crazy after all
stephen fry opines from the radio while i
try to ignore sore eyeball sockets.
trembling shoulders, vice-head, and a throat which didn't
want to wake up,
i painfully pull creative out of me. do we live in fear
that our lives are preposterous images
of what our father's life was? is this so much a man's
thing? his words comfort me,
as every ounce of me hurts. and i mean every.
aching muscles wake me.
days barrell forward, each one containing a different version of
through this badly slept, bleeded, badly eaten fog, i
bring myself here.
the warmth and bitterness of the coffee liquid on my lips is the
only reminder i know.
however other people do this, i have no clue. is that why they
that's a hard head i have this morning. a shaken empty belly,
and a very sore body.
all for no reason at all.
this pain, i love you more. it's only a
thread on which i hang now.
one day, i will tell stories of these
children who knocked at my door today.
my body is shaky; and achy;
and longing for rest;
it belches; it bleeds; it burns;
my mind races; it sprints; forward and back;
it propells me in the night to places it should
it never waits patiently; it agonizes; it longs;
it constructs; it deconstructs; it dreams;
today, they will need to cooperate.
they will need to gather all of their
constructing powers just to show up,
smile, pretend, act.
but it must.
What I saw out my window
Taken from the yellow room.
Va', pensiero, sull'ali dorate;
Va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,
ove olezzano tepide e molli
l'aure dolci del suolo natal!
Del Giordano le rive saluta,
di Sionne le torri atterrate…
Oh mia Patria sì bella e perduta!
O membranza sì cara e fatal!
Arpa d'or dei fatidici vati,
perché muta dal salice pendi?
Le memorie nel petto raccendi,
ci favella del tempo che fu!
O simile di Solima ai fati,
traggi un suono di crudo lamento;
o t'ispiri il Signore un concento
che ne infonda al patire virtù!
too much too little
nine o'clock is bedtime
in a house with too much lettuce
too much cream in my coffee, a long
sleep still brings me here, alone.
changes which in the past would have been huge, are now
perspecitive. they have changed my coffee. for example.
for a short while; i lay in your arms and forgot where i
there was skin; and kindness; comfort, a bit of a stiff neck
and through your ribs, the sound of your rapid heartbeat in
my left ear.
in fact, i listen often to this rapid heartbeat, mostly with
with the knowledge that the human heart's beats are
i never take one of them for granted
and i always wish i could slow them down.
the emotions, i have felt before,
but i have never, ever
the laundry piles get smaller.
how do i get dressed.
long surveys keep my mind active when they should be doing
it's a blank and it doesn't even know what it is.
if i'm going to describe me today, it's a great big lump of
fat and happy has become fatter and happier: he notices
mostly the latter.
biding my time when there is time to be had; counting the
useful actions on one hand.
every day cannot be useful. today is for tonight, as i
gather my energy.
there is champagne to be drunk: smiles to maintain: and an
adorable man to keep warm.
that's just what it takes when you're me.
achy brain mornings, nothing is running.
especially not me.
without enough sleep, there is no singing, no pantomime, and
how much of you, does emotion drive?
how much should it?
how much should you spend on groceries?
and all the trees fall silently in the digital forest, one
by eventual one.
seasons change while i tweet.
automn falling in; windows closed, slippers
on, hearty stews.
twittering; frittering; aching; reclining;
in a day with no hours, church might be nice.
today is not such a day.
swirling thoughts of little consequence surround me now:
the Swiss man snores in the middle room: the fish pumps
gurgle in my middle ear.
one foot is colder; the largest clump of basil sits in the
amyethyst vase, recieved on my 30th
birthday: yes, i used to recieve birthday gifts. i will not
deny this. it was a long time ago.
hiding the lamb for the vegetarians, not explaining myself
for the very first time in my life, there are some people
don't deserve my time. wow, that took nearly 50 years.
gets odder and odder when people younger than me are more
conservative than me.
true sign of getting old i guess.
what is today? as i have said, it's an idea bigger than all
evolution is encompassed in you,
treating me, how you do.
