aspects of fondling

We've both agreed
this word is okay to use
despite others ruining it.
We like the tender bounce
and squeeze of fondness
around the heart we get
whenever I'm holding you,
and how - there isn't another word
that quite
suggests the suggestiveness
that might
be one hundred percent appropriate,
if you like.

Not just if you let me,
but
of course, you might.
You're entitled to,

if you do, that is.
You have every right
to expect I will

hang on your every wish,
take risks,
and be true to this.

independent pitch

You should be
the star of a foreign movie
about your domestic life, the little
observations and crises that stubbornly
fail to unfold, without many a push
and a wrenching shove, and a bitterly,
wickedly well-turned joke

at the joke's own expense, which
not enough people were there
to hear.

Someone should inhabit your house
like a shadow, taking down video notes,
drawing narrative throughlines, connecting it
all in a nontraditional mode

for development into a film, and I

volunteer

night watch

You've woken too long to keep this up
I know, you have so much left, so much
but
it will have to wait.
I'm sure it will
keep.

Sleep tight, dear one. And dream
that gigantic, shadowing figures
tens of thousands of feet
tall
stand guard looming over
pretty much everything,
keeping watch. Or something

equally reassuring

- and when you wake,

run to the window and see

but wait!

not now

first,
sleep

system of us

Do you know what this country really needs?

We need a department or agency,
an office or bureau of you and me,
and you could be acting secretary,
and I could be special officer -
or agent, or bureaucrat, deputy
- depending on what we call this thing
and what kind of funding has been approved,
for what they expect us to oversee

and to overdo.

I expect we'll find

we're entrusted with broad, sweeping powers
within
certain purviews and baliwicks, nebulous
and undefined,

and we'll seize all the power
we're given, and we'll

interpret it strictly beyond all sense,

and we'll make do. And once they all see -

we'll stand forth and bask in the consequence.

Our Bed

I always think of this as "our bed"
- even though you've never been in it.
Even though you've never even seen it. It's
still ours.
Our bed: that's what I call it,
so to me, that's what it is. I call it
ours, because I stole the money
from you to buy it. That makes it part yours,

part mine.

Some might argue more
yours than mine, since
all the money to buy it
came from you. But

that's a jaundiced view,
and one that ignores all the work I put in
to getting this bed: going to stores. Looking
at various beds, picking out the nicest one.
Delivery arrangements. And of course,

stealing the money
from you in the first place. You didn't
make it exactly easy.

You never knew
I was stealing money from you, I know. It wasn't
in retaliation,
a one shot thing late in the game
on the way out the door, because I knew
no other way to hit out at you. No,

it was more just something I did,
built up after long habit.

I've always stolen from the ones I've loved.
Not items and such, I'm not a kleptomaniac. Just

money.

I save it up, mostly.
I don't have a drug habit
or a fashion habit or anything like that
to support. I don't really spend enough
to justify stealing money. So I save it.

I don't know why I'm telling you this
except, I feel like after everything that happened...
I don't want you to blame yourself more than you should.
I feel like you blame yourself. I want you to know
that you're not the bad one. Or at least,
not the only one.

It's not just the stealing. I've also been known to lie.
From time to time, to make someone feel better?

But they're not often very convincing lies.

Girlgun arm

I woke up as a robot with a
girlgun arm. An arm
that's a girl
that's a gun

and my girlgun arm

shoots salty, salty
shade.

I lay there,
thinking
deeply
of who
needed some.

Who had deserved

to get so played?

But I slipped
back asleep,
before I finished my plan,

and I began to dream
that
I was just a man.

Carousel Wheels

Life is a carousel on wheels,
rolling in ruts worn deep
down a wagon-road to hell

- which remains unpaved,
despite all the good intentions
we sell,

we just never get 'round
to the infrastructure. We wheel
as we roll, while we gaily carouse,

switching steeds and mounts, taking
turns in the chariot-carts, clinching
furiously. Reaching out

by ones
and by twos, we lean daring to grasp

with clutched hands
at the beautiful rings of gold

that were hung upon limbs of scaffolds
or trees, whizzing by as we pass
- that some of us catch! And we whoop
with joy, and we beg, and we please,

And we fall out, between us
annoyed or destroyed, to the floor
of the ride wheeling on and through. It's never
so easy to get to your feet
as it was to climb on,
back before you knew.

