Sunday, October 28, 2018

routine unseason

eye of the tiger
blasting in the lyft 
heading home to
bed bugs and 
he even turns up
the volume

have a great night
could be a nice, clean send-off
I ask my head rhetorically and
barely agree
I can’t remember it resonating
for a clear, black winter night

I can’t remember the last time
I felt cute, last night,
in my scrubs?
life will begin again
with long hair

electricity in some joints
like a doctor poster 
in places like knees, 
I feel so much a sack
waking up

fuck napping 
waking up
worse off

just laying
in nothing
I love
I can count the times
I’ve done that
lately I don’t
do that 

I walked today
I can count
steps too,
you know when the sun
is just above eye level
a harsh sheet

walking the blasted sidewalks
everyone seems discombobulated 
in a Halloween way, limbs hanging
around randomly car doors
swinging and slamming hoods
glinting  and my photographic memory
is a car parked on the SIDEWALK
are we in Europe or
was it a Bird and who cared?
it’s literally a blur

I wrote
Drink Chartreuse on My Birthday
and everything went downhill
from there

my favorite color
shirt and ribbon
shredded on
hot and high

the dates are haunting
i.e. on October 14th
Mima was still alive
do you know what I mean?
the following Friday she wasn’t
all the fine lines 
between life and death
what else?

I can’t lose ____
I can’t lose ____ !
but we lose it all
on the path
to a full shed
very interesting/
what’s the point


the couple outside of Cookbook
dressed as little kids
maybe middle schoolers
tights and socks and
a small purse
she’s swaying nervously
but ironically
he has fluffy hair and
baggy track pants
with skate shoes
they’re embracing a lot
by the parking sign
the October wind