13 voice messages

i forgot about for a few weeks,
and standing in the morning window light sun
i dial the number
and listen to them
one by one

3 hang ups
3 from the blogger girl..
bubbles and smiles
1 from a missed appointment
1 from a missed party across town
1 from an old friend that calls me 'puddin' pop'

1 of p's little friends, breathy and too close to the reciever
1 automated loan computer
and
1 that sounded like it came from outerspace with lots of
white noise and distored voices

all of these I delete from the phone.

and then there is
1 from her

talking low
from a shielded reciever
at work..she says..
and it takes her
more than a few minutes to explain
coffee
and catching up
i can hear smiles..
as i listen i watch
the lazy cat from the apartment across the street
stretch and yawn
like the crazy
ball in my stomach
when i hear her voice

still

i push the number 9
and the robot voice says
my message will be saved
for 14 days.

and it is with great trepidation
i'll probably listen to it
for the next 14 days

and keep unraveling
the stray cat
in my heart
that she somehow happened
to leave behind.

busted headlight


shit, i'm glad you are painting.
i was thinking about that the other day, looking up
at the collage you did for the breakroom..
the girl with the bass.. (the guitar, not the fish)
you drew that
and i was wondering if you were still painting..
thats really good.

i'm writing and
not doing much of anything elese
but thats good enough.
i got a new voice recorder for my ipod and i'm going to make a cd
of my poetry
thats good.
you should draw me a cover..really that would
be cool.
do it
do it

so i guess i'm doing alot.
but right at this moment..
im sitting here remembering the leaves and the trees
that's what it sounds like here in the patio door
open and stuff.
i get lonely here.
i watch the golf players and listen to
tom tom club and the cure
and feel pitifully old.
im all out of pot.
and so my day off is boring..
i usually get high and write poems
and listen to jazz and think off all these cool things
i want to say to you
and everyone elese..
then the pot wears off
and im just pitifully old again.

eh..anyway

im reading lots!
sylvia plath, bukowski, the history of television,
on the road..(again)
and a big anthology of poetry.. with lots of
hip hop and shit.
i like it..but it all mixes up like a big poetry gumbo..
with my juices inside poluting it all up.
i remember bits a pieces
and put them in the wrong order
and its quite surreal..
sylvia plath has mary tyler moore hair
and i want to fuck her even more..
jack kerouac is busting a sick rhyme..
and lenny and squiggy are in the backseat
smoking a blunt with alan ginsberg.

hah. thats real cute.

so anyway..
please write too..
and see you next sunday..where?
you choose
not too far away
i got a busted headlight..

browse function

im in love
with the blog girl
the one with the scrunched up face
and short black hair
her b&w portraits speak to me
like only a pretentious
snob like me
can truly understand
and be turned on by..

sure,
the girl with the bettie page bangs is
sexy
but this one..
has style..

like a modern day
holly golightly
i can almost
see her tumbled over
champagne glass of milk
on the shag carpet..
and Cat curled up
in the bathtub sofa

how did she know
that i love horizontal stripes
and radiohead

its a match
made in
cyberspace dementia..

V

hands that plow
thru dark thick ranges
of her jet black hair
thinking deep
about
irridecent bumblebee nightmares
shopping carts
and tall silver scaffolding

i am always taken by her fingers
thin delicate knots and knuckles
rice paper skin
cold and strong

fingers raking thru mad mop of hair
eyes a thousand and one miles away

oh,
to sleep in her winn dixie dream..
to take her far away into something
i have not imagined yet..