rock to see hundreds of huge black fish, and then finally falling into the freezing water while thankfully onlookers appeared from no where to gasp in horror and offer assistance, which i did not need, as i pulled myself out of the frigid water, having finding it refreshing after a day of cooking over a hot stove as Vera waited for my schedule that she never got. i asked a woman what was up the spiral staircase at the end, having forgotten both of the attractions i set out to see, and she reminded me there was a museum but the main event was not playing, so i had just decided to head back from whence i came and the universe decided at that particular moment that i should wake up and spend the next seventeen minutes trying to orient myself back into reality by trying to remember the bizarre details of such a vivid dream.

there is a bizarre and vivid dream alright and it sometimes plays out while we are awake

February 23
  8:22 am

can any amount of mEpping ease my mind
can any amount of yoga nidra help me sleep
can any amount of singing bring me bliss
on a payday in deep thursday februaries

facebook becomes my extraverted place
for moments of extraversion
and twitter makes me blind
as i sit in this dark bathroom
and watch guinea pigs crunching newspapers

sleep came in the blue room
mr. boxenham talks about Stockholm in the news
as i reminisce
alex flits from class to class watching the pretty ginger
as i work

so the mind comes round again to payday
and i can breathe.

February 20
  7:50 am

a battle was won at 2:22 am
a conquest of mind and body
in another room; at another place;
and with another drug;
and at roughly seven thirty victory is declared;
and it's finally silent through this long hallway
where expensive soft pink things fell to the ground from her hand;
and lunches are forgotten in the ice box
and a combination of flowers and old spice circulate
and it's finally silent at this long cement with three empty wine glasses, ice-cream cake stains,
and unmatched chairs from different locations
as i vaguely move through this large empty space
as i recall fondly stroking the beard of the man who timed the dishwasher
as it breaks the silence so coveted
in my head

what my phone connects me to and why i leave it off


February 17
10:13 am

more bad sleep silences me
from myself
my thoughts
but inside myself the rage burns
over lost days
and empty time

is it merely winter which punishes me for being old
or short days
or constant incompetence

with a dead car battery
and a dead brain
friday came
and i sing
in spite of it

February 10

more bad sleep
more reckoning
more coffee

poems being writ about a twit who tweets
winter chill reminds us of childhood
as children pass through theirs

February 9

like clockwork;
around the age of fifty
i began feeling old
in the morning.

18 months later i woke up in the same position i fell back asleep in
sometime after five am. the list of items which i reviewed, are with me still,
including the four times i inhaled the alphabet followed by the alphabet and numbers
how a body wakes up stiff from being in the same position is still a bit of a mystery to me

but luckily, after that long night, i woke up to the sound of a girl, reliving my thought processes,
with slightly different thoughts, and in a slightly different body and at a slight different time in history, humming.

"you look like crap"
she said
"i feel like crap"
i said

and she fumbled with her zipper as the neighbours fumbled with their car stuck in the frozen puddles
as the cold wind blew into the vestibule and my forehead thrice hit the door frame keeping it at bay
and then i poured this coffee while i forgot what it was i wanted to write here
but i knew i did and i'm not hungover

February 7

i could tell you my dirty secrets;
a salad bowl, a silverfish, or what goes through my mind as i toss and turn at night;
the lies i've told myself
and others
and you
and the truths that no one wants to hear;
how resistance is often futile;
how we are not on the edge of glory;
how brief was the greatness of the American Empire;
how happy i am to wake up in the morning;

and how crazy it is that i cannot buy myself ice skates.

if only i knew how.

February 5

it's not Trump filling her world: oh, how i would switch places
for a snap and a dance, and a boy with a greek name;
for no men who cannot cope;
for ultimately, hope;
in my mind, she and i dance to our own song, although she's not sure of what it is yet,
i like to think i do - it's a dance for two -

 - - - - - - -

and when the day ends as it begun,
with ringing ears and shifting eyes
watching the world go by through this electronic lens
has become more real and more comforting
than the one in front of me
and the strangest part
that i don't miss it.

February starts
with default fonts
on the third of the month

on a friday
at 7:43 am

with the default font
and a mental illness theme

every month topples over the last
until i have enough moments and coffee
to fight with the default font

and i'm wondering what defines mental
and what defines illness
when the default font
doesn't seem to exist

ode to a guinea pig

if you get this far
say hi