Walked
To the window
In the bedroom
Looked down
At the sidewalk
Just in time
To see—
Running out of sight
Underneath
The bay window
Next to ours—
A pair of legs
Not-too-skinny
Dressed in denim,
A hand
Holding a grocery sack
Blowing in the wind,
And sneakers
With lime-green
Stripes on the sides
August 04, 2021 at 10:02AM
Sick
I sat
On the edge
Of the bed
Shivering
Watching
The workers
Wearing
Orange vests
Outside
Working
On the street
One
With a shovel
In the trench
Sticking it
Into the dirt
And then stepping
With his boot
To drive it deeper
Another
In the yellow
Backhoe
Digging out
The trench
The big bucket
Of the backhoe
Dumped
Into a white
Dump truck
July 23, 2021 at 11:21AM
I walk by
A professional dog walker
In the park
Holding the leashes
Of six dogs
And wonder
What the rich owners
Of the dogs
Are doing
Such that they cannot
Walk
Their own dogs
July 20, 2021 at 10:05AM
The construction crew
At the job site
Across the street
Must have
Taken off today
I can hear the leaves
Blowing down the hill
Scratching on the cement,
The soft wind
Whistling around the edges
Of our bay window,
And even the light buzzing
Of complete silence
For brief moments
—Sounds that,
For as long as
The construction project
Has gone on,
I haven’t realized
Have been drowned out
By hammering, sawing,
Nailing, shouting,
And other sounds
Of industry
Which usually
Make me feel guilty
For lying in bed
Instead of getting up
And doing something
But today
I can take the day off too
And sleep in
June 03, 2021 at 09:33AM
I look at someone
Walking by
On the sidewalk
As we pass
One another
And I wonder
Why
They are looking
Back at me
So funny
Until I remember
I have not showered
Or combed my hair
In a sunset, I see beauty that might have meant something, if I had been born out of doors. If I had needed wood for a fire to keep warm. If rainfall had meant the bison would come to the water in three moons.
As it is, I see beauty in bath tubs and grocery stores with fully-stocked aisles. I see beauty in buildings, tall ones in cities and small ones in neighborhoods. I see beauty in the corner of a room where two walls meet the floor. I see beauty on the dinner table and between the drapes.
Through the window, I can see where building tops frame the sunset sky, and I cannot tell which I love more—the building side, that runs down into the life I know; or the skyward side, that runs up and up, to a life I do not.
The shower faucet stares down at me, unrelenting with her many eyes, crying forth. Cold in sadness, hot in anger, steaming so the whole bathroom knows. The mirror no longer shares her secrets, in fear of who might come to wipe away the steam, showing her true self. The toilet bowl says, “There goes that faucet again.” The knob puffs out his chest and says, “I can do this.” The drain gurgles in agreement. The knob is turned and the whole bathroom sighs, except for the shower faucet. Empty-eyed and resigned to stare forth, studying the white basin of the bath tub and the white tiles on the wall, wondering if this is really all that a faucet like her is made for.
I have a small tree that I bought at the wholesale flower market a few years ago. It stands next to the bookshelf, against the northeast wall in our apartment. Its leaves are green and large, almost like lily pads. This morning, I noticed a fallen leaf on the floor. I could see a gap in the tree where the leaf had clothed the naked branch, now exposed underneath. It was a curious moment, to see the single leaf laying there all alone on the hardwood floor. On a forest floor, it might not have seemed so odd, with so many trees about, and plenty of fallen leaves. But on the apartment floor, it was like looking at a crime scene. Similar to a body in the street, it couldn’t just be left there. It had to be picked up and thrown away in the trash, furthering the unnaturalness of the event.
Bus arms
Latched onto wires
Making a clicking noise
Passing over notches
Conversations
At the bus stop
And in line
For the bakery
Shouts
From transients
Usually at night
Sirens
At first farther off
And then closer
Louder
Sometimes much louder
On our street
Passing by
Quickly
Running the stop light
Honks
From non-emergency vehicles
Just upset about traffic
Or telling a driver ahead
To look up
And go
Through the green light
The garbage man
Picking up cans
From the curb
With his truck arm
And shaking them
Like maracas
The wine bar
Across the street
With live music
On the weekends
The rain
On the fire escape
The cement street
And the glass window
Pattering
Rust flakes on the rail
Cars drive by in the background
The window is dirty and smudged
Pedestrians walk across yellow rectangles
Cars continue to drive by
Not two feet away
Two men drink their coffee under an awning
The branches in the tree bob gently
The man with coffee gestures with his other hand
A man with a dog on a leash
Stops to look inside a shop window
While his dog sniffs at a light pole
Blue and green trash cans stand by the curb
Cars continue to make their noise and avoid crashing
The same man from before
Walks back across the yellow rectangles
With a few long leaves
Leaned over
Our house plant
Looks like a woman
With one hand on her hip
Copping an attitude
And the other hand reaching down
As she bends at the waist
To pick something up
I’ve learned which boards
Creak in the floor
When I wake in the night
For a drink of water
But I walk over them anyway
Too tired to care
Noise as it may make
Doesn’t matter much
As long as it doesn’t
Wake baby too
Lying on my back
Looking at the ceiling
In the late afternoon
I wait for the light
Outside the open window
Above my head
To turn colors
For the next wave of cars
To pass by
And make shadows
Through the tree
Between our window
And the street
On the walls
And on the ceiling
He walked like he was going somewhere. Not like anybody was watching, or at least not like he had an awareness that anybody was. He didn’t have his shoulders thrown back or his chest puffed out. He wasn’t too serious neither. Not like a businessman with a briefcase, leaning forward and walking fast like he was late to a meeting. Not like he had all the time in the world. Not a slow stroll to enjoy the scenery. He had somewhere to be, I’m sure of it, just from watching the way he walked. And what’s more, I knew he believed in where he was going. He wasn’t going because someone told him to or because he had to. He was going for his own reasons. If you asked him, he could explain it to you, but he wouldn’t be able to explain it, at least not well enough for you to understand completely. His reasons were inevitably his own. And so he walked. His strides were even, each as long as was comfortably possible for his body. His shoulders were not hunched or thrown back. They were square and set perpendicular to his path. His gaze was forward, not looking much side to side, except for when crossing the street. He walked like this, on the sidewalk, on a Saturday morning. And I watched for not more than five seconds, and I knew that he was going somewhere.
On the train going south from San Francisco now. Downtown was so empty as I walked to the station. The virus has emptied out all the tall buildings, which, in turn, has closed down all the shops and restaurants. There are still a few transients about, talking to themselves. But they seem lonely, even lonelier than usual. One woman I walked by was carrying on the most sincere conversation with no one. Not shouting, or jumping around; she was just hanging onto a lamppost and leaning out over the curb, balancing on one leg. I walked by and she didn’t even notice me. It was just her, all alone, for at least a few blocks. And all these tall buildings and wide streets, designed for crowded weekdays and rush hours. There were some service men too. One was loading boxes into a van from inside one of the cafes. It was a cafe I used to go to actually; I used to get their ham sandwich during my lunch break. Another man was up on a scaffold, fixing a window. Other than that, there was no one. It was surreal, seeing downtown that empty.
I walk fast like I’m trying to get away from something, but the truth is I’ve already forgotten where I’m coming from and can’t think of anything else other than where I’m going. Wanting to be there already, walking around slow walkers on the sidewalk carrying groceries or just lollygagging, looking around and enjoying the scenery. I can’t lolly, gag, or anything other than focus on keeping my stride as long as possible without dislocating a hip. All for where I’m going, I know I’ll be satisfied once I get there. I know it will have what I need. There’s nothing here for me anymore, except for what quickly slips behind, and what lies still ahead, representing all the hope in the world.
I take a bite of the sidewalk and fall back between the cracks. Is it still vipassana then? If my mind is not allowed to wander any farther than the sirens and bus stop conversations outside the window we’ve left open. It’s too hot. So we have to choose each night, between sweating through our sheets, and opening the window to noise that even ear plugs with a 33 NRR can’t block out. We have ice packs in the freezer. I can wrap one of these in an old t-shirt and get my temperature low enough to at least fall sleep. By midnight, sometimes before, the ice pack is melted. So the window gets opened eventually. And then the same choice: to fight the noise, pull the pillow around my ears, and try not to hear; or meditate on the chaos. I cannot do this successfully. Some primal part of me cannot forget that loud noises mean danger. And my writer’s mind has a hard time hearing conversations without listening to the words being said. I try not to judge. I try to just notice. But I still miss the pitch black silent nights in Montana.
This dog today, looked at me like he knew what I was thinking. He smiled at me with his tongue out, panting from his walk. Sitting there on his haunches, leashed to his owner, waiting curbside to cross the street. He said to me with his eyes, “It’s all a sham. I know it. You know it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to go for a walk every once in a while.” Then the light turned. The dog’s owner gave a tug on the leash and said, “Come on.” The dog got up and trotted happily along. I stood there long enough for the light to turn, and so I had to wait for the next one.
A transient walks by a restaurant with outdoor dining. He shuffles his feet. His pants sag. A folded newspaper hangs out of his back pocket. A jazz band stands by, holding their instruments idly, in between songs. Seven or eight tables are set up outside of the restaurant. People are eating and talking at their tables. Forks can be heard clinking on plates. The transient starts to shout, something indiscernible. People stop what they’re doing and stare at the transient, as he stands there on the sidewalk. He looks at one table in particular, and continues to shout. Nobody does or says anything. Forks have stopped clinking. The transient stands there. For a moment, there is silence, other than the street noise—cars passing by. Then he continues to shuffle his feet, moving on down the sidewalk. The band picks up their instruments and continues on to the next song. Forks resume clinking on plates.
I turn the shower to cold, briefly, and then off. Standing in water up to my ankles, I turn and face the white shower curtain. Watching water drip from my nose into the pool gathered around my feet, I wait to dry. Standing thus, waiting, I remember my girlfriend hates it when I leave the drain clogged—this being the cause of the water up to my ankles. It’s my fault, really; being my hair, mostly, that clogs the drain. I reach down and scrape my fingernails along the edges of the indented mesh gate that covers the drain—this produces a mess of hair the size of a small mouse. Then the water really starts to drain. I resume my former position with my chin against my chest, holding the mouse, water dripping from the tip of my nose with slightly less frequency. The water line recedes down the slope of my foot. The drain makes a sound like rain in a gutter. I am caught up in hearing this and not much else. There is no other pressing concern, waiting to dry. The water finishes draining. There is no noise now; not the shower, nor the draining. It is over then. I prepare myself to pull back the curtain and find something else to do.