could such common folk ever eat
watching live events
unfold on the
other side of
my own space,
Paul and Art
sing about an
this is the
loss that i
deeply for so
from behind a
pile of empty
the humming of
trucks and the
trees lull me,
and the man
going into his
brought on a
and our time
to reflect at
souls who will
get on one.
it's early; i
then again, i
Edita in the
Doug in the
with Sonia in
or yelling at
how not living
in the city
makes you less
trying to undo
the face i'm
these are only
i dreamt of
he had gifts
for me; one
was a large
serve as a
Bob wanted one
too and we
to see the
with B (Bonin)
so i ran down
the alley past
and the cheese
store was open
and the man
but we had
the day before
and it was
and the same
so i didn't.
instead at a
i was late and
made a brief
the dark wine
to a deceased
two and a half
dear joy; chemistry is real.
"i sit by windows and i watch the
i feel i'll do some damage one fine day
but i would not be convicted by a jury of my peers
still crazy after all these years"
a chilly fourteen degrees; backflips
dreamt; menopausal headaches; coffee!
nothing gravely poetic will slip from these fingers today
except being alive with a headache;
sipping starkly sour caffeine from a red mug;
and perhaps these foursquare placemats purchased on st denis
street and fitting squarely on this Swiss table.
if he isn't yelling, i sense, he feels uninvolved, is this a
true measure? is that the manner by which he knows the
thoughts of kathleen at a funeral sweep by my mind; have we
entered the funeral years while still biking?
in fact many thoughts ransack my mind instantly;
backflipping headaches; bittersweet senses of
and the to-and-fro-ing of the Swis man, of course, while i
feel particularly grounded here for no reason.
renewing the lease crossed my mind; melanie; the crystal
clear greens of lingering summer out my window,
with sunday sunlight in the fullness of life; and all of a
sudden, norma, her new school year, her sense of
her birds, her photographs, and her magnificent smile,
sometimes accompanied by the warmest of prickly laughs.
it's chilly. it's calm. the fish hum and gurgle.
can you smell
a real live Yentl moment
through well slept eyes
and the slow swooshes of wet tires,
me, who has become first person here
and has made it to saturday, all.
but it's the tropical winds
in the urban maplecanopy
the piping hot java
and the grogginess of my typing gait
which compose me now.
it's an ache in my back;
a ring in my ear;
and a little bit of the world being sideways;
which frames this page today
and the memory of last night's Seinfeldian company
Jews; Hindus; non-Christians; vegetarians; Atheists;
and some of them two of those, dined on vegetarian food,
in an odd coupling
in a small house
but how does emotion shape the words we speak
now that is far more interesting.
are high and i
am forced to
how long a
i have wanted:
indeed i never
such a thing
but only the
a child does
of writing and
will she learn
to write this
well, i think.
super heated f
i am back to
time is over:
life is to be
it is that way
in the mind of
of someone who
of those who
are in it to
the weather we
could be naked
that binds us;
and reminds us
what it must
be like to be
and a dragonfly still lives here
love the smell
even as it
and i also
enjoy the fact
that you hate
it because you
only hate it
you are dust.
and you don't
what it means
to be alive.
much time do
got a new
she's the old
she's the old
she's the old
i got a new
like her or
her love is
her prose well
and her lines
[in much the same way that adding
furniture to a room can sometimes make it feel larger
airplanes make the sky bigger.
first day of
school in a
lots of phone
calls makes a
and a yawning
crossing life and dreams leaves
a life dreamt.
some times i speak the names of good restaurants to myself:
Graziella; Garde-Manger; hotel
each one rolls off my mind's toungue like a five course
filling up my nearly fifty-year old self with the knowledge
that i no longer can know these places
as i once would have known them in my youth; even had i
never frequented them.
the mEp ... my Electronic
pen . . . the 2014 edition and all of the contents therein are
copyright Poot's Place
1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004,
2005, 2006, 2007, 2008,2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 and 2013
That's ALOT of years! I GUESS I'M GETTING
All photography original unless otherwise