No. Peas will not replace
this strange desire to add capers
to my already quite exotic Indian stew
God, do I have to go over this
with myself again?
And Live
Get that which I happen to want?
There even ain’t no shame in it, for shame!
Jeez, just go to the grocery store where
they have a whole shelf of them — 2 kinds
And don’t wait for tomorrow’s regular
beautiful shopping; the desire is for them now
And shit if this ain’t the first day
of spring and bare feet
and the children out playing
and Terra out happy despite
a benign cancer near her stomach bulging
and red in her eye
and joy to hear the birds chirp along
to Flaming Lips’ Fight Test
as Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
As I still feel bad for not working
and wonder when I will give it up
like it’s inevitable
Marching past the children echoing Yoshimi’s
battle cry, their young souls
shaming my reluctance to fully embrace
my capers for all I know
Past the teenagers hanging out
fresh in courage, laughing smiles
at one another as they embrace
awkward, vulnerable, vibrant youth
I taste one
salty; almost grimmacingly bitter
How many capers? How many capers?
1, 2, 3
Fuck it. Stop counting. Keep going.
My intuition will tell me
And if I don’t just cover it with ’em
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf.
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf?
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf.
OK.
You will need a smidge more rice.
Really. OK.
I load up my plate up
hear my roommate in his bedroom
loitering, lounging, laughing with his fiancée
as I go out to witness the dusk of a beautiful day
and the slightest dusting of spring
tears have anointed my table
I wipe the seat and as I eat
any evidence of wet is vapors
And, no, those capers are not bitter tasting
they fit perfect, well: smashing
and, hmm, maybe not enough rice
ah, no, just just enough
I needn’t have thought
-
Capers
–––––––
-
In her presence, her presence I have breathed A blinding beauty, a blinding beauty I have seen I gazed no thought The muted radiance burning the film attempting to capture Knowing, as my eyes held her, my mind would not catch her burned into my memory Just the pleasant burn and delicious soothing of grace in nonchalance A beauty that did not strike unwittingly burned and crumpled by invisible flame I accept and graciously with calm, pleasant passion with blissful, resigned frustration such effortless perambulation
Traces
–––––––
-
Thank you for the time we share and the wisdom you provide Knowing you adds something to me I couldn’t be on my own Admits opportunities I wouldn’t take alone Before I go, I take part in the superfluity I need I’m better now I is we
Tre
–––––––
-
What to do with a bejeweled soul? Just glimmer, glimmer, glimmer Barred from the bank, cold no thought in it no exchange value no takers Just take the rays of the sun and inflame the world in gleams And naked with the moon reflect amid its beams
Blue Jewels
–––––––
-
In a mall, shopping with Brian. We walk into a store that only uses half its space. I’m looking for a globe. There is a 10 diameter one and an 8 inch. Those are too big and I don’t want the bulk of a stand. I had three globes a year ago, but I through them all out.
We walk into a fast food restaurant. Too bad that pudgy woman in canary yellow isn’t here. Then a few moments later, I see this woman and her two fat black woman friends.
-
I forego tasteless economics Common chocolate I destroy cheating myself unfulfilled Savoring exquisite trifles fills my entire being with contentment as they go on triumphantly half–eaten For so long, I’ve half–heartedly snacked about when I was hankering for just a bit of the richest delicacy I want no banquet but break the bank for me Permit my plate to remain sacrosanct embracing those dear morsels that suit me
Epicure
–––––––
-
I walk the dogs to pizza hut. No one is there; it’s closed for bad weather. It must have just been closed; there are some pizzas in the oven: a last order. I cut one of the pizzas. It seems to disappear on the table. It shrinks to a small size: I salvage the bits into half of a personal pizza.
What to do? I know: I’ll just put in a new pizza, what with the store closed and all this extra dough, and then I’ll take that little half one for myself.
No hand-tossed in the main refrigerator. None under the make table either. Did they stop doing hand-tossed?
Back to the cut table to cut more pizzas. I cut a large, placing it in top of the small. It completely eclipses it.
A driver comes in, returning from a deliver. He apologizes for an argument he had with another driver before he left. I don’t really care and tell him so.
Gill comes in and sits down in the back office and gets on the phone. I go to him. I’m leaving soon, he tells me, and then talks on the phone some more.
Well I can’t stay and work: I have the dogs, besides didn’t I already call in and say I’m not working? The remaining order burns in my mind.
I try to interrupt Gill, but he keeps talking.
“Gill,” I tell him with desperation as he finally acknowledges me, “you have to tell me where we keep the hand-tossed.” Phones ring indicating new orders. This isn’t the crisis situation I tolerate. I intentionally stop the dream.
-
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
Fluid Talk
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-
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.
-
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.