I make these
Small calculations
For my chances
Of survival
Like whether to walk
On this side
Of the sidewalk
Or that side
And wonder whether
The time I take
To make
These calculations
Is greater than
Or equal to
The time I save
Surviving
I walked to the park after work today. I walked down California Street until I reached the avenues in the Richmond and then I turned north on Sixth Avenue until I got to the park.
It was sunny, but not too sunny. It seemed like the sun was farther away, sending its heat from a distance, so it wasn’t too hot. I almost wished it was hotter. When I walked through a part of shade under a tree or on the side of a building and a breeze would blow at the same time, I was almost cold.
The sky was blue. It was the same blue across the whole sky, except near the sun where it was white. I got to the park and walked out to a clearing in between the trees. There were other people around. Some dogs and some small children.
I watched one little girl squat down and cry. She seemed to be about a year old. Her mother (or at least I presume it was her mother) stood there and waited patiently for her to finish crying.
There were dogs on leashes with their owners. There were people seated on the grass having a picnic or just talking. I sat down on the grass and talked to my dad on the phone. We talked about making decisions and how that’s part of life. He told me his perspective and I thanked him.
It is ironic that I realize as I get older the value of wisdom from those who are even older than me. Perhaps it is because I am getting older and will want people to ask me for my wisdom someday. Perhaps it is because I am getting wiser as I am getting older, and it is part of being wiser to realize that it is wise to seek wisdom from others who are older.
After my call with my dad I walked deeper into the trees. I found an area of level ground and did push-ups. I started with twenty normal push-ups. Then I stood up and took a short break and walked in circles. Then I did twenty push-ups with my hands in the shape of a diamond. And I stood up and walked in circles again. I did other variations of push-ups until I was tired.
I was relaxing and thinking of whether I should walk deeper in the park. Then I realized I was late for dinner. My girlfriend said she was going to put the salmon in the oven. That was probably over an hour ago, I thought. So I went back.
I was late. My salmon was cold and dry. But the broccoli was still warm. I ate and then took a shower. Now I’m sitting on the side of the tub in my towel writing this.
I see kids careful
Now that grown ups
Are watching
About what they say
In a circle
Of parked bikes
On a side street
In suburban San Francisco
Covering their mouths
Telling their friends secrets
About what they watched
On television
When their parents
Weren’t home
The city alarm is set
By the bus route
And the bakery man
Driving his truck of bread
And the other cars
Their wheels and engines
And occasional radios
And the street light
That never stops
Or maybe it’s the store light
Or traffic light
That always finds a way
Into your apartment
Despite your best efforts
To drape the windows dark
—The light and noise
Even here in San Francisco
Makes you believe what they say
About New York never sleeping
Prose:
The metal rod that held up our blinds over the kitchen window broke yesterday. So I took a hammer and some nails and stood on one of the dining room chairs to nail a bed sheet to the top of the window frame to serve as a blind for the time being.
I went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. I opened the fridge and poured myself a cup of cold water from the pitcher. I was on my way back to the bedroom half-asleep when the bed sheet hanging over the kitchen window caught my eye.
I stood there, naked and drinking my water, and watched the headlights from traffic on the street outside passing through the grey bed sheet. They seemed like ghosts from an unfamiliar world. The lights were distorted beyond being able to discern that they were car headlights. It was like an abstract movie.
I started to make up stories about why certain ghost lights would come to stop and then go again. The fast lights were in a hurry to get somewhere. Some lights stopped next to each other and made love before moving on.
I stood there in the dark by myself and made up stories about the light movie on the bed sheet until I was almost fully awake. Then I went back to bed.
Poetry:
The metal rod
That held up our blinds
Over the window
In the kitchen
Broke yesterday
So I nailed up
A grey bedsheet
To cover the window
For the time being
I went to bed
And woke up to get some water
Then stood and watched
Naked and drinking water
The headlights from traffic
Passing through the grey bedsheet
Like ghosts
In an unfamiliar world
A bird chirping
In the middle of the night
Singing her heart out
Must be drunk
Coming home
From the bird bath bar
Not to see
It’s pitch black out
And time to sleep
And save the chirping
For the morning
My sense of speed
Is less than perfect
I admit
But I would say
If I were a betting man
That those fast cars
Seem to be
Above the limit
Posted on the sign
Some light seeps in
From the street lamp
Between the drapes
Some light
From the buttons
Of various devices
Strewn about the room
And just those two
Besides the shimmer
On the ceiling
From one or the other
Of the aforementioned
Is enough to make
The night bright
In our bedroom
When we would rather
It be dark
An open doorway
Into another room
Where daylight
Creeps beneath
The window drape
Does appear
Less dark
Than the lightless
Life here
On the sleepy side
Of the studio
Where the drapes
Are pulled tight
Outside
Under eyes
Of soft storm
Slick tires
Skate across
Wet road
Wafting wind
Carried
Car noise
Shooting by
Slip
Sliding along
The radiator wheezes
Like a weary asthmatic
Wanting for air
Drawing struggled breaths
From heated pipes
And seeming to be in pain;
I myself am thankful
At mid-morning
Having just drawn the drapes
To behold a cold outside
But inside
Feeling warm
From the radiator’s struggle
I saw a man
Bring a ball
Inside a backpack
To the court
Fenced all around
By chain link
In the park
On a Thursday
Just before sunset;
I watched him
Bend his knees
And shoot
I sat on the step
And watched ants
For the better part
Of an afternoon
So many ants
On the sidewalk
Made it seem
Like the cement
Was moving
Made me realize
My troubles
Were not so bad
With my elbows
On my knees
And hands folded
Scowling
Despite the sun
There’s this deep
City river gorge
Filled with yellow
Headlight fish
All swimming upstream
I can see here
On the hilltop
Standing sidewalk
With my hands in my pockets
On a night stroll
Watching the river of light
Pinch off into the distance
Wondering about
All the commuters
Just trying to get home
Lying
On the floor
Looking
At the ceiling
Seems to be
More simple
Than the life
I left outside
Needing
This nothingness
To wash away
My mind
The same section
Of ceiling
Has this shimmer
In the noon time
Which reveals
Its blemish
Of poor plastering
But maybe
On purpose
As an artist
Plastered it this way
Like a scar
That is beautiful
As it appears
To me now
I check the time
At which the bus
Is supposed to arrive
And realize
That I have ten minutes
Left to kill
So I start to go about
Distracting myself
Stretching
Looking up
At the building tops
And people watching
Strangers
Until I run out
Of distractions
And venture a glance
At my watch
To find
I’ve only passed
Three of the ten
I come home
From a night walk
To let my dinner settle
And close the door
And put my keys in the basket
And start to take off my shoes
As I realize
I am not yet satisfied
And slip my shoes back on
And grab my keys
And open the door
To go back out
And walk some more
A smiling
Mustached man
Holding hands
With a beautiful girl
He’s telling a joke
One hand in his pocket
She’s laughing
Trying to keep up
As they walk
That simple man song
Keeps ringing in my ears
From Skynyrd and Thoreau
Louder than city buses
And conversations
In the apartment next door
I hear the simple silence
Louder than the city noise
Whispering to me
Up reading alone at night
Or deep into a hike
What if not to be
Is Shakespeare’s answer
And all of this
Has become too much
You can’t go so loosely
Running amuck
As you would in the plains
In any direction
No matter
Flat and far enough
To run with your eyes closed
If you wanted to;
In the city
You must be careful
To obey the signs
And posted placards
Going your own way
Won’t take you far
into the hundred thousand apartments
curated for mankind to invade a peninsula
with their buildings and restaurants
and cars and stoplights and commerce
Outside the window
In the morning
A song bird
Sings soprano
And a car horn
Beeps baritone
Slightly more symphonic
Than the city sounds
I am used to
An older lady
Crossing the crosswalk
Runs behind her dog
Holding the leash
Trying to keep up
Arm outstretched
Until she can’t
And let’s go
As the leash falls
And the dog is free
To sprint full speed
To meet a friend
—A man outside
Of the coffee shop
Holds out his arms
For the dog
To jump up
And say hello
I woke up wobbly
Without my brain
When I realized
All of a sudden
That I was late
For a dinner date
And pulled on jeans
And snatched my coat
And slammed the door
And stumbled
Down the stairs
Shouldering the wall
For support
To catch the bus
And only when
I was finally seated
Did I get the chance
To be confused
About how to fare
In the fast-moving
Bright new scenery
Having been dreaming
Just moments ago
The above is the edited version.
The below is the original.
I woke up
Without my brain
Wobbly
Late
All of a sudden
I realized
For a dinner date
And walked outside
To catch the bus
Confused
And wondering
How to fare
In the new scenery
Having been dreaming
Just moments ago
Turning corner
On the sidewalk
With a building
In the way
So I can’t see
Who’s coming
Turning wide
To avoid
Another
Coming my way
Turning tight
Outside the wind howls
Cars go by
Some shouts from who knows
Inside the radiator whistles
The fridge whirs
The walls creak from the wind
Sheets rustle—
These are the sounds
That keep me up
A shadow I don’t
Normally see
Separated in half
At the wall’s height
Halted only by
Intersecting ceiling
So far as candle flame
Keeps light left
And right of lamp shade
The trash truck outside
Sounds like a force
To be reckoned with
Mechanical monster
Clanging the can
Banging it back and forth
Shaking out its contents
Like a culprit for answers
Or a debtor for spare coins
Then crushing it all
It’s trash anyway
But consuming is fun
So the trash truck bangs on
A sliding car door
Opens and shuts
A van must be
Bringing pastries
For the bakery
Downstairs
At 3:53am
A sliding car door
Opens and shuts
A van must be
Bringing pastries
For the bakery
I will smell them
When I open the window
In the morning
The drapes that cover the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, are separated just barely, like the split in a log that appears as the axe is first wedged in, but before the two halves completely separate. The split in the drapes is slightly wider at the bottom, so more yellow light gets through there, and onto the white rug. Light from passing cars gets through the narrower part of the split at the top. This light is dynamic and animates the room as the car passes. It’s shape depends on the part of the split it is passing through. And it’s position on the wall depends on the cars motion. As the car is coming from the west on California, the slim light starts above the dorm or way to the kitchen, and then travels over the bookshelf and desk until it is above our bed and then disappears because of the angle once the car is too far east. This is the closest thing I’ve got to a motion picture, since we moved the television into the closet last week.
