out of towning

on my desk, in my trailor, sits a wildflower honey jar

filled with gladiola and mexican sunflowers you picked 

  for my fifty fifth birthday. double nickled, can't drive,

aarpish. but you love me. wrapped around your finger.

you restarted my game, back to level one. thanks for helping

me kick that addiction. you should get a chance to play

at your level. let me know when you reach where i was.

so what game to engage in now? writing on a different level

might be nice if i had the energy. it was sweet to visit with you

pretend we still have things in common instead of this gulf

between returning and pixie pin point  connections.

still, i love the fall leaves. and i did introduce you

to your current lifestyle. that counts for something

i can take into the clikity clak night to cuddle. 

i bet you didn't think i'd return your call

but you weren't  IDed. i fixed that though.

 now when you relive us through

 a different situation, you

 won't have me to drone to.

i know you had to leave for work, it doesn't

 get easier if you pretend

we're already dead. i left 

some black and white square bowls

on the counter, like the four noble truths.

then, to take the edge off, coffee cups.

bone white.  the delusions of youth

dissolve in the era of solid middle age.

so grab a drum. you have four years

to watch the event horizon become  

the rabbit hole.might as well make some time.

(*)**\\\

they don't know what those ^^ are. 

it throws them. to have to explain would be my pleasure

but this is not a discussion group. 

or maybe  i've just not looked around 

enough to find the happening place.

surely all the great grammatical questions

have not been answered, surely there are boundaries 

we can still cross. just not in this place. i can see

very well that this is not the venue for bloggishness

disguised as poetry with left handed resolution

and karmic intent. 

what of the beauty of today?

the cup of coffee. the slow rolled meds.

washed clothes, cleaned bowls.

and the daily grind. back at the salt mines

picking up the whip, wielding it. 

(i will get my tester. everyone in the house knows

we need it now. i hope it works and we can find ways

to wrestle the sonic monster to its knees, make it obey

our whim. this vp and that vp don't want to play

this game of who's minding the store. i will get my tester

and they will hate me more. the she that's in 

the mean girls club is a wolf,. play it more or less 

the same sister mine. i am too busy fa ya ass.

less keep this pafessional.)

oh i am getting hard. hard and hard.

the walnut bitters , shell catalysis. i 

let you sleep with your clothes on

stubble faced stumble placed.

it was another disappointing to my expectations day.

but the part of me that just let it be

knew what would happen all along so

she is just SAYin , like, duh. 

just love you. you drove my car one thousand 

five hundred miles and only whined

when you made the wrong left turn.

we barely snapped. tether and ring.

i was five on the beach, watching the tide 

roll in. you humored me anyway.

because i know timing is everything

and i fucked you the first night we

were   on the beach,

lit by stars. 

the last night, i slept in the new year

because i didn't want to see it

from the very first minute on.

plateaus of habit

At the pond again. Joint in my mouth
Bad music on the radio the weather. changes
At my impending exit. i want to travel roads I've seen before to people I've
Known as friends

Today you invited me
To party again. I'd take you up on that.
But these years show
me how over it I am


Instead I'll demure
With false smile
Pretended interest.
A guess as good as goodbye

face it

malaise. from malice. she looks at this birthday

from one, with the other. it's unknown the kind

of life she could lead from here. so   she buys 

a new car. it keeps her at the job another seven years

if she survives that, then perhaps she could stop

look around, see if there is any more reason to keep going.

she keeps thinking of dying. not in a suicidal way, she's

not brave enough for that. she doesn't want cancer

or some other wasting disease. so she's hoping to maybe stroke out

or have a massive untreatable heart attack, an auto accident, 

or suicide bomber at the mall. just so it's quick, she thinks.

and what of the man. what if he wasn't here?

would she feel the same way? life offerings complete

love in all its measure-apparently  hers now. well not all.

if he were supporting her. that would be the  thing

she hasn't done since adulthood, beholden to someone

else's whims. he ex husband would not agree nor would she

if she were honest. he didn't support her so much as

whim her into obiescence.  so there was that. but she thinks

she would like to be the one keeping the hearth alive. 

it looks like that might be after the car's all paid off

if she can budget her money well enough to pay rent

for a couple of years. squeeze out some writing. self publish

at seventy. what a dream. oh wait, this begain with a man.

what if he wasn't here. but he is. he says he's staying.

she's not so sure about that. eventually she kicks 

everyone out or leaves herself.  what ever she thinks.

whatever. 

*(*(

but  this age . is  the full admission to aarp

the senior discount, the exit from any demographic that matters.

she is trying to get used to the idea of irrelevancy, as if

anything or one has intrinsic relevance. that's the whole point

she thinks. it doesn't! relevance is about the viewpoint 

from outside this bag of skin, looking at it. 

going to pot is more than a ballot amendment

it's the round shape of belly  converging with gravity laden tits.

the gray hair sundays, the slow driving, the inability to grasp

her own phone's operations, lack of music, lack of caring

it's the whole damn bagel, with cream cheese, locked. 

)*80

bleh, probably this is why she stopped writing anyway.

may as well be pushing buttons as writing this whiney shit.

pet rescue saga, where are you?. 

pattent on pds

nonprofit is a scam and batteries need recycling
if iever got money id buy up old landfills and give em
to my kids to mine when the bounty runs out.

i got addicted   to failing early on, nd i dont want to believe
you cant see im writing.  speak on. if you will find it for me
and feed it to me, i will eat it. yes give me some wine.please.

patent. this is how you really spell it but i forgot it
in the middle of your nonstop talking. seven bux
wont buy a  cartfull of wine but the gods give discounts
only when your poets are bare.

fish plate. adam and eve in north carolina.
benefaction sponsored by heap chinese porn toys on the cheap.
we drink the wine of our forefathers, concord and sweet
numerology reveals your destiny and we close the book.
the silence, when it falls, is an invitation you accept.

unused post

the red stuff is better 

sublingual im getting a real psychoactive

effect from the chemical reaction of water

and a pill trying to mate with an amoeba.

i saw it on the internet. you tube uber alles.

this ashtray is the color im lokkong for.

its colloidal, glycerine. butter  inder tongue.

im going german hor halloween. hot air 

ballooning on the edge of tomorrow 

pacific sunsets specific sorrows.

let us deconstruct this blend of wine

note tone,grape harvest time.

gotta wonder if people there areradioactive

with those double walled containers about

to lose wall number two. arrogance cast them 

on a pristine river, home to climate change arable land.

the venom leaks from the gorgons head, decapitated

but deadly still.

o columbus,what have we wrought?

we dont have the correct response.

the zombies are coming. so speaks 

the third glass of wine, radioactive or not.

the sublingual seems to be a bust.

fate as a mathematical principle

if everything in the universe can bedescibed
in mathmatical terms, then fate is algebraically
reducable to a product of yourself times
the number of times you
have encountered another entity times


the infinite regression of the grid of existence drilling to
the smallest quark, nay! unto nuetrino and even fermion

and therefore carries the stigmata of randomness, of chance
indistiguisable from a sybils divination