October 30
spooky things

I'll  divide the world as i see fit. those who see order and those who see disorder.
for those who see order, the world tends to order. you get the point.
and in a chaotic display of order, my body ratchets down as hers ratchets up
we meet outside of the middle in a linear inverse proportionality;
one going up
one going down.


October 27

stealing away
i write.
stealing away from them; from the fish; from my body; from the cold; from time.
perched up on a footstool next to the kitchen forced-air heater installed under the sink in the last century
i am reminded of a flat in Budapest where the cousin's girlfriend from Albuquerque lived. one room. one bed. one fork.
if i can never forget that flat, and that book, i will always have a dream. so i swept the floor in 2015 with the same arms
which slept in that bed as bombs crashed down scarring the outsides of the building, the same arms which visited from
England, cradled a baby, learned to speak Hungarian and make goulyas, and then came from modern day America and
used only one room, one bed, and one fork. we all have the same arms and today i remembered them clearly as i swept
this cold floor in the pre-dawn of late october while my fifty year old body ravages me with waning estrogen.

did i mention it's day seven.
immigration papers are delivered; officially;
european cards sent; pantry re-shuffled;
i panic as seven o'clock nears to steal back my time;
i start to chew; a delicious dinner was served;
creaking, cracking, back to normal.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

October 25

10:10am sunday

i am
i am obsessed with changing priorities
like bed making
dinner parties
and sleep.

this menopausal thing lights up my world and i often wonder who i will be when i come out on the other side.
counting anxious nights was never something i planned, it's part of the unexpected

October 23

day 5.

an envelope with a black and white photo got delivered;
one blue jean jacket; a pair of 21 dollar burgers;
a clean sink; a clean list; a clean conscious;
an iphone 6; a clean bank account;
a friday night.
one of these would never have happened before.
guess which.

October 22

day 4.

it's a chcolate-milky phase for poots; driving thru the alleys of westmount on this day four
watching shiny boots in the overpriced windows tell me how lucky i was to be poor, temporarily.

and the young mom pushing the stroller; with her milky complexion; and baby;
she is a prototype for all to see -
while at her age i danced on rooftops overlooking the Biscayne bay
and explored any manner of country
or body
i could

so what would drive a young woman in her prime to push a stroller
in her finest years of vigor; of desirability; of courage;
i ask you.

October 21
8:02 am

day 3.

thick sleep, a sore shoulder, and a Swiss man speaking High German woke me on the third day.
immediately allergic, the to do list becomes miscellaneous quickly, having been reduced to special soy sauce
from immigration papers rather quickly; even without sending the papers.

October 19
1:34 am
i suppose i would liken it to war, in a sense, in order to make an analogy.
allegiances are sketchy and unclear; structure changes as the playing field moves;
communication only serves the communicator,
it's essentially every man to himself,
and even your allies cannot be trusted.
so when you ask for help
you sound mad.

October 18
on a sunday afternoon

elvis pines with rufus-like pains
in a room painted orange;
me, diminutive, forces MBTI down your throat
only in an attempt to clarify
what i don't understand
which is more than it used to be.

tottering between well and unwell
teetering between rich and poor

did you know i need to clear my mind
imagine peeling potatoes every night of the week for over twenty years?
no, neither can i.

i've been unwell
i plan to be better

October 16

can you tell
i've been unwell
smiling through the breeze of life
i did not finish sleeping; my dreams left hanging
as i throw human food to pigs
gulp tepid coffee
and chat across the ponds

October 11

of course everything is a memory
tomorrow is only unknown
and yesterday is all we really know;
expect only the unexpected
and relive everything else in a memory;
painted either as a colorful tableau
or as blocks in a sentence
or perhaps through the tension in my shoulders;
the lust in my loins;
or the vacuous space filling the insides of my brain

every angle, every camera, knows only a memory
snapshots in vision
a malodorous scent
or a whiff of nostalgic perfume

it's all there in disguise
but it's all there in a memory
and a memory is all there is
once we're gone