At the end of a long little bit Alli Lough let Lough let Alli a man on his hands and knees on a cardboard Matt bows waving his arms shouting like he is worshiping not to a God I don’t think a guy that would’ve put him in this alley in his dirty clothes just something else probably if you made of his imagination maybe inspired by drugs maybe you’re just being in the alley too long I have to emphasize how long the alley is and it’s a dead end at the end I say this because he is so far away from everyone that is walking by the mouth of the alley on the sidewalk is very low and having a zone momentI wonder how long he’s been down there and if anyone has visited or maybe he chose to be alone on purpose for his worship
edited:
At the end of a long low lit alley a man on his hands and knees on a cardboard mat bows waving his arms shouting like he is worshiping, not to a God I don’t think, not a God that would have put him in this alley in his dirty clothes. But something else, maybe made up by his imagination, maybe inspired by drugs, maybe just from being in the alley too long.
I have to emphasize how long this alley is and it’s a dead end at the end. I say this because he is so far away from everyone that is walking by the mouth of the alley on the sidewalk. He is very alone and having his own moment.
I wonder how long he’s been down there and if anyone has visited or maybe he chose to be alone on purpose for his worship.
I saw a man
On the sidewalk
Laying on his side
Beside
A broken wheelchair
One wheel
Was detached
And he was tinkering
With the part
Of the chair
Where
The wheel connects
One of his feet
In a cast
Was laid out
Far enough
Into the bike lane
That bikers
Had to swerve
To avoid
All considered
He did not seem
As stressed
As I would presume
Of a man
In a wheelchair
That is missing
One of two wheels
Tinkering
With the wheel
With the same disinterest
That one would surf
Channels on the TV
In their own home
I wake up
From a Sunday nap
At 6:49
And for a second
Am not sure
If it is night still
With the drapes drawn
Or morning
I ask the clock
But he will not say
AM or PM
I draw the drapes
And the amount of cars
Looks like
It could be either
Like a skier
In an avalanche
Supposed to spit
To find
Which way is up
I am unsure
There are periods of peace
Sitting on the street corner
While cars on both sides
Are waiting
Until the light changes
And engines rev
And some honk
To get the ones
Not paying attention
To go
And peace resumes
Once they’re gone
Until the next light
On a chair I sit
Outside of the cafe
I wonder how many
Have sat here before
Some vagrants
Others, patrons of the cafe
It is sunny today
And this seat
Is a nice place to be
Where building tops
Meet sky
In a fine line
That defines
The clear distinction
Between our
Complicated world
Balconies, parapets
Window sill, frame
Glass, trim, terrace
Fire escape, chipped paint
And the heavens
Always there
Much simpler
And promising
In my opinion
In the backyard of houses in the Marina neighborhood in San Francisco, I see tiny plots of grass that are hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars per square foot, in terms of real estate cost. When there are plots of grass 100 times larger occurring naturally in nature, completely for free.
My whites
Aren’t as white
As they would be
If I didn’t wash them
With my colors
Laying at home
On a workday
In a suburban
Part of the city
It is loud
In the morning
As everybody
Gets up
To catch the bus
And go downtown
Leaving me here
To lay
Come lunchtime
It grows quiet
an empty
open
iPhone box
laying
on the ground
next to
a trash can
a neon sign
that says LAUNDRY
with the D
hanging
just slightly off
a man
in a suit
and scarf
walking
while talking
on his phone
a man
with his hood up
walking
on the crosswalk
ignoring
the red hand
telling him
to wait
the snowflakes
on the light poles
lit up white
leftover
from christmas
walking so fast I can’t say one way or another what I see clearly wanting for some clarity supposed to be separating safe from dangerous getting somewhere to satisfy hunger finding love of forcing me on primal being the main driver but being able just briefly on a Saturday like today to walk on Fillmore Street before noon sun shining in every darn thing looking gosh darn perfect that dog leashed to a traffic meter majestic that bookstore with all the books I would never want to read on its shelves each restaurant and café serving all the foods that I would want to eat every person I passed smiling seeming like they want to have a conversation with me and having all these thoughts that I wish I could share with the moments when my creativity Waynes But needing now just to get down as much as I can and bottle up this feeling or at least put it in art to remember a gosh darn great Saturday like today
I want to find her gray hairs fondly for her to see that there’s not much time and understand why I believe it now is the time to live and we must press on and not relax too much laying in bed all day need to get out and go while we still can for what seems good and satisfying on its face is sticky and alluring slowing you down seeming to go slowWhile really proceeding quickly to old age
I like a little let loose crazy longing for the void only after some time structured set in my ways and nailed down long enough to let sit like clay in the oven or metal in the mold just to be cast back into the fire and barely kept form melting to reshape refusing to stay same sending forth like a god trying to be many and eventually all once obliteratedAnd nothing anymore
swearing to myself to stay sober so as to avoid a sudden left off like last night leaving earth so suddenly that I look down it is only a marble not even the oceans able to be distinguished from the land forgetting everything I knew out here in the black space void truly creative having nothing to draw from like God before originClosing my eyes and making something out of nothing but if I am truly being honest what comes behind the black clothes dies was for another life still like the God that came before ours
Pumped full of fumes filling my Freudian with fear feeling that it is really the end this time having run on planes for so long looking up towards the sky not expecting to step and land on soil no longer falling framed by the cliff face falling is all that is leftAfter plane running and before jagged rock crashing
Knowing when to stop not the morning no that is the time to go after a restful night for the energy rise with the sun at work getting into it and excited waiting to go on even for getting lunch but at some point must slow down must eat rest and relax and get ready for nightfall when the natural energy leaves and must slope down into sleep if the same cycle is to repeat itself tomorrow
if you get to work producing too much at once then Sam gets lost and might have even been better off not produced in the first place the two worlds work together preservation and production producing when energy is available to be spent and even benefits the system as a whole to be spent rather than conserved but sometimes need to conserve like needing to rest at night If only we had something as simple as the sun rising and setting to instruct us went to work and went to rest and all other areas of life
it should be done by now having had ample time to dry the timer telling me this chiming in go and check it says someone may be there waiting with their wet clothes counting on you to come timely like I say what I said a timer if you were going to wait anyway
walking across
a wide street
weary
the whole way
something soap
subtle sudsy
watching washy
waiting
twenty-four minutes
making excuses
like poetry
to stay and watch
the machine wash
shaking my hands
washed
spattering drops
in the metal basin
making music
rain
all at once
stop
then spatter
and start again
the one with my sweatpants
wasn’t working
two washers going
side by side
one clearly working
wet water splashing
suds bubbling
while the other
its brother to the left
spinning uselessly
waterless
wasting
four dollars
and seventy five cents
an old light blue slug bug
(and i mean old
like 20 or 30 years)
waits at the lights on sacramento
hoping to cross fillmore
if this light will ever change
moving back and forth
over the thick white line
that is supposed to separate
cars waiting at the light
from pedestrians crossing
the slug bug moves
back and forth like this
i presume because
its transmission is manual
unable to press on the brake
i don’t know
how manual works
owing to this bug
being older than me
having grown up with automatic
and never learned manual
like my dad told me
now far away from that
watching this
through the window
of the coffee shop
where i work on my laptop
more modern than my dad ever imagined
watching the manual transmission slug bug
through the window
a transient sits
on a brick bench
elbows on his knees
leaned forward
rocking
back and forth
with a hat held
by the brim
in both hands
upturned
shaking it
for money
the mouth
of the trash can
stays open
a little longer
than usual
after i have
thrown something away;
stuck
at the hinge
i’m sure
but seeming
for the second
staying open
to take on
a life of its own
and decide for itself
when to open
and when to close
all these people
waiting in line
for their $5
cup of coffee
when down the street
a half block
is a deli
that will sell you
a cup of coffee
for 50%
of the price
albeit 80%
of the quality;
but math is hard
in the morning,
i understand
a car radio plays
at the stoplight
outside our apartment
at 3 a.m.
and i wonder
if the driver
is a late traveler
trying to stay awake
or an early worker
trying to stay awake
stopping under
a stranger’s roof
in the rain writing
needing to get home
but cannot
get more
than a half block
without a drop
of rain poetry
falling
on my head
leaning
with my shoulder
against the brick wall
in the rain
typing
on my phone
drops collecting
on the scene
blurring
the words
so i cannot read
what i’ve typed
walking
as i normally do
slowly
and looking around
as it starts to rain
and i must speed up
if i hope
to reach home
dry enough
to go indoors
without undressing
i like to get
onto my belly
and observe
underneath the couch
such a simple world
of unused space,
dust bunnies
and lost items
laying there
minding their business
welcoming
newcomers
warmly
like my lost watch
or a coin
dropped and rolled under
escaping the worlds
of time and money
to lay gently
under the couch
a young man
helping an old man
to put the lid
on his coffee cup
—they
exchange a smile
i wasn’t sure
i would make it
up that hill
in fact, halfway
i thought
of tucking myself
into a ball
and rolling
back down
walking on
the same sidewalk
as this morning
when everything
was completely covered
in fog
now midday
and bright out
i can see the sights
i missed
this morning
a transient
sitting against
the store wall
flicks
a cigarette butt
still smoking
impressively far
—a futile display
of rage
against everything
i feel like
an impostor
with
the up-for-work crowd
like i slept
last night
though i was
in the warehouse
eyes closed
trying to keep
my balance
in a different
kind of crowd
the trash truck
raises its arm
shaking the bin
like a drinker
leaning back
with a glass
for the last drop
a cute girl
a stranger
sitting next to me
in the backseat
gets out of the car
and closes the door
but not before
letting the cold in
to take her seat
traffic is often
dressed in
the red hue
of brake lights
glaring through
the windshield
into the backseat
where i
lay my head back
against the headrest
and exhale
sitting in an Uber
trance music
turns on
unexpectedly
in my AirPods
as my LTE
reconnects
transporting me
to another
fast-paced world
zooming
out of traffic
and along
neon highways
walking north
on divisadero
in the morning
once i climb
to the top
of the hill
and reach broadway
that is when
i first see
the ocean
out in front of me
and then
a little further
downhill
to vallejo
is when i can see
presidio forest
to my left
and i start
to feel better
walking is healthy for me when i have anxiety. just to get out and see some new spaces and get exercise without too much risk or danger. the longer the walk the better, getting into a sort of meditative state just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. especially if i can walk from inland out to the coast to see the water and horizon, reminding me there is more and i am small and it’s alright.
