but no stiches in my side...

i'd like to join myself
in chat but i have not yet managed
to spilt my access like my mind.

i cleaned the big entertainment center
the former inhabitants left, dusted it too, put
the 13 inch tv in the big slot then draped a red
silk cloth with gold dragons around it. properly
kitsch now, i add the vcr to the mix,
put "vampire nights" on repeat
turn out the lights & leave. my installation
will run as tribute to american middle class
for as long it takes me to forget about you.
i would have used the passion of the christ
if i had it. i did not organize the cds. gotta
save my projects for karma, upchucking.















*



the weed in the bathroom
gets taller, more buddy. it smells
like sensimilla
but i know better. there's a male
making stamens, seeds to pinch.
i think about the last time we shared
anything other than mutual angst. the way
you wanted to plant us in the same pot
with different time zones. the way i
kept falling , too full of hibernation
and rhyzomes, out of your trowel.
i'm thinking harvest time's a bit late
but smoke it if you got it.


















*






another load of laundry awaits my touch.
the turning of the dial, the adding of the soap
the soft tumble into water and cleanliness.
if i were religious baptism would mean more.
as it is, fire's as good as any cleanser for some things.
like this pair of jeans i've been wearing , everywhere, all
the time. the only
pair i own. they ride low
on my hips, cuz that was fashion
when i bought em. but the zipper
broke two weeks ago and last
week when my car's tranny
tubes busted i got a big ugly stain
on the thigh .despite that i wash and wore
them to the state fair in my role as orchestra chaperone
with a pen in my pocket. which leaked blue ink
down the front. so i bought a new pair
on the way home. i'd like to give these things
a proper send off-- bonfire of the stained
and broken. how i'd fit right in.






















*









sticky alien glue
on the back of a post it note.
the tearing off of maybes
the trashing of hastily dashed contracts
worth the scrap paper they consume.
all of these clog and muffle the muscle
i've come to depend on for life. or something.
i know it's in here, but i'm letting it be
until i find the right tools to free it.
i mean, i got the three strikes rule going for me,
didn't foul tip anyone, just solid swings and misses.
i'm glad it'll be another couple innings
before i step up to the plate again.


















&















where's my pipe?