morning wood

he was a good friend. i could only see his torso because i was looking at his sister who was sitting in a wheelchair. i had to strap her in for a dangerous journey. one of the straps crossed her waist and she squirmed involuntarily as i buckled it up. i hooked my fingers over her waistband playfully and she writhed spasmodically. she was cocked and loaded and i was back in a day when every woman i saw had a target i couldnt see. she would be mine. it was just a matter of getting her alone.

white socks

all white socks
i cant wear colored socks
 my feet do strange things
 purchased at different intervals
 all in one drawer
the elastic on certain models is failing
i tried to get the same model years later i told my wife get me the same socks its not her fault they wear out
quicker now i bought some at the water store
they were terrible
my wife got a deal on some white socks and they were ok
my son admired a certain white sock of mine with grey bottoms
he got some and now my grandson has little white socks with grey bottoms.
 every day i pull out one sock at a time and place them on the bed to try and match white socks. i almost always wear shorts and i feel its important that my socks are the same height on my ankle and have the same elasticity and stitching.
 i think about scrapping all the white socks and starting with a new batch a multitude of new socks that all match.
                       fuck that

a cautious hope

  i followed the advice of every one.
  go apologize.
  and in a burst, a flood of hope, i left a message.
  days passed.
  it seemed as though all was lost for the last time.
  nobody understood my devastation. the reasoning behind my death.
  i have been dead.
  yesterday a message to me. a spark of
  dangerous hope and i replied,
  and this morning a flicker appeared.
  there is a good chance that tomorrow my grandson and i will frolic in a pool.
  my faith in humanity has come full circle and thats not good for humans.
  i will be cautious.
  maybe just maybe i will live again. 
  it all sounds dramatic, but i dont know what i might become.
  a money maker who sips bourbon after hours.
  or grampa.
   god i hope its grampa.

i think i was seven

 awakened by the loud voices of my parents. yelling. it gave me fear. my mother was so angry. my father asked her
  “what do i owe you?”
   things quieted down.
  the next day i opened my drawer to get dressed. i had clothing from a little boy who had died. one of the t shirts had a stain right on the chest.
  i put on the t shirt and walked out to see my mother. she had very bad breath in those days.
                                       diet pills
  “mom. is this the shirt the boy was wearing when he died?”
   “it might have been. maybe.”
   i went out into the garage and got a hoe. i took it into my bedroom and began smacking it into the linoleum or whatever. i made some good dents and lots of noise. my mom did not come to see what was going on.
  i wanted to dig to the devil. dont ask me why.
  later that evening she and my father examined the damage i had done.
  they asked my why. i told them about the devil and that was that until the next day.
   my mother took me into the bedroom and pointed at the damaged floor.
   “would you like to go live with someone else? would you like to be adopted?”
   i thought about it. it sounded pretty good. i told her i’d think about it.
  it occured to me how crazy it was to dig for the devil.
  i knew he stayed in the bushes by the front door.

gun nuts

  grandpa digs in his butt, extracts playdough and smears it on the orb on the top of the bedpost.
  granny thinks he is deaf and he ignores her plea for the gun.
  he finds peanut butter in his butt as well. works it into the carvings in the old furniture. if she worries about flies, he will give her flies.
  he covers his penis with peanut butter.
  where is that dog?
  “granny! where is poochy?”
  ”what?”
   “poochy.”
  “bring me the godamn gun.”
   “what?”

havent shit in two daze

work was cool
a certain little sliver
serenity
just a sliver
but lets get honest
i cant get honest
i’m not pure
i am in my living room
sneaking

 crashed this afternoon
its late i crave esspreso
 
 knees sore
kneeling in video equipment
 enough 
 
 attempts to reconcile
apoligize for whatever into answering service
expectations diminished
 meetings remind me of hope 
 
work tomorrow 
 
 many things in disarray
ride the bike
lift some weight
 do one thing (like go to work)
feel accomplished
ever move to a new place?
first night feels unsettling

still sweating

saw brother mitya at the beach last night
just a very cool scene
took the camcorder
sweating the day away trying to put the tape onto a dvd
its a dizzy day for me
sue is very happy for me
i find myself somewhat jaded about the program dont want to go tonight
its another hot one
all the dogma
i have a friend i see in aa from time to time and his soul
his soul is so light
people like that inspire me
out here
in the blogoshpere
completely bearable
lightness as well
i’d like to thank
the northern light

mantra knees part two

i love you
i forgive you

morning

pot of espresso
read the paper and tried to take it next door
but i arrived with two remote controls in my hand
“what am i sposed to do with these?” she said
shit
put the discman on my back and rode up the mt
still sweating the sweat
on the way down the train
the chinese radio station in my head
started running
here we go
tonight sue and i go to san clemente
brother mitya in concert
diet coke diet coke diet coke