wind
whistling
in my ears
waiting
with
my hands
in
my pockets
underneath
an awning
where
the rain
does not
fall
how deep
dare you go
into the alley
deeper
into the middle
the way out
is farthest
from either side
listening to the rain
in a sheet metal gutter
on the side of the building
making a hollow sound
dropping from the top
to the bottom
then flowing
like a city stream
over sidewalk
and to sewer eventually
(turns out
this poem i wrote
laying, hearing, imagining
was a lie
or a fiction at least
as i discovered
getting out of bed
for a glass of water
that the sound
which i thought was rain
was actually the radiator)
a little off lately
after two
earthquakes
in san francisco
in the same week
now
taking off
and that moment
on a plane ride
when you float
just briefly
i pick up one foot
for a step
and set it down
just an
inch or two
below where i’d except
my world
shaking and flying
just a little
off lately
like i said
like a loud scream from far away
whistling between gusts of wind
like you’ve stuck your head inside
a jet engine
coming audibly through
the half cracked bathroom window
that shows light from the neighbor’s
open window next door
and in the mirror
half torsos hanging from the shower rod
that are really just shirts hanging to dry after being washed
the same old lady
in the pink robe
crouches every morning
in front of the yellow
metal newsstand
reading front page headlines
through the glass door
that you must pay a quarter
in order to open
crouching there reading
for a few minutes
the full front page
and then walking away
maybe to find a quarter
seeing a dead bird
on the sidewalk
reminding me
that life-filled things
like this one
once flying
can suddenly
become lifeless
laying here
now dead
very dead
standing
at the back
of the bus
looking through
the security latch
left open
getting a 6-inch view
of the city
(building tops
mostly)
fighting the crowd
walking out of downtown
on the sidewalk
on the side of montgomery
making me wonder
if it is after work hours
like i thought
not used to
swimming upstream
when i thought everyone
was supposed to be
heading home
and making me think now
that i might have
mixed up the afternoon
with the morning
shadow shapes
speed
across the ceiling
i see
laying in bed
as cars cast
their light
through the window
passing by
standing
on the corner
when you have to
cross both ways
to get to
the corner
diagonal
and don’t
really care
if it is the left
or right light
that turns first
walking
a city block
you’ll see a red hand
come into view
at the intersection
up ahead
and maybe a number
beside it
counting down
or
if you’re lucky
a white man
telling you to walk
but the trick
is to time your steps
depending on when
you see the signal
slowing
if the red hand
is already counting down
and there’s no way
for you to make it
so as to reduce
your time
waiting at the corner
if arriving
just as the red hand
turns solid
or speeding up
if you see the white man
to catch it in time
and cross
playing this game
on mornings
you’ve decided to walk
instead of
taking a car or bus
sometimes
getting lucky
and catching the white man
for blocks in a row
it feels like a hotel
to leave the room
in my socks
and close the door quietly
so as not to wake baby
and creep downstairs
to look out the window
at the dialog box
checking the times
to see if the bus
runs this early
i want to jump up
and hang from that bus wire there,
holding on
just barely above traffic,
not so far away from the city,
but still safe for sure,
looking up from the sidewalk
corner at night,
waiting for the light to change
i wonder about
optimizing
in the opposite direction,
for less
instead of more.
i wonder about
getting out of the city
and into the mountains.
i wonder about
tending to a garden
instead of
going to the grocery store.
i wonder about
spending my time
instead of
saving my money.
i wonder about
calculating how
to make a little last
instead of
how to make more.
i wonder if
i would get to the mountains,
and after a short period
of reprieve with less,
begin quickly again
to wonder about
having more.
i saw
across the street
in an apartment
which normally
has its shades drawn
two friends
sitting at a table
talking
then two more friends
opened the front door
and came in through
the long hallway
and the friends
at the table
raised their arms
and the friends
coming in
raised their arms too
and all embraced
and it made me happy
as i had just gotten home
and stood
in my own apartment
alone
there are more
things with names
walking down
the city street
than there are
walking on a trail
in the woods
—or at least more
of the names
that i know
—being that i know
the makes
and models of cars
and names for
certain types of people
better than
the species of trees
or types of stone
—so when in the city
i can say about
the businessman
and the BMW
or the gas prices
at $3.95
but in the forest
i can only say
there are trees,
rivers and rocks
and lots of them
a sagging
metal clothes rod
in the closet
where
the hangers hang
with heavy sweaters
too often
in the middle
—still the rod
serves its purpose
just as well
as a straight rod
holding clothes
hanging
above the floor
—until the day
it finally snaps
and we’ll have to
buy a new one
the sun hits
the windshields
of cars passing
by
on california
just right
to shoot up
through our window
and into my eye
from this apartment inside one drape pulled over and letting lighted half the window mustering energy while music plays and water runs teeth brushing barely morning on a Saturday up earlier the first few voices outside the window generating life and momentum here just ourselves to date contained in a small studio apartment that would stay here if not for the screens connected to what is called the Internet and these keyboards with letters that constitute the English language and phones that now have computers inside of themWith photos that we took last night using the camera that is also part of the same phone baby laying in bed and editing the photos I sitting here on the couch typing about last night perfectly happy to stay inside especially with this connection to the rest of the world where we can capture art on technology and send it out to our friendsAnd even new people who have become our friendsOdd to have such a connection while at the same time being so private
buttons being pressed promptly so the system may learn you as a keeper of the code that may gain admittance here at least just for that knowledge and the ability to press it in and hear the buzz that only holds the door open so long enough to get through and close it behind you so the next must also be a keeper to get through
big concrete blocks
from construction
clanging in the lift
mixing with the idle motor
making street noise
in the early morning
marking a new city day
with the spirit of building
and “must be done”
settling into their new
truck bucket home
before being transported
to be blocks elsewhere
on a warm
summer evening
i miss the bus
and care not
because
it is
a warm
summer evening
walking
on the sidewalk
looking up
seeing a spire
in the skyline
holding up
my phone
trying
to catch it
but not
without zoom
so i walk
further
up montgomery
holding my phone
watching the spire
grow nearer
until pine
i realize
the angle
is impossible
with another building
in the way
i look at the clock
above the stove
afraid to see
the time
but see instead
the oven timer
counting down
at about
three and a half
minutes left
—i am thankful
to see a time
with no consequence
for my life
other than
there are two-hundred
and ten seconds
remaining
until i need to take
the hard boiled eggs
off the burner
there are twenty
or so seats filled
when i step on
the one bus
at six in the morning
—i take my seat
toward the back
and close my eyes
like i usually do
to get some extra rest
on the way to work
—i listen for the beeps
which are each
another passenger
scanning their card
and stepping on
—i can imagine
how full
the bus has become
but i can not see
until, listening
for my stop,
the announcer says
“montgomery”
and i open my eyes
to see forty
or fifty people now
standing in the aisles
holding the hand rails
shoulder to shoulder
—standing up
i have to say
“excuse me”
and fight through
a maze
to get off
a massive TV
at the neighbor’s
so big
i can see
through the window
all the way
across the street
—i think of
getting out
my binoculars
to watch
what they’re watching
watching a cafe work cups stacked in a six or seven towers each twenty tall newcomers falling into line as they have before knowing the drill paying with bills or more often cards nowadays that move around the right numbers to motivate the workers to show up in the morning and do their jobs well outing coffee over ice opening black fridge doors beneath the counter that reveal glowing white interiors full of milk and other vital morning sustenance putting lids on cups for to-goers and grinding more beans clicking cash register keys sliding glass doors that both keep pastries fresh at the same time as having them be on display for customers choosing pointing through the glass that one no that one to the left right there yes the gurgle of the frothy milk foam spout steam and more beans grinding customers waiting with their arms crossed waiting for their cup to be called and then smiling stepping forward the operation running smoothly like choreography for a play where everyone has rehearsed their parts well and act candid as if it were not a shower but really real life so the hunger and thirst seems real and they are genuinely excited to receive their coffee or bagel but relaxed not so serious like they might not eat otherwise knowing there is another cafe next door but casually and expecting it having gotten used to a life of nearly guaranteed survival that the world of order has created which makes cafe choreographed machines possible
i know a man
under the highway
on second street;
he paints all day
on scraps of cardboard
—i noticed today
that he paints white
over the cardboard
that he has already painted
with multi-colored lines
in broad strokes
and then paces along the curb
with his hands behind his back
waiting for
the white paint to dry
so he can paint again
i thought our tree,
less yellow leaves
and branches perky,
seeming to respond well
being nearer the window,
was looking better
—but now i’m not sure
it depending on the day
and my mood
how things appear
as i look at them
at once sad and drooping
and then not long after
joyous and upright
this being the same tree
that we’re talking about
which, in reality,
is just the same, all along
a newsstand
turned over
onto its side
turned into
a park bench
for those
waiting
for the bus
driving
in the backseat
(so riding
i suppose)
watching
out the window
i treat
like a movie
with the frame
of the window
as the borders
of the screen
—or a gallery
sitting in
the same chair
staring at
the same picture
that changes
expect that
the picture
is really real
and if you opened
the car door
(once the car
has stopped,
of course)
you could step out
and be born
all of a sudden
into any picture
that just moments
was only painted
on your window
the city is an ambiguous thing
a mass
a place to be gotten to
but not necessarily understood
or remembered
intimately
like a person living there
able to sit in their apartment
with their eyes closed
and imagine walking on the sidewalk
in any direction
and seeing the storefronts
and usual coffee shop
and even the imagining the worn chair
on the second level
where one usually sits
—the city becomes
a place lived in and known
rather than a general black mass
holding a spot on the map
that one reads
for places imagined
rather than places traveled
and even if you have visited
once or twice
and remember specific places
like what a specific room feels like
the sense of knowing the whole city
and the places you can possibly go
and how to give directions
and where to lead newcomers when they ask
only comes with time
So can’t get a title to figure out ahead of time what the pieces have to get into it and it first overwhelmed reading and having more and more words come in so having to process each word well also figuring out what the thing is as a whole and make up a title on your own
I get to Ohio where it all comes out but for me at least there’s never a plateau never consider flat always a climb up and fall down sometimes it controlled climb like a hike or a staircase taking steps up other times like a rocket ship straight up into the air with a rocket boosters and cheeks flapping barely able to hold on and then a brief period with a booster stop Ingraldi starts to take hold and then come back down can either be a slow decideJust sad sometimes I meant to say dissent dissent with an ED said dissent dissent dissent I can’t get this word but to go down is sometimes like the opposite of the staircase where you’re stepping down slowly or hiking down and other times it is like the fall from having shot straight up into the air and falling without a parachute
i lived on oatmeal and the eggs that baby hard boiled for me that saturday when she was gone and i had to learn to be alone again and realized when i woke up that the bed wasn’t going to make itself
The world are not to see me as I am not at (ought not, having to type this part) As I am I can’t perform for them I can’t do this in front of people I saw Terry practice it is to close my eyes and go into it if I see anyone or know anyone is their messes me up do you ever lose that self-consciousness I can only do alone
Hearing something in the other room and thinking oh that is just baby in the other room but then remembering the baby is gone and wondering what it could be a little scared at first but then remembering what it sounds like to be in the house alone
coat hook
being my favorite thing
in the apartment
whereas before
i would throw my coat
wherever
on the back of the couch
over the lamp
on the floor
on the stool, bed
back of the chair
wherever
but now
there is a place
the oven beeped twice
when’s it’s normally
only supposed to
beep once
so i walked from
the living room
under the arched doorway
into the kitchen
and looked at it
the oven i mean
and it looked back at me
and said nothing
one person
steps off of the sidewalk
and the rest of the morning
pedestrian crowd, follows suit
without looking up at the light
when the sun blasts and blasts
in the early morning rising
so you wonder how
can it be so bright already
so much your sleepy eyes
can’t stay open looking at it
watching homeless men
sleep next to
sewer gates
breathing steam
sometimes
in the middle of the street
to stay warm at night
the yellow rectangles
painted proportionately
across the street
between the parts
of either sidewalk
where the curb
slopes down slightly
to meet the street
for pedestrians
to step off safely
and cross
in the dead quiet
of the night
i feel so awake
and out of place
while everything else
is so dead
and there’s nothing
not even
the neighbors
to talk
or the cars outside
to go by
even passersby
stepping on packets
not noticing
a ketchup packet
SPLAT!
