It's not even three yet
In this neighborhood there is no curfew
And who do I stumble upon
BUT GEORGE

George parks his shopping cart in front of his nest
He does not want dollars for breakfast
Because he cannot eat them

George wants me to **** him in the *** but I say no because
I do not have that kind of kindness to offer
George is from Italy but it is too long a story to tell me
The story of corruption in LA is easier
Perhaps for him to tell but I can't get much of a word in
Because the story does not exist from my telling

George asks me to come back if I want to get laid by him
Later in the week
I tell him that I probably have plans but those plans
Do not exclude
Me sitting cross-legged near him while I listen to stories
Without ******* his ***
Because George is not crazy or drunk or bothersome
He just lives on my block
And but for the GRACE OF GOD George's ***
Would be the loneliest me

If there were to be an awkward work party
In the future
Where you get a little tipsy and for some reason
Decide it would be safe
To kiss me

I'll be all like:
Hold on I thought you liked girls and you shouldn't mess around with me because I'm just gonna become one of those goopy people who gets attached too quickly even though you think I'm all casual and longhairy and whatever but I'm totally gonna cry like an orphan when you stop liking me

I'll be all like that but it'll also make my life in that moment
My whole giant life to come and all the immense seeming life I've had
Will be boiled down into a tiny little microscopic moment
And to myself
I'll be all like:
It'd be okay to die inside this moment because my whole life's in it anyway

But even if you think it's fun to flirt with me at work
You're probably not going to kiss me
Because you like girls
And I don't want to be another one of those guys who just doesn't get that

Dragging my *** to the liquor store
After midnight on a brand new Tuesday
I sort of wish

That I could sit cross-legged in a desert somewhere
With the sun ripping into me
And sweat out all the cheeseburgers I ever ate
All that yellowy cheddar would ooze out of my pores
All the slippery chunks of meat would fall off my forehead
                                   And sizzle in the sun
Maybe all the tar from all the cigarettes would slip out too
      All the whiskey would steam off into the great big blue sky
         All the slaves my great great great whatevers owned would come whooping freely out of me
              All the meanness and rudeness and all those little selfish thoughts would drip on out
                                             The *** would crawl right out of my *****
                    And any little pieces of broken hearts would fly back to their owners
And I'd wither into a shrunken pillar of pure good
That'd be nice                                                    
A relief                              


But if there was a shred of me left on my bones
I'd probably just drag my *** to another liquor store
To celebrate

Red wine burns in a column in my chest
Rosemary is learning to love her baby
Because it's the end of the movie
I didn't finish my book today
And it's not even my book
Everyone has work
So they're in bed

I pour the rest of the wine into my glass
And I go outside and sit at
The little table
And smoke one of my roommate's
Cigarettes
He doesn't mind because sometimes
He smokes mine
So the water ebbs and flows

I want to be buried without a casket
So the ants can have direct access to my body
Without the pretension
That I am not for them

The hot column of wine will keep me awake in bed
Giving me some time to try and finish my book
I will also be somewhat afraid of satanists
With old naked bodies and bright eyes
But if I am too afraid I will laugh
And remember there is no hell
And if even if there is one
I would be ashamed
To be a good person

Only because It exists

When you're drunk in the back of a minivan
Around two in the afternoon
The world outside becomes an aquarium
Sharks with buzz-cuts and button-downs swim by on sidewalks
Schools of tiny laughing fish with bangs and handbags follow
I wonder what it would be like to get run over by the tram at the outdoor shopping center
With that horrible bell ringing the whole time
Your bones slowly and carefully snapping and grinding
To make way for the shopping fish going from one store to another
My friends try and get me to buy some new shoes
I want new shoes but I don't want any of these
I put an open shoulder bag on a mannequin's head like it's a hat
I stand next to a line of mannequins and pose pretending I'm one of them
I get bored and chat with the mannequin next to me
Me: Tough crowd
Mannequin: It's all fun and games for you but this is my job so I would appreciate it if you would stop dicking around and get back to shopping
Me: But I don't want any of these shoes
Mannequin: Go look at them again and imagine they're puppies
I go back and look at the shoes imagining they're puppies
I don't want them to get put to sleep but I also don't want tacky cowboy stitching
I pull a mannequin's pants down
I watch the mannequin's face fill with shame
But there is nothing it can do
Because its arms are not real

I am watching that new documentary about J.D. Salinger
I keep pausing because I find it somewhat unbearable
I go outside to have a cigarette
Or write a poem
I can't imagine Salinger would have cared much for the movie himself
The light from my window is infuriating
I wish I had blinds
I should go buy some blinds so that I can sleep through the mornings
I am never prepared for mornings
Before I started watching the Salinger movie
I watched this movie where the ending is so implicit in the beginning
That the movie is not much of a story at all
I am stuck in a driveway or at the foot of a staircase
Or I am wandering in circles around the base of a great mountain
Noting the foothills and exploring quiet empty glens
My apartment is empty save for me and the cat
That mews without settling on any specific want
But mews just for want of pretty much anything
The palm trees outside my window
Give an accurate reading of the weather
Lathered in sun and tickled by breeze
Not much of anything

There are these
Two little
Bumps
On the roof of my mouth
I'm thinking of nicknames for them
Until I ask a doctor
For some better ones
If I have to get the roof of my mouth
Removed
I would spend all day
Trying to stick my tongue through my nostrils
And memories from my brain
Would rain down onto my pallet

Thought for food

Maybe the bumps
Will disappear
Before next monday
When I told myself I'd see a doctor
Like the internet said I should
And my mouth will stay sheltered
And I'll keep smoking
And I'll keep worrying
About all the other things