Fluid Talk

I laugh at myself
 pouring a cup of water
 to explain to you the river
It is the flow of it
Try being still
 feel its torrents rock your body
We worry its purpose
 pondering an engulfing ocean

 just so it can delight again
 in the whispers of the mountains
 to provide pretty life–sustaining babble
Go to the river and hear yourself

Elevator, Ownerless Dog, Footsie Soccer Due to Politics

Took a dog down elevator to second floor. There was a dog there. We stood facing it for a long time. I’m surprised no one has come to use the elevator during this time.

A woman with a dog gets tired of waiting, and she takes the steps. Another women comes out, waits, and takes the steps. I go back up with elevator instead of down. Who is going to take care of that dog?

At the ground floor there are a group of gentlemen. We play a kind of soccer with a small ball like a heavy ping-pong ball with dust pans as goals. We all know how to play very well, each know each others weaknesses, only one side has one’s politics, the other another. This annoys me because something like we wouldn’t be having to play footies here if we joined forces.

Festive Business Trip, All Too Festive

I’m on an annual bus trip for the third year. It’s so kinda tour bus. I’m an employee of sorts. It’s festive. We are just about to complete the tour. People remenice about a concert that I wasn’t a part of: Gene Wilder, Luke Wilson, and Richard Prior. I’m surprised I wasn’t part of that concert.

Everyone has shot glasses, the circular kind with a truncated stem with a sweet whiskey liquor. I’m encouraged to drink. I give in and drink.

It’s so jovial and festive, in a corny way. I spill some liquor as the bus winds its way around. Suddenly, I have a giant shot glass, bigger than my head: too much joviality and “Tonight the Streets are Ours” cues as exit music. I have a hard time keeping the drink straight and people laugh as the sticky substance laps over my hands. I drink from the giant glass and the bus goes up a hill, now in day light, and the scene freeze frames with the liquid pouring out onto my cheeks and the music turned up like the punchline to a movie.


Let us love — rather than correctly —
 let us love well
Rather than encourage loving less
 encourage learning how

They say experience and self–control
 both are rather new
well, ever since they burned the witch with her broom
 and cooked the medicine–woman in her stew

Let us refrain from punishing
 groping in the dark
and be glad we are embracing
 our desire for the art

Let us be enraged at doing poorly
 and lack of practicing
Let us show them how it’s done
 with discretionary loving