on the sidewalk
someone must’ve
stepped on
making art
all the time
at the front
of the bus
between
the handrail
and the rest
of the pass-
engers
holding on
i don’t get out
near the water
enough
where i can
breathe easy
in the open
ocean air
outside
of the buildings
all the way
down the road
dotted
with headlights
crossing
the intersection
watching
for drivers
not
paying attention
my two
favorite coats
on the
two-pronged
coat hanger
next to
the closet door
like this laying on my back and having it all pour out especially after days dark interspersed with tread wondering if this is it in the yard has gone like I always do fearing I have nothing to offer and will be me anymore or maybe just afraid of being worthless and unproductive and untalented really not mattering what identity Woodcalm for all identities being the same and melting into one another but really just the primal need coming through and this being what is requiring of the ego a certain consistent and persistent success whereas otherwise just to wake up and be even completely different wouldn’t matter just as the rest of the world does anyway and especially less apprehensive to become another and melt apathetically completely into the interest of anything else even unmotivated even for Survival even dying maybe and being all right with it because not coming from an ego needing so badly to live
goodness like a drug it comes to be so unexpectedly today just from having left work a little early and paying so much attention on the bus into the buildings on the walk to the bus especially and now back in the apartment laying on my back on the rug and looking at everything the off-white ceiling and the leaves outside the window blowing lightly all of it just as it is any day that I get home but on this day just a little earlier it all opens up and gives back to me the art and ability I so selfishly miss and fear to never have again when it’s gone so reflecting now while I have it on why it is that I miss it so much when I don’t interesting especially is the thought that it will never come back and believing so strongly that this is true even though for the last little while now so many times back-and-forth I thought this and it certainly does come back but I suppose the fear is Stuart still real that one time it won’t and then what will I be nothing maybe different maybe something else maybe I will be all right with that too I have been mostly all right with what I have become and suppose that I have become different things but really now thinking that this one is it and that I only have so much time and so many chances before I lose my mind or disintegrate or grow old or get killed suddenly so I want to rush all I had at once and really wish I could if I knew what it would take I think I might have the will to do it but just being in a body and mind that can’t I’m kept private and so have been taught patients as a result but still Hoping greedily for more time so that the limited mind and body I do have wind spread out can achieve what I otherwise would all at once
clearly everything is seen right now without much to distract just being allowed to be and having my eyes work and not so much noise that the few noises are heard clearly and loud and heavy eaten just enough and enough time passed since a small salad lunch that I’m not running to my next meal but also not passing out from hunger and so greatly satisfied all over and curious about what I am sensing is the perfect formula to just be talking into my phone and having it makes sense and also taking time to pause and let it play out what I am sensing and in this case mostly thinking just staring really at the art gallery wall the baby and I put up in the apartment but not really seeing the art mostly just eyes glazed over seeing the words in my mind and seeing isn’t the right sense but thinking is really the right verb which to me has been interesting lately as I have thought in most cases art is a matter of sensing but from my writing it is largely a matter of thinking which at times like these with isaac lost over has nothing to do with sensingYet thought is mostly nonsensical without senses that at one point informed the very structure and language of thought
let’s see if I can give you an example here of what it is two cents in the sea thought looking now up at the off-white drapes crumpled and connected buy black been screwed into the window cell and glass window surrounded by gray metal frame where just be on the glass is a branch of leaves that are about 6 inches wide and five or 6 inches tall blowing on their branch and occasionally pressing up against the glass window see that was site that I was sensing now if I switch to hearing I hear my own voice and close my eyes to make this easier hearing car is outside and a rustling that is rather pleasant that I cannot tell whether it is the cars or the leaves Rushleigh against each other blowing in the wind now a release of wind that sounds like brakes on the bus and the room of the electric engine in the door of the apartment building shutting heavy downstairs and now the bus taking off from the stop and hearing the chime on the phone that tells me my voice is stopped being recorded so opening my eyes and seeing again and switching to that sense thinking now of smell and taste which I have said before really aren’t strong senses artistically certainly taste is with the Colaneri arts and eating but just laying here with nothing to taste or eat my taste buds are mostly useless and tasting dry saliva nothingness in my mouth and my smell especially sensing less if I could just drive it it would be nothing this as well maybe clean I would describe it or like fabric or like air and feeling are yes I should’ve said feeling before taste and smell because it can be quite strong abstract I describe it like it often makes abstract painting make more sense to me whereas undefined things are seen with the round and rough sketches but nothing clear as you would see with site feeling now my hand my left pinky and ring finger against my abdomen and the palm and some against my lower ribs and my left foot on top of my right shin and my behind pressed against the rug slightly sore from laying in the same position for a little while and my elbow against the leg of our living room table and the fingers of my right hand holding my phone in front of my face in the back of my head also Preston gets the rug is similar to my behind and really quite a lot if I were to focus over a grade about a time I want my body is feeling just my body itself I imagineThis being sent as art
ver if you were to say my art leads to nonsense usually when I get a rush and have a lot to put down but then still the motivation stays well there’s nothing left and so results in me saying whatever comes to mind even though it doesn’t make sense and really just wanting the black great against the sky to keep going so the art doesn’t run out without much content referring back to what I said earlier about a body and mind only be able to do so much in a limited time but Pricing I’m not the last talking faster running almost out of breath and wanting the light to show like it does on the ceiling shadows really just waiting for baby to get home laying on the floor alone and all my poems out of me feeling better actually having gotten something down and leaving a legacy if in this moment I were to die which is a large part of what drives me I think to leave something if I die to make something while I’m here and preferring to leave this motivation is not so clear as to let them drive me and be human and normal without having to discover and explain everything because then as I have beforeJust getting a headache and then losing the motivation and that not being good for anyone
like a little space behind the mirror leaned up against the wall in the corner behind the radiator or dust bunnies collect and protected not so open these small spaces make me wonder of cloistered worlds where cat paws with scratch and food falling off the dinner table will get lost and marks on the wall unseen won’t get patched or painted over and light won’t shine as often if long enough turning to paint a different color
staying with an idea long enough or moving on to match our attention spans wondering what length is right between gravity and well explained so if it in the beholder that will read brilliance into one wordAnd otherwise is in patient won’t sit long enough to get anything out of it anyway and all around all story short and long playing out just depending on who is there to read them
The need to create constantly pressing on me but needing to relax and remember that what will happen well and creation happens always just by living a story is told in just by seeing a painting is painted and just by hearing music is made so all the time the heart is there and the only variable is not whether I create it but whether I am open to seeing and hearing it
wanting baby to come home so badly just sitting here talking to myself not realizing how much I miss her until now being able to hug her and talk to her and just hear her breathing or working or rolling over in bed and looking up to see her watching her live her not life as she normally does and being so interested in it and her being interested in mine and making comments and asking me things
So much art really all around just a matter of capturing it and sometimes having to decide between capturing it and just enjoying it
the floor creaks
clearly
when no one
else
is home
to hear
lines of power
across the sky
that would be
perfect borders
for buildings
only that
depending
on which corner
of the street
you stand on
looking up
at the lines
that most often
cut right through
laying
in the apartment
on the floor
during an odd
off hour
having left
work early
and waiting
for baby
to come home
sitting backward
on the bus
is quite odd
moving
with your back
to the progress
having to turn
to see the signs
for your stop
looking back
on the bus
watching the inside
bend
like a snake
as the wheels
crawl
over hills
and the passengers
rise up
and down
in their seats
like kelp
on wave crests
commuting
all hours
moving
to get somewhere
maybe
just making time
seem not so spent
still
and stretching out
by step
or wheels turning
often with others
never going to
exactly
the same place
everyone
in south park
on their phones
walking
in circles
with one hand
in a pocket
and the other
holding
the phone
to one ear
talking
supposedly
to someone
somewhere else
it’s a noisy night
with the news
from the open window
in the bathroom
and the traffic
always the traffic
and the neighbors’
conversation
through the wall
behind us
i want for
the little square
of green light
on the wall
to turn yellow;
i don’t know
why exactly
but i do, maybe
just for something
to change
or because
i know
what comes next
so well
that i just
want it to happen
already
so when it does
the satisfaction
is short-lived
and soon after
turns to red
think of all
the cars coming
and if you were
for the first time
in the city
unaware that
cars are not
supposed to
cross over curbs
or run red lights
and so not even
wanting to walk
on the sidewalk
or crosswalk
or other walk-y thing
that seems
to be safe
based on norms
and probabilities
but really
isn’t safe at all
commute
like clockwork
works so well
that you can
close your eyes
and not need
to worry
about
getting there
i put on
the glasses that
i’m supposed to wear
all the time
but usually don’t
and feel overwhelmed
in the grocery store
from all the
extra information
on the labels
that i can’t
usually read
i turn the key
in my front door
and it doesn’t
give
right away
reminding me
not everything
is supposed to be
so easy
like the fan blades going
and the wire
inside of the light bulb
hanging by a cord
from the ceiling
and the sound from
the speaker in the corner
just slightly louder
than the headphones
in my ears
everything
is done for me
because i’ve lived
the same life
the same day
many times before
—so my shirts
are form fitted
from having been
washed and worn
on the same body
and the same people
i already know
just say hello
and less
nice to meet you’s
and i still
remember
the way to where
i usually go
so less looking
at a map
and trying
to figure it out
and i know
what i like to eat
so i push my cart
in the same path
at the store
and only stop
when something
is out of stock
brisk cool walking feeling good and even open even though foggy and dark and windy and blowing in my face and walking downhill that up peppermint on my skin opening my nose tree leaves overhead stopping at intersections and keeping rhythm with the clacks of my heels of my weekend shoes that I wore because it’s Friday night and waiting for a car at this intersection and it goes so I can patch voices in the distance to my left
San Francisco being quite a really beautiful city and people laughing which makes me happy doors close it got parked cars that start their hinges it make me wonder why everything is plural because it was really only one car cars cars cars cars I’ve said this before but if you walk up the sidewalk in the city it is really car is at Phill most of your consciousness either listening to them or try not to get hit by them or looking at the ones that are really expensive are the ones that are not expensive it makes so much noise
I wondered why the Google maps app said it would take so long on my phone the walk I mean it was only a mile or a mile in 3/10 baby but now I realize it is because of all the stops at the stop lights and having to wait for cars those are the stops that make a mile walk take 30 minutes