one day she might ask me why my stools are not as fancy as my sister's and this will be my answer:
i did other things over the past 20 years. for starters...
i got married three times. divorced twice. i moved to California.
i lived  in Stockholm, where you were concieved, and I rode bikes through Amsterdam. I ate Gouda Cheese while overlooking the North Sea.
 I traveled the circumference of France thrice,  played tennis in Switzerland, suntanned in Marbella, and climbed the gorge in Rhonda.
I flew First class through Schipol to Arlanda many times and attended ebusiness training seminars in the countryside outside of Stockholm.
I rode my bike through the streets and outskirts of Stockholm and I danced on tables in Miami. I flew over Puget sound from Vancouver to Seattle and ate at Seattle's best restaurants. I visited most of the the greatest vineyards in France, and took a Ferry from Waxholm to Nynosham, not far from where you were conceived and where the ferries leave for Oslo. I stayed in a one-room flat in Budapest with one fork and I saw Tosca at the Budapest Opera house. I went to underground bars in Atlanta, to Indian restaurants in Dallas, and Persian restaurants in Los Angeles. I swam in the Mediterranean and ate Fish soup in Provence. I drove the length of the Florida Keys from Dallas and spent the night at a seedy motel. I rented a convertible in Vegas and drank Sherry in Spain. I had a bath outside on Galliano island while watching the sea otters play.  I drove the Ventura Highway to the Hearst Castle and I ate Cioppino in San Francisco. I went to business meetings in Paris and hunted for Patrick Bruel while shopping for a duck terrine in the 16th arrondissement. I climbed the Eiffel tower.  Twice. I ate McDonalds on the Champs Elissee. I ate bagette and cheap rose at the foot of Mont St Michel. I took a boat ride around the Chateau d'If and I watched the Tour de France in Marseille on the day of the Bastille. I spent a week in training in Reston Vigrgina where I ate the best Veal liver I could imagine. I danced on the rooftop overlooking the Biscayne Bay and I drank tequila while walking along the midnight surf in Los Angeles.  So in case you are wondering, that is why I have two unmatching stools in my kitchen.


October 11
10:10 am

I used to have thoughts for free; it seems they are all costly now.
i can't recall my baseline, project or other, while so many loose ends abound
and for the first time since the inception of the mEp, 19 years ago,
i put food to my mouth
while typing these words.


the cloudy fishtank
a fancy bottle of wine
holiday weekends which are no longer holi
nevermind day.
and me, needing to regain some control
and making the tiniest of progress.

it's the bottom of the pyramid first these days
Russell's double IPA notwithstanding;
at fifty, imagine.

no poems today

October 10
8:41 am

if we assume normal, poots had a dream;
peeing in the men's bathroom in the coat section, while everyone rushed for cheap socks;
there were small streets in my 'dream city' of yore, teeming with people as lights went out
and i noticed, on most of the shabby old street corners, that the square street signs had been taken out of their frames;
to be replaced with newer ones,
and i was proud.
of my city.

i'm lost in you
and that makes me lost.

October 8
There are no 'likes' here
yet i go on.

October 7th

so it's true, that i need to do things in order -
it's a logic-based brain this one -
faltering, without even telling me
that things are needed in order they appear
even if they are farther than they appear

evening comes and i sneeze through 
more evening
and even more.

when are chairs needed to be moved, in the Wednesday evenings, at ten pm,
for a woman, nearly ninety, with everything in place, and four socks all hung to dry
on a fall day, how can a chair be out of place, or is a letter needing writing, at a desk,
to be perhaps, and stamped, and mailed, somewhat, tomorrow.
to austria? indeed, there are not many mysteries in life, but this, indeed, is one.

poots eyes dart from menu to clock; ten oh two pm; it's october seventh; another year closing up;
it's been a stressful one, pursed lips on my mouth as my writhe fingers move across keys without looking;
i should write something for someone else to read, one day, as i unpurse my lips consciously;
shouldn't i.

and how much good can be said today. not much. observations abound. logic not so much.
some things are broken. i can't say what.

sick four days

come back my dream; don't leave me; don't wake me; don't break me;
it was more perfect a world with cynthia's aunts from new brunswick;
while they carried tables to the front lawn and spoke of dead husbands.
and where did four days go, four sick days, four more sick days, to come and go.

finallly, alone with a dizzy head and my ringing ears, i can ignore facebook on my own time;
let the achy breaky shoulders down; listening to my ears, and sit without pause, for maybe fifteen minutes.
this rare event occurs with a frequency of every four days. every sick four days.

October 2
what sits on your night table and do your pillow covers match?
mine used to. rituals are being squeezed. formality is over. fuck is okay to say.
on our night table, which isn't a night table, sits a robot and an empty bottle of perfume.
and Ventolin. precious, precious, Ventolin.

in general there is more chaos; but things tend to chaos don't they;
of course i'm far less drunk than i used to be and my choices far more pointed;
in the past i only dreamed of love as a real thing, when all my choices were based on thinking, on control,
for control is the only thing we can really own then isn't it. after that there is only death.
and death just isn't an option until it is no longer an option.
do only the insane, truly fall in love.

and, what shifted me so, as a tectonic plate would do,
from logic based reality, to allowing insanity to rule,
as if a fish in an ocean storm, i am now only waiting,
waiting on my destiny, waiting on a Swiss man,
waiting as i have never waited for anything in my life.

October 1
a story several months in the telling;
confusion about a Beatles song led me to believe;
you can't always get what you need
but if you try somehow
you just might find
what you get what you want
is how the lyric should go.
so i asked a friend. i said friend. the song is wrong.
in truth most of you don't get what you need
you don't get unconditional love
you don't get self confidence
you don't get peace of mind
most of you get what you want
you want a fancy house you get it
you wanted a car you bought it
we spiraled around wants and needs and who teaches us the difference
and i was taught neither
i was only shown