The new Zero Point Zero column which so many of you contributed to is up here if you’d like to take a look.

I posted the link on the weekend, so you might have missed it.

In addition, a couple of my good buddies (Joe Fusco Jr., Paul David Mena, and — I think — a couple more are getting their own columns there as well. Joe’s funny, and Paul’s a truly great haiku master (won awards in Japan for his work).

I have come to the decision that I only feel good before I get on stage, while I’m on stage, and in the few minutes of applause after I am done.

All my good feelings dissolve a few moments after that.

Isn’t that known as Janis Joplin syndrome?

THE END OF THE WORLD

The best part of
The end of the world
Was the moment
Just before it happened

When
The ground and horizon that had been clear before us
slipped a bit
and we said
hey,
This is it, this must be it

And it was grand
because
for that one second we knew just what was going to happen
We knew that we could expect things to change
Because change was inevitable and unavoidable
and sex was over but so were war and famine
and we thought all we had to go on
in the few minutes we had left
were tenderness and a refusal to give up –

But then

the shock

to find

the end was instead so
quiet,
low clarinet
instead of tympani,
that
we weren’t sure it had happened
until long after it was over
until the morning we woke up and saw the sky turn bright white

We turned up our faces toward it
And they shone like hubcaps
Rolling away from a wreck
And we couldn’t eat breakfast together and
We didn’t kiss goodbye and we barely
Recognized each other
As we went about our business

And that was the true end of the world

Or at least
of my part of it

I have come to the decision that I only feel good before I get on stage, while I’m on stage, and in the few minutes of applause after I am done.

All my good feelings dissolve a few moments after that.

Isn’t that known as Janis Joplin syndrome?

THE END OF THE WORLD

The best part of
The end of the world
Was the moment
Just before it happened

When
The ground and horizon that had been clear before us
slipped a bit
and we said
hey,
This is it, this must be it

And it was grand
because
for that one second we knew just what was going to happen
We knew that we could expect things to change
Because change was inevitable and unavoidable
and sex was over but so were war and famine
and we thought all we had to go on
in the few minutes we had left
were tenderness and a refusal to give up –

But then

the shock

to find

the end was instead so
quiet,
low clarinet
instead of tympani,
that
we weren’t sure it had happened
until long after it was over
until the morning we woke up and saw the sky turn bright white

We turned up our faces toward it
And they shone like hubcaps
Rolling away from a wreck
And we couldn’t eat breakfast together and
We didn’t kiss goodbye and we barely
Recognized each other
As we went about our business

And that was the true end of the world

Or at least
of my part of it

Today has been filled with work, from writing to cleaning in the basement to helping my uncle set up his computer (translated, setting up my uncle’s computer).

I also had a sleepless night and a nap this morning.

It strikes me that I also had a productive week at work, getting several things done I was unable to get to earlier in the month.

Plus I paid bills today and I think I’m gonna go to the movies tonight and poetry tomorrow.

And I played guitar for the first time in ages, working up a fingerstyle version of Graham Parker’s “You Can’t Be Too Strong.”

I do believe this is what you call an improvement.

Today has been filled with work, from writing to cleaning in the basement to helping my uncle set up his computer (translated, setting up my uncle’s computer).

I also had a sleepless night and a nap this morning.

It strikes me that I also had a productive week at work, getting several things done I was unable to get to earlier in the month.

Plus I paid bills today and I think I’m gonna go to the movies tonight and poetry tomorrow.

And I played guitar for the first time in ages, working up a fingerstyle version of Graham Parker’s “You Can’t Be Too Strong.”

I do believe this is what you call an improvement.

The new Zero Point Zero is up here.

I’m back, at last. Enjoy.

Bed time.

The new Zero Point Zero is up here.

I’m back, at last. Enjoy.

Bed time.

In other news, the “orgasm” quiz suggested that Jim Morrison would give me an orgasm with a vibrator, and that it would be very good.

Considering how much I loathe Jim Morrison, this would seem to be inaccurate, to say the least.

In other news, the “orgasm” quiz suggested that Jim Morrison would give me an orgasm with a vibrator, and that it would be very good.

Considering how much I loathe Jim Morrison, this would seem to be inaccurate, to say the least.

Becky Henderson — AKA newpoetik.

She’s — wait for it — 30 today.

Happy Birthday to you, Ms. Henderson!

Know what song is really, really good?

“Rocky Mountain High,” by John Denver.

EMPTY BED

sometimes the bed
is bigger than I can stand

I’ve spilled a cup of stains
a day over these sheets

I want to ask a question of the empty room
but it talks so loudly I can’t get a word in

so instead I’ve chewed the pillows
until I’m dried spitless and mute

I wake up at all hours with the same thought each time —
dream is one letter away from dread

write it all down, the therapist says
but even then I can’t keep it down

the bed gets bigger every day
its oak bones growing long after death

a dead man’s hair and nails
sleepwalk on beyond him

I scratch my face, tear out my hair
and never awaken at all

EMPTY BED

sometimes the bed
is bigger than I can stand

I’ve spilled a cup of stains
a day over these sheets

I want to ask a question of the empty room
but it talks so loudly I can’t get a word in

so instead I’ve chewed the pillows
until I’m dried spitless and mute

I wake up at all hours with the same thought each time —
dream is one letter away from dread

write it all down, the therapist says
but even then I can’t keep it down

the bed gets bigger every day
its oak bones growing long after death

a dead man’s hair and nails
sleepwalk on beyond him

I scratch my face, tear out my hair
and never awaken at all