So much here yup I’m sure of it now even more sure than I was when I packed a backpack and moved from the Midwest to come to the coast the people who had been here told you was great now I am one of those people that will save myself that it is great this wind blowing it’s seeming like it is not so great in the city but he thinks cold and dark but I know it is from the ocean that is not far away it’s so ISmile is just as if I were on the beach in LA
it’s quite easy now really to flow just the immediate after work hours on a Friday after I’ve worked and worked and worked and slept and woke it up and work some more and slept again so that I get into the mood of just doing the same thing over and over and getting good at it and measure the bed not being able to do anything else so now on a Friday when I finally have some time and want to make some art which is what I really enjoy doing I can’t because all my buyer wants to produce is the workI think that that I won’t ever come back but it really just takes a couple hours for everything to open up
Passing around a crowd her and I from either side had the same idea and so crossed on the left her right and almost ran into each other around in the crowd not being able to see
And so wanting to see by golly just show me what we came here for and can’t wait anymore to let her eyes have with anything but the same for it is for any of the senses sight especially just to have a change of pace
Meditative walking so not thinking of getting quite far pay attention so much to surroundings that you don’t realize how much this route exit changed and now looking up at the street side to realize you’re in a whole other part of town I should’ve known for the way things look different but the changes were so subtle that every small change one by one doesn’t equate to a big change all at once
Just capturing all of it without discussion like this and this and this and that and that and all of it so great so beautiful overwhelmed with my camera out hitting the trigger button pressing captured so many times over and over just spinning in circles taking a picture of everything up and down my shoes in the sky in the building for the people in front of me and trying to write down what they’re saying when they’re talking and trying to record my own thoughts and also what my senses are telling me converting stimuli into words and writing down the words on the street signs in the markets are the gas prices and running out of breath saying this into my phone
seeing home in state after a long walk and getting excited to see you baby having to wait for this last light counting down with the flashing orange hand and yellow rectangles across the way where pedestrians are supposed to walk I can see the apartment from here not our window but I know it’s the window right next to it and I know baby is sitting there waiting for me or maybe try to distract yourself like I am right now thinking of anything just to pass these next 20 or 30 seconds before I put my key in the door and get to see babyLike I wait for all day lately it is but every day that I weigh like this and I suppose it could be every day here after
left after a week worked hard in the car and my shoulders starting to relax a little as they do at least until a gradual tightening come sunday evening but just happy now to be headed out of downtown and back to where i spend my nights and the city has somehow kept the building under control and so is more natural to see the sky and easier to forget about what is other than a mono blue or white or even grey at the worst but even the fog on a rainy night i prefer much more just to sit inside and take time to boil water for tea and eat then steam or otherwise relax and spend time without having to get a return on the investment
three quarters cracked
passenger side car window
blowing past an empty seat
through my hair in back
a plastic bag
on the sidewalk
under the bridge
in the dark
blowing slowly
looking like
a raccoon
sleuthing around
building tops
and walls
downtown
against the sky
like my girl’s shoulder
against the mirror
in the apartment
—simple things
made even more
simple
and clear
outlined against
other
simple things
contrasted
by difference
so the line
is clear
i raise my head
from the pillow in bed
as a brief flash of light
comes under the curtain
and catches my eye
just enough
to wake me up
a traffic light
against the sky
speaking
so clearly
with colors
cement split
like a natural crack
only that this one
goes so deep
as man has made it
while a crevice
may run to the core
i find myself
all the time
looking up
at building tops
that outline
the sky
it’s actually the work in the office all day focused on what has answers that crams my art into small pockets of time so it becomes less like a drip which spread out doesn’t pack a punch and so means nothing much in a concise enough form that can be read and impressed upon like a flood where if you let the good build up behind a dam and mingle together creating in your subconscious what comes forth all at once after work on the bus ride home scrambling to hold onto the rail with one hand and type the poem that’s been waiting all day on your phone with the other hand
if the writers
keep writing
on the other side
of the muffled voices
apartment wall
and late afternoon
brunchers
and bakery
line waiters
all saying
some words
that spill into
my dreams
jumping up
to avoid
a chip bag
blowing
in the wind
window drapes
like a dam
after a flood
in the morning
holding back
all that light
wanting in
to wake up
and start the day
sometimes
they are smooth
like the ocean
sounds
of cars going by
so i sit
on our rug
in the apartment
as if
i was on the beach
in the morning
meditating
listening
to mechanical waves
i woke up this morning
because i kept hearing
the dump truck outside;
it must be garbage day
walking home
with groceries
so i have to stop
every half block
and put down
the bags
to write
some poetry
walking
with a brown
grocery bag
in my right hand
i see another
of about
similar
height and build
and a grocery bag
also brown
in their right
i wonder
is there a mirror
up there
at the intersection
seeing
my reflection
walking by
glass
storefront
windows
wondering
who is that
a beautiful city
even more beautiful
after you’ve been
away for a while
like the cathedral
unassuming
among victorians
stop
and go
stop
and go
at stop lights
in the morning
when
the stops
are almost
unnecessary
given
the few cars
up this early
except
for the speedster
that might
blow through
and ruin it
clear cold
misty morning
white white sky
seeming all to be
the same white
from a barely
risen sun
that shows some
of its light
but none
of its color
fog clouds
over the city
like a pillow
with all
the feathers
pulled out
saved by routine
back in the city
settling into
what i know
not so chaotic
as vacation
waking up
each morning
with the full set
of possibilities
—refreshing
for the first
few days
then exhausting
and wanting
to get back
to what you know
waiting
for the plane
to board
back
to the city
and take
a car
to the office
and resume
the life
i was living
before
you go up the stairs into a building and forgot completely about the street so if you’re feeling some way just go up a floor to a different setting and feel differently
a man holding a sign walking down broadway in santa monica past tourists and shoppers reciting bible verses into a megaphone and the sign says something about how there is a god and a man on the other side of the street shouts, get a life!
everything looks the same in a store with rows and rows of clothes so i’m confused when i want to walk through and take a step then have to stop when i realize it’s a mirror reflecting the rows of clothes behind me so on the next turn i’m hesitant even though it’s really a row that i can walk through this time
cityscapes with harsh lines steel and objects versus brush and green overlapping trees with their trunks hidden and even the edges where the mountain shoulders would meet the sky dressed in greenery until you take the mountain road down and emerge into the first intersection where there is a sign with gas prices and boxy storefronts and street signs and stop lights that are all angular and pointed
generally safe
on a two-way
if between the lines
on our side
dependent of course
on the same
coming from
the other side
and nothing
over the middle line
which we can’t control
anyhow
so resorting
to a more relaxed
focus on our lane
and what will destroy us
coming the other way
is out of our hands
you get caught up
in thinking
what is worth it
with a working life
so on vacation
you’re thinking about
how much time
do i have to spend
back in the office
in order to make
as much
as this is worth
until you wonder
if you should
just spend
all your time
in the office
because nothing
is worth what
is required of you
to get it
talking more about specifics like being on the pacific coast highway driving south from malibu to topanga going about forty miles per hour in a white five-seater sedan listening to electric feel by mgmt in the left lane on a section of road with construction where fines double at 4:37pm and the license plate on the dodge truck next to us is 93074H2 at a red stop light at the intersection of corral canyon road on saturday, july 20 and a blue sign on the side of the road says call box and on the other side a P in a circle with a line through it that means no parking and a discount succulent nursery and house number 24818 and a 45 mph speed limit sign and john tyler drive and now the song take a walk by passion pit the singer says i love this country dearly now to malibu canyon road and road work ahead again in a diamond shaped orange sign and the words signal ahead in all caps white letters on the road beneath our tires a sign that says sold in red capital letters for a parking lot apparently malibu lagoon state beach for which a few applies and the singer says rip apart those socialists and their damn taxes a dad running with a stroller and his blue shirt says malibu running across the intersection and a store at the corner that says food mart and car wash
after so much time in the dark shadows of buildings and fog walking fast on sidewalks always getting somewhere most often to work crammed into the bus with everyone else doing the same and so feeling the same and so thinking nothing of it or of doing anything differently or least of all leaving but staying concentrated where a desk lamp or an office light makes clear the paper or computer screen to be focused on in contrast to the dark overcast often sunless and cold where the ocean water is freezing so even if you make it to the beach you stay on the rocky sand and still think about work because it’s really not that far away both in terms of space on the coast of town and in terms of time over a short weekend and all of this contributes to quite a lot of production and ego building and economic growth until you get on a plane because your girlfriend says it’s time for vacation and drive in the night so you can’t see up to a house in the mountains and fall asleep exhausted from the work week and stress of travel but then wake in the morning to find a different world where the sun sets higher and brighter and drive down to the ocean where the water isn’t as freezing and the sun not dressed in fog shines so that everything seems to be one and the ego is less of a concept not because of any spiritual realization but just because you can see a thing other than the brightness that melts it all together and makes you want to close your eyes so your not even seeing but just feeling the warmth of the sun and then before you know it laying back onto the sand with a smile on your face and waking up hours later well rested having forgotten everything you left in the foggy working city and thinking my god i could cancel my return flight and stay here with baby and let my landlord figure out what to do with my stuff and be like one of the beach bums that live in their cars that line the pch and haven’t moved for years
freeways are
too fast for me
flinging forward
hunks of metal
kept from
killing you
just by
painted on
white lines
sitting in the airport waiting by the window as the sun sets for a flight to los angeles the flight before us deplaning and travelers a little sleepy less apprehensive for a flight not far just to LA at 9pm on a friday maybe tired from a long week in the office and getting away for the weekend like baby and i on our way to topanga canyon and then malibu beach on saturday
there will be
one night
when i get up
to use the bathroom
at 2:21am
or some other
middle of
the night time
and check
the front door
to find
it is unlocked
having forgotten
to lock it
before bed;
i just hope
it is not
the same night
that the burglar
finds it
a building
in open sky
with itself
and no other
buildings
on its edges
allowed
to be like
an object
painted alone
on wide
open white
canvas
i see simple things
like a hand
grabbing a yellow rail
and a button
that says stop
on the bus
in the morning
packed with people
trying to relax
before work
a tree branch
with leaves
through the grate
through the window
bobbing
in the wind
at night
the light hits
the window frame
just right
so the red and green
guide traffic
in my dream
buchanan slow down vrooom
webster slow down ch-kkkk
please hold on beep vroom
fillmore slow down stop go
ch-kkkk beep beep click click
doors are opening ch-kkkk
please hold on beep beep
steiner and california click
click-click click-click (turn
signal) click-click click-click
doors are opening stop go
please hold on vroom
vrooooom (speeding up)
pierce click ch-kkk beep
please hold on vrooom
stop (stop light) go divisadero
