Daily Archives: October 3, 2005

after a quiet day of thought

I go into several days of 8-6 insanity at work.

I will now attempt to get several hours of sleep before I wake up again far too early.

I will not be posting any poems during this time period.

…snort…snicker…

Yeah, right.

I swear lately that I think in poetry, as Victor once said of Ellyn Maybe. (Not that I’m comparing myself to her…I’m taller, for one thing.)

It’s not entirely a good thing. I can’t seem to deal well with life outside of my understanding of it inside a poem. Gotta climb out if i’m going to maintain equilibrium and stop alienating everyone.

I will likely be up later, as always.


And Yet

Saw a picture of someone
and she said it was
the best she had ever looked

I thought about that and decided that
the best I ever looked
was when I was 22
That phase only lasted about fifteen minutes
but I will forever recall
how in the middle of the seventh minute
Trish Powell asked me to turn around
so she could see my ass in my jeans

But today I looked
in the bedroom mirror
at saggy fat ass me
with the wizened eyes and the graying hair
and the patches of sad fact everywhere

smarter than I have ever been

and saggy fat ass me said
start that motherfucking clock
back
up


y’know, when it comes to insomnia

i have prescribed remedies at hand. ambien, seroquel and the like.

i just hate how dull they make me feel the next day.

i feel more alert after two hours of unmedicated sleep than i do after eight hours of drugged sleep.

maybe i was not meant to sleep regularly. maybe i am one of those who find other ways and sleeping at night is a form of social conformism.

maybe i’m just scared of the dark, of oblivion.

i don’t really dream, so there’s not even a chance at entertainment. maybe sleep is just fucking boring and i stay up because it’s more interesting.

or maybe it’s because i see too many faces when i close my eyes.


insomnia has its occasional good side

I stayed home from work today because I was up all night.

Here’s why.

Dead Reckoning

1
You say, can I please live here?

The first word you think of
when you sit down to write is always “left” –
as in left turn, left behind, left over, left hand.

You start over there and move over here
but when you start again it’s another start
from just where you were last time.

Just once you want to stay where you end up.

2
Dead reckoning is
the art of predicting where you will end up
if you keep doing what you are doing.
It does not take into account
current or drift.

3
There are rare times when you end up
somewhere luminous.

I talked for an hour last night with a boulder
that rose from the roadside dark on the way home,
as gray as if lit from within.
The hump of granite said
it preferred to remain still for fear
of learning more than it could handle.

Before I turned away
I kissed it and forgot myself.

4
Legend has it that Death will find you
even if you run to another city.
Death was thinking you were supposed to end up
in that other city anyway. Death
moves on its accustomed course, you move
on your accustomed course, the edges of the world
converge at the vanishing point.

5
Go out to find your bones.

Fall upon the rocks on the coast.
Ask one of them what it’s like on the other side.

You will learn that they were left behind
when the world split and the far coast moved away from them.

You will dive in and struggle forward, promising
to return with news.

There is something waiting out there, you know.
It waits unsure of how the two of you ended up

so distant from where you were supposed to be,
from where you were supposed to stay.


skipped poetry

hung out and watched the Sox, then did a little bookstore time, then hit a bar for a bit.

just thought you should know…film at 11.