November 28


being everything at once isn't a good thing.
some of me wants to move today, some wants to sleep;
i'm ultimate joy, the nearness of death, the serenity of the bath,
the desire to rip it out of the wall.
i hear old music while another part of me still laughs at new jokes
parts of me are clean and parts dirty
the rose candle beckons while we are lonely
i want to spend money while i want to be frugal
i'm tired of eating yet i eat like a king
it's indeed a saturday in late november.

November 27


on the verge of giving again, i'm not sure how, but i do know why.
a brain shooting blanks and a quickly poured nabob is late. again.
i'm complimenting the word man,
deleting facebook posts,
and just trying to get enough sleep.
colleagues give me their secrets with ease; they tell of heartache and pain,
of job interviews and marital woes. am i that steel trap finally, the motherly one
people trust? i never wanted to be that one yet i admired her.


i knew a man whose dignity was tied to his right as a man to lead the household.
he had no other redeeming qualities; having been snatched by being forced to leave his country behind
his confidence was in tatters and his emotions shattered. luckily, for him, he lived in a time when ruling
his family with an iron fist allowed him a shred of dignity at the expense of others.

this dawned on me today.
may he rest in peace.

November 26

run Forrest Run

half a night spent with loose-leaf thoughts
flipping them forward and back again as though they don't want to be contained in this binder, my head.
how to make a perfect child; how to build a marriage; what to tell a teacher; how to control the uncontrollable. does the outcome even really matter. what are the oddball chances that you meet someone
with the same goals as you and willing to go about them in exactly the same fashion? one could do the math, i suppose.

my mother told me nothing:    or so it seems:
all i want is for her not to say the same:
when is the right time to discuss the intricacies of a sex life:
the requirements for achieving a big house:
how finding love means losing a part of yourself:
and the realities to one day swallow once you have not achieved it: (you made other choices)
and a whole host of other complicated things (which she will never recall me having said)
and so maybe nothing is still the thing to say

all i want is to know when is the right time to say something and the right thing to say at the time.
all i need is to sleep when my body says sleep and to wake when my body says wake.
failing such; my mind wakes me and my body at 4:34 am and flips through every page in it's binder
until the pages are frayed and so am i.

November 24

7:55 AM

emails bleep; one more useless than the next.
ears ring; while caffeine crosses the barrier.
sip, poots, sip.
how do two jobs disappear, is what i am wondering today,
naproxen works,
good friday is bad,
and i just can't keep track of this body of mine.

what does your brain focus on, what drives you to get out of bed, if not a hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars, if not a world which ignores you outright, then perhaps electrons moving across another kind of barrier.

this is a brain flitting.
not fit.

November 23


monday silenced me; one last ticking clock ticks.
crafty emails get composed and sent;
energetic teenagers make solar powered projects;
facebook ignores me, as usual,
the world goes about it's ways
people still go to Paris.

i'll begin by practicing paraphrasing
time is always constrained, poots,
and summing up things which paint a quick sketch
is often de rigeur.


November 22


i learned to paraphrase that i cannot paraphrase
from a Unitarian Champlain
while a famous dog slept.

now it's not every day you meet a famous dog.
but sometimes, just sometimes, when you're unpacking coffee or stuffing Starbucks gift cards,
you meet someone who adores serendipity and also can't pronounce superfluous
and a famous dog.
yes, getting out is good. even if it's in.

it's not the time of day for waking;
nor baking;
but a separation of church and state can be useful on a sunday afternoon;
especially if one is indeed sex positive.
which isn't either a disease;
nor a dilemma;

November 17
7:35 AM

i made it awake through the night
apo-naproxen might be your friend;
for life

Le internet grieves the middle east moving west;
we watch, we wait, we cry.

i'm uploading pootly things to soundcloud;
biological things to facebook;
and fears to twitter;
i'm waiting to hear from a Parisian bank,
my daughter,
my shoulder,

       cornflakes on the counter
means a Swiss man was awake during the night...

it's just another day in paradise.

November 16

i left a world of caulking
to re-join the world of waking;

November 15
sunday bloody sunday

a dip in the radar today
i was doing so well
canadian wine
doesn't like me.

racking my brain for why i didn't call juliette
although she said her number changed
and what's done is done
throw it away poots.

sneezing on sunday
lots of French music piped thru radio frequencies
i know them all
i know France
i love French
i know Paris
i know french
i won't be shamed
by your misgivings
nor your fears.

straight-thinking thoughts are at the tip of my tongue
my head wants to move
but my body is still
the closet, oh, the closet,
it's in the corridor
beside the stinky pigs
and i can't even remember the list today.
fuck you
canadian wine.

November 14

a world connected.

i'm not sure the world is meant to be so connected;
lots of simpletons have their say;
which may include me;
i know.

alone again, naturally, poots tries a clearinghouse of thoughts,
making room for she's not sure what, like sweeping the floor as if no more dirt will come,
but as things move forward and history repeats history
and history becomes blurred
things need to be written down
although time may make history of us.

one foot on each chair silences a Parisian world in other windows
which scream out in pain and anger
in tricolors shared, no matter your genetic component,
although mine is indeed French
with a star.

 the word-man ignores me publically
over and over and over again;
he will not silence me
nor my love of words.

so many important things i cannot say
in fact, anything of importance.


November 11

7:37 am remembering.

i'm not sure what happened since july;
maybe a black hole of time engulfed me;
but all of a sudden i have lists;
i'm keeping track;
and when i wake, logical thoughts prevail.

November 6
5:55 pm

another generation has come and gone;
one thinks there's enough for everyone;
the other knows there's not;
one thinks women are still cast as tokens
the other is a woman who does a man's job better than a man;
and each generation gains what the other one loses.


November 5

upstairs is a woman whose job in life is to run a house;
the socks are her children; the bedsheets are her boss;
the lawn is the customer;
and the rules are the law;

she sees no other way; no other salvation;
and she makes the choice, daily, to close her eyes.

i pray, to any God who will listen, for her.

November 4

sleep... oh sleep.... elusive, evasive sleep...

not even words come to a dizzy morning;
but thoughts wash over me
of her

and as i drag my left arm around, like a decaying branch wilting on a tree,
the only possible conclusion is that time actually exists;
one of the futures is here, now,
and that i was kept sane by surrounding myself with order;
and i threw it up in the air
like an insane person
and having watched it land
am still not sure which person
is me.

when your mirror is a bit crooked you notice how straight you are.

November 3

alone or lonely

i find myself alone.
/guinea pigs remind me that 'you're never alone' as their loud squeaks cut through my morning silence
a silence inside my head where i search for words to encompass a thought. it's a conundrum, wanting
to be alone for someone who is so lonely; so maybe it's not loneliness at all.
what i know is that i miss it - the large silent spaces i used to have here at seven thirty sixes - the spaces
i re-created the night before, rolling up the days into words, the perspectives into linear phrases, i miss
the tranquility of being here with nothing dinging, chiming, squeaking, or flashing. eventually, life became
one big distraction. so with these achy shoulders down, itchy ringing ears and throbbing bloodstream,
trickling fish tank and clicking coffeepot, i'm back, if only momentarily.
it only took about five years, several hundred thousand dollars, one pretty decent job, and most of the
strength i could muster.  just to be alone again with my thoughts.

November 2
6:40 am

somehow i dreamt, in a sweat, i slept, and after tossing and turning, it's morn.
rifling through my monkeys and their monkeys, my circus and their circus,
is not getting me anywhere .

November 1

bonus time.
it's dark sock season. away with the four summer socks and up with the dark winter socks.
one could probably turn back the clocks to her socks.