(my stop) doors are opening
the whole bus shakes
riding over construction
unpatched bumps and
potholes in the road
rattling squeaking
like an earthquake
really more than
you would expect
like the whole thing
could fall apart
cars whoosh
by outside
the stop light
changes colors
in the window
the hardwood
stays put
for the most past
so one thing
in the world
stays the same
drunk a little
left in line
waiting for
i’m not sure
what just
comfortable
to stand here
otherwise
inappropriately
drunk, but
here in line
perfectly
in place
eyes closed
on the bus
feeling the inclines
and turns
stopping
counting stop lights
trying to guess
how far
and which stop
i need to open my eyes
and stand up
to get off
i dance around the room and lift up the rug and make some food and leave it in the pot to take a shower and rub my eyes to see abstract shapes until my skin prunes and turn on music genre after genre until i’d rather have the silence and then eat the food cold and go stand outside and look at people funny and walk with my hands in my pockets and worry about how i look and sit on the bench just to find one lousy poem that starts out like this …
crowded on the bus
germy yellow hand railing
everyone looking down
at either book or phone
phones mostly
a few looking out
of the windows
the whole bus creaking
and parts shaking
crawling up
and down
san francisco hills
cars passing by our sides
stand clear of the doors
says the recorded lady
but the doors don’t open
and we keep moving
stopping and starting cars
on either side
so you can’t tell who’s
moving and who’s not
so quiet on the bus
just the ventilation
the bus stopping in traffic
and then starting
with a jolt
a dog bark
on the sidewalk
two motorcycles pass by
the fare prices posted
three dollars
for an adult single ride fare
and other ads
some peeling off
of the diagonal sections
between the windows
and the off white roof
out of downtown making
some progress now
my hand getting sore
from holding on
a beep, then two more
please give seats to seniors
and people with disabilities
says a recorded voice
a man this time
and then in other languages
the same message
presumably
doors are opening
says the woman’s voice
almost forgot
to pay attention
to whether
this is my stop
it’s not
but i better pay attention
getting off
at divisadero
everyone looking smug
to live in this neighborhood
keep writing carefully craft odd to 17 long straightaways shooting a lock side segment Rhodes Ryan with White Dash Ally is leading into intersections that turn in all four directions and clog with cars especially now after 5 PM when everyone moves at the same time showing Salads at a commotion of a city kept under fog it it’s on Lucid glass globe Jamie world
left-leaning long time into words I will pick up whatever they want anyway pouring over loud noises heard yelling at the tight loudness until we spring in the open ducking head past people who walk bye distracted constantly by billboards and try not to get hit creeping past wall art of cars of all shapes and sizes and colors underneath bridges it over shop windows a maze of homes and places and paths to walk through so many cars in an auto shop hard to think how they got the ball in there dirty sidewalks
wondering if it doesn’t matter if my words are to change anyway if it’s really the machine that’s making the yard so I can really say anything as long as I keep talking and the successful man nowadays it is one who leads deepest to division letting most of the work be done for him without him push of the button that’s Aussie does the right button to push it’s a Holick these devices that have so much power at the key nowIs to unlock the power of the device sometimes more is in the power of the Madame self
ceiling showing light
passed through from
the bottom eighth
of the kitchen window
uncovered by drape
showing a triangular
section almost white
like a car headlight
shining at night
morning through car window in city watching man sip his coffee slowly and auto shop attendant sweeping out the garage yellow lights on the back of a parking patrol vehicle people waiting at the traffic corner with their dogs on leashes for morning walks man walking in one direction in his turquoise scrubs and another man walking in another direction in his vest more people on the sidewalk as we get closer to downtown trash cans waiting by the curb signs outside or storefronts some of them already open at 7:27am jazz playing inside the car giving a soundtrack to this window movie a man in a suit carrying nothing maybe going to an interview a white van coming out of an underground parking garage with its left blinker on stopped at a stop light the sign on the building to our left says the ross building turning right a dozen people waiting outside in line their backs leaned against the building one man crouching most people walking with bags over their shoulders and headphones in their ears stopped again at the intersection of market street missing some things as i look down to type on my phone and the car keeps moving now stopped by the richard stephens building mailboxes blue four of them lined up next to each other neatly trimmed small trees in large yellow pots a construction man with a yellow vest waking around in the bed of his flat truck another construction man on his phone with his hard hat on a blue bucket lift with the bucket raised a large construction site about a quarter of a square block with a large cable crane already working and many men in yellow yellow and orange vests waiting to right turn the corner as predestinarians cross the crosswalk
at the laundromat
watching the whites spin
hearing the machine hum
i wonder about
where the socks go
one california
to gough
and clay
i hear
the same
bus stop
outside
all day
i write poems
between bus stops
because i know
there is nothing
else to do
during that time
taking the muni bus
5 westbound on fulton
toward ocean beach
on sunday morning
to play soccer
i watched an encounter earlier
when i switched from
the twenty-four to the five
where a woman wanted
to bring on a trolley full of
recycled cans and bottles
two trash bags full
but the bus driver said no more
there were already some
folks on the bus with trash bags
full of recyclables
i figures the lady would just
wait for the next bus
but she was shouting
in a language i didn’t know
and then another woman
that was coming onto the bus
aided the bus driver
in pushing the woman
with the bags, off the bus
i felt bad about it
watching from the bus stop
at the other side of the street
but didn’t know
what i could do
the pick-up game
is normally in north beach
by the ghirardelli factory
but the pitch is different today
on account of it being
july 4th weekend
we’ve gotten to 8th avenue
in the time it’s taken me
to write this
i’m looking forward
to playing
and not thinking
about anything
i check my bag compulsively
to make sure
i brought both cleats
not that i’ve ever brought
only one before
but just to make sure
stumbling to the shower in the dark i’m feeling like i’m out of mind where all is abstract without edges shown to me it is only the fuzzy loose and generally vague feeling that tells me i am still a sensing thing so turning the faucet and having the cold feel accentuated in the dark and waiting and having to leave for baby to use the bathroom and coming back to find the water hot and all this stumbling blindly with my hands out in front of me and working from memory of the apartment trying not to stub my toe
baby and i bought art today
and argued about how to hang them
without any objective correct placement
to act as a third mediator
so left the arguments be
and all the paintings on the floor
i think baby will probably
hang them herself while i’m gone
better that way
she’s probably right
about the placement anyway
i was as productive
as a poet can be
those months in san francisco
with baby supporting me
in her apartment
on the corner
of california and divis
on top of the wild hare
a bar that shut down
and the bakery with
a constant twenty person line
i say months because
it has only been five
or maybe a few days more
but not even a half-year
and i talk in the past tense
from the perspective of
an old poet
in another city
having lost baby
because i see that to be
the probable outcome
by no will of my own
but the will of the world
that has moved my life
up to this point
for the most part
walking around the mission
with a backpack full of books
selling for 50% consignment
which is about four dollars
expect for the store that
told me to sell for more
so i got five dollars there
and not counting the copies
that got damaged either
in my backpack
or from baby thumbing
through the copies at home
—those copies i gave
away for free
creeping morning light
between the drapes
into the living room
brightening the edge
of the white rug
and putting a shimmer
on the hardwood floor
giving to my eyes
information for what
in the apartment
needs to be done
and pulling me out
from under-
neath the sheets
when it gets too hot
in the apartment
you have to choose
between sweating
and opening a window
to let the city in
with the cars and
the voices along
with the cool breeze
i’m exhausted by the constant need to create conversely kept inside all this time waiting to be formed into words what touch his skin and glaze his eyeballs so that there is a balance between tiredness from saying and overflowing from remembering best left Lewis to come as it willAnd I think about much other than staying alive and letting him know as it always dies and everybody just from getting out of bed and walking out the door and hearing and seeing and trying to have read enough to put that into words
me and baby making furniture together and unpacking boxes finally feeling more moved in a sense of building a life and settling and establishing it domestic existence that I am in complete control for the first time being here with baby and feeling like that scene in Benjamin button where they live on the mattress in the middle of the floor in the empty apartment and wondering if I think back years from now on this having been the start of the rest but more than anything happy to have come this far baby doesn’t like the legs on the bookshelf because they’re plastic and don’t fit the aesthetic of the rest of the apartment she wanted me to build it to see it first but I have a feeling she might see it and say it’s OK for a day but then see the plastic legs a week later and want to get rid of it but I am happy to build it either way baby laughing at me as I say this in my phone I’m also excited toMove the stacks of books off the living room tables into the bookshelf
leave alone so the art can recycle itself and come back to new ways of looking at things with enough time to have seen and heard novelties not yet conceptualized
talking so much in abstract terms as opposed to what is specific like the word peers printed on the curb that borders Pierce Street and the cement and the bus that says wine clean air vehicle California plus Gary in the parking it’s only for two hours from 8 AM to 6 PM in the redfin real estate company in the Zephyr real estate company at the gas station has prices of 399 for regular gas and 409 for price and the clearance for the gas station roof is 15 feet and 0 inches and the license plate number 7WMF175 on a Chevy
The feeling that everything is going well ups and ups punctuated by self doubt and downs until a resilient light or an unexpected Bright brings you back on the up and sometimes not even and up on the net is necessary but just a change in direction from going down down and trying to get off this like the Buddha would tell you not to be attached but finding more and more that if one is to be part of the world part of the family a friend one who hopes and strive to succeed what is it in it inevitably and thus emotional because there’s the emotion sometimes that makes art (edited) good and friendships worthwhile and loves passionate so the ups are worth the downs
baby sitting in the sunlight steam from 2 cups of tea coalescing the sound of bus brakes stopping and starting always outside the pancakes on the griddle sizzling made with oats and bananas and no flour steam and heat from the griddle making my face hot This is all doling quieter until the spatula flip turns over to the other side and this is always louder a little more burn on each successive pancake as the griddle gets harder and harder and less oil
so my style it seems has gone from poetic to more storytelling which is interesting specifically used for speech to text because with poetic the misspellings and words that go in differently are all right because within the context of poetry there’s more flexibility but with the style that is more storytelling it seems to be a little more important that each word is correct otherwise the context doesn’t make any sense Like the word harder instead of hotter but even then it is not totally misunderstood and still some value in telling a story not even thought of
steam and smoke in the studio kitchen so I asked baby to open the window washing out the remaining batter in the griddle quieting down the Fossett dripping and the sound of water farther down in the sink pipes car is always car so much that it’s monotonous at this point but interesting because it was only when I started to try work writing what I hear that I realize it is always the car is the Phillies are here in the cities
dog getting antsy waiting on a leash with her owner pulling whimpering waiting leash packed taut for the light to turn green leaning forward up on her back legs so the color pups into her neck jumping barking until her owner with a finger tells her “no!”
a purse full of mushrooms and cocaine from pen caps sitting near on open window in the attic of the officer’s quarters in the presidio. waiting for fireworks that we might not be able to see because of the fog. chase said last year the fireworks were just red and blue clouds through the fog and even the booms were softened. brick chimney and wooden rafters in the attic all of us sitting on the floor and hand me down furniture. people talking as loud as the music is my favorite part of a party when everyone has had enough to drink to no longer be strangers even if they only met an hour ago. all gathered by the open window in the whole wide house that has 10 bedrooms and four floors but we’ve all gathered here naturally in the uppermost corner of the house after being on the porch and in the front yard and all spread out throughout the house before. baby and i in the love. my legs rested up on the couch and her legs over mine. keeping cool from the breeze coming in through the open window
a very foggy spooky night where car lights show suddenly crept through unseen yellow light tunnel haze taken the highway to divisadero with baby’s hand in mine resting on the leather backseat radio plays softly and driver politely offers water in a river of straightaway stop and go lights and cars like ours following the rules waiting patiently having coming down from the presidio now so you can see farther than 10 feet ahead lights are really all that shows the eyes other than dark and in that way the fog is more like the dark hiding parts of the city view on the car ride home
Dark to bright light eyes adjusted so some shapes could be seen at the outer edges before but now everything information overload color all at once just long enough to get paste on the toothbrush and then light switch back off but still not quick enough to avoid peoples contracting and now in the dark even the outer edges disappear so the dark is really complete and I have to wait a moment beforeI can see the edges again and find the faucet (edited) handle to wet (edited) the toothpaste
weather Waze one says shirtless stays like the nightfall walking alone talking to myself all baby sleeps keeping careless words kept unheard convalescent collected oh man the morning smells fresh and good getting out of the apartment so baby can sleep she’s tired from the long week of work going whatever way is the light turns so open on the sidewalk being able to talk just myself a walk now just to let leg stretch walking faster I realize for no reason I slow down The wind is so cool at 7:37 AM and so few cars a white fog overcast so all I can see what I look up is in Erie white consistently the same way in all directions and going up and up forever it seems Man the morning is it Great Erie odd place in the city were so many are usually walking casually strolling enjoying do still in the air wearing a shirt with a neck and a flannel and pads to stay warm feeling cozy in the secure barrier between the apartment door and the rest of the citySeems unimportant now that being outside to see him safe and at home
left a little longer like a moon drawn stare standing at the corner looking at numbers counting down telling me I only have so long but no matter for a direction this man as the numbers on the other side will start to count up after the other numbers have finish counting down and so the white man that I always listen to for fear of being hurt tells me I can crossShadows from an odd forest of the city where trees have grown to go to Hall
left lopsided lazy lake left lopsided lazy like left lopsided lazy like left lopsided lazy like a broken record who’s break isn’t all together on welcomed thankful for some repetitive NessFor a world that stays the same but we try to catch our breath from the dance
between Peers and Scott on California sitting on my favorite green yellow bench that one of the homeowners has been so kind to leave out to tired pedestrians I can just sit here in the morning when nobody else has woken up but the sun is surely out and the air is as good as it will be all day like my dad used to say; It still says it I suppose I just haven’t been home to hear him in a while
looking straight there is the empty street and cars parked all along the curb looking slightly up there is the second-floor windows and slightly further out there are wires in the tops of punctuated trees and then the roofs and more wires at the tops of telephone poles until the never ending overcast white sky that truly has nothing not even a bird so differentFrom the four-story world beneath I am Magine if I were a painter I would take the higher whereas if I was a family man I would take one of the four stories
Green leaves on the bush look classy like Willy Wonka would say you could pull one off a need it they Russell and make contact with her neighbors like they are communicating to one another that the wind has calm I cannot hear this Russell with cars pass by which makes me wonder what it is like to hear what only nature has to offer even in the city we here sometimes but all the people in cars and buses in factories and shop orders and construction workers and sirens and everything else is quiet down we hear the wind of the leaves that are more natural
breathing brisk through my nose summer starting to wake up now so I have to share the morning wonderworld not binding especially because I would like to know the others who regularly and why and where they are going on a trip or to the gym or to meet someone else to weeks early I am glad to sacrifice the clean air for some of their companionship
other pedestrians walking by wondering why I am just sitting on a bench looking at me like don’t you have somewhere to go Mr. even more odd when they see that I’m talking to my phone if I ever say something like be there soon babe just stepped outside or have a great weekend see you on Monday or something else that is normal to say to your phone but not saying poetry to your phone that is not normal
Remembering that today is July 4 and I have a greed to grill burgers and Brotz on the beach with Greg and Devon and so now having a purpose again and getting up off the bench to walk to the grocery store to buy the supplies it is a bit harder to think of poetry when you have your purpose and your mindset but one good for the other to go back-and-forth I think
it always strikes me now when I walk by another person with all their clothes on and carrying many bags talking to them selves seemingly saying nothing but no difference between them and I such that I would like to turn on my speech to text and walk with them and let them talk into the microphone and hear what poetry they have to say
bus whirs outside
arms catch on wires
brakes let out a breath
rest at the stop for a second
eat a few passengers
regurgitate a few others
some stops are a big meal
swelling with a stomach full
until the stops downtown
provide some offloading relief
crawling all over the city
always demanded
and even chased after
until broken and then fixed
and put back on the schedule
born into a purpose
of making the city run on time
parking meters
poke between
parked cars
staircases
up into
slanted homes
lights inside
restaurants that
make their money
on friday nights
trying to
write the city
but mostly seeing
and so thinking
setting sun
on buildings
and faces of
people sidewalking
would be better
painted
store windows
show through
and out of
store windows
on the other side
so you can see
who’s coming
around the corner
Walls of leaves shades of green
like what is inside there
must be teeming with life.
Adjacent skyscrapers
bursting into the sky
like what built these
must have been godly.
Commotion uncontrolled
in the streets of the city
like what lives here
instigates itself.
Cars constantly revving
until waiting at lights
like mufflers are talking
to one another.
Signs glowing prices
even without buyers
as if the glow itself
is commercial.
Graffiti art started
sidewalk parted
like the leaves grown
over the half of it
were on purpose.
Steps of so many
pedestrian walkers walking
like the place to be gotten to
is always moving.
Construction noise
in a new foundation
unveiling dirt a rare sight
that will soon return
to being underneath cement.
Pigeons pecking together at scraps
like city trash vultures.
In the morning oh my goodness all that light opening the blinds and hearing honking and all of a sudden remembering the world that goes away when you go to sleep and starts again just as sure as you’ll wake up again to find it there and be a part of it yourself
the closest you get
to silence in the city
is sitting alone
in your apartment
and you can still hear
the air moving through
the ventilation system
walking on the streets
i’d wondered when
it would happen
without noticing
the headlights
maybe at night
and the pain
probably none
if hard and
fast enough
and nothing
but curb
keeping me
and all these
other innocents
from meeting
the machine
i was rushing
to make it
to soccer
on time
the first game
starts at 8:50
and it was 8:20
but i had just
made oatmeal
and tried to eat
but it was too hot
so i forced
a couple bites
and burned my tongue
then packed it up
to take it with me
to the pitch
on sunday morning
the roads are empty
and all the lights
turn green for us
as if i needed
to get where i’m going
any faster
a little square
of light
on the wall
above the bed
from the
rectangle
between
the bottom
of the window
in the kitchen
and the shade
that covers
the rest
shined through
the doorway
to the living room
split in half
to become
a square
by the plant
leaf hanging
in the doorway
changing from
green then
quickly yellow
then red
a pleasant
light show
on the bedroom
wall above
the bed
at 5:13am
all the way
from the stop light
at the intersection
of california
and divisadero
an invisible night light
in the apartment dark
shadow stretching
straight across
the floor rug run
with floorboards
and resting underneath
the living room table
an open window
in the dark
shining moonlight
into the apartment
like a rectangular
entrance into
another world
an escape
out of space
an accidental opening
of the day in the night
oddly geometrical
just the light
of the window
with all else
to the sides
and behind
black nothing
and the light itself
also nothing
except being
other than the dark
and therefore
the clear choice
i step through
sitting alone
at a table for two
with my eyes closed
and hands folded
listening to
the noisy restaurant
looking like
an old man
fallen asleep
but truly a young man
listening intently
in a place meant
for seeing
and tasting especially
but so much noise
when you really listen
looking down 13 stories, down to state street in chicago. they installed bars so you can’t jump out. it’s rainy today. the door also only opens about 6 inches. i think i could slide out though. the rain would help clean up the mess. enough people on the sidewalk i’d have to time it so i don’t hit anyone. scary, so close. nothing seeming to matter, far away from the sidewalking and stoplighting that keep me grounded below. up here, not quite skycraping, but high enough to feel between two worlds, not close enough to either, a body smashed on cement bounces a soul.
chicago skyline
scattered sprinkled
with shapes
stretching high
to reach cranes
that then stretch higher
a city stretches
like its habitants
higher longer
more here more
four men
three and me
walking nowhere
meatpacking
chicago brick
rusted steel
lazy walk
looking up
wonder walk
glossy eyes
deep sighs
feeling high
everything
is art
right now