Come now, saddle up. You mustn't
show fear. Climb back on the dog
or the unicorn, trying to find

Someone else's eye, to give chase
to a catch, and surrender ourselves

to the way we were born.

boundary carved in breeze

People don't like me; I've decided.
Some of them. You know the ones.
Because they've decided I don't
care if they do.

That's fair. What people think
of me

is none of my business, and
entirely valid. What you see

is as true as how I feel! Tell it

from your authentic heart,

And I will be oh, interested
because it is interesting! People?

You're interesting. Every last
one of you

I've met, and
the one before that, too.
So far, I'm willing to abide
by your verdicts of mind and heart

where I'm concerned, because

hey, what am I supposed to do
to your mind? Change it? Ew.

I don't want to think
about that. Isn't that

one of the ten signs
of the narcissist or sociopath?

Mind manipulation! Or trying to? Come on

You can't. Those psychopaths are kidding
themselves. I

don't even try, and it speaks

well of me, even if, you know
I'm okay if it doesn't? Let it
be said. People say
what they want to hear themselves
saying, that's what I say.

The other day
on social media I saw someone share
something someone had said about something
someone had shared that her kid had said,
and I think that's great. That's the kind
of positive thing we need in these dim,
sometimes downright dark days. I thought
I'd share that with you. Puppy stories,

drunk people disgracing their lives
forever but in a funny way, hey.

Most of the contact we have with people
we'll never meet is like that. So what

Does it matter if you don't like me?
That's cool. That's your business, not

mine, feel free. And if you've got some

to say, say it so far
behind my face,

that I won't have to act compassionate,
which I am,
like I mind,
which I don't.

We all get what we want, eventually
in this life. Don't we? If not,

don't tell me! I do so far, and
I want it to keep being
a surprise. I'm okay

with everything I want, and
if I don't get it, it's been

wonderful to want it

the baloney-ketchup wonder bread sandwiches story

Total bullshit, man.
The promised meal should be provided.
AND NOT BALONEY-KETCHUP WONDER BREAD SANDWICHES! Pizza
at least. Please! DECENT

pizza.
Did I tell you the story
with the baloney-ketchup wonder
bread sandwiches? SPOILER ALERT:
I just did.

The volunteer moving crew got dissed.
I told Jerome, "you owe us all sex,
man." Not really, but

maybe I should have.

People were looking to me
to say something, but

I was so hot
about the no pizza and crappy sandwiches,

I blanked!

True story.

Not my strong suit arguably
but

wishbehave

So as much as I love
how well how we act
reflects upon us,
I much
rather want
to comport ourselves
like a couple of sluts,
disporting and sporting all over
the place in assorted ways,

for hours and days, in-between breaks

to catch our breaths,
and

nestle enfolded in wild embrace

paranoid insouciance

I probably won't know
when I die

it will be instantaneous
of the moment,
so sweet, the perfect crime
or, I guess, "op"

the perfect "op"

some kind of
insidious, hidden interest

within the government, making a partnership
of necessity with gang-criminals and intergalactic

space aliens to take me out

because of what I know, about:

microwaves,
the flicker pattern
of the street light
and the clicking sounds
the bus makes, and

strange coincidences of literally
every single random thing that happened

that day, coming together
unmistakably

in a message: How

could they think I wouldn't
Notice? How could they think I
wouldn't figure it out?

They couldn't.

They knew I would.

They allowed me to live,
because they figured

"Who'll believe him?"

They've discredited me, first
through remote monitoring
by controlling my thoughts, and

I thwarted their plans.

Because instead of freaking out,
calling legal aid, pestering
conspiracy messageboards,

complaining to strangers on the street, I've just

been like "Cool! Kinda inter-sting. I've been

controlled!" The last thing they expect!

It's actually fine, I know

who's doing it, more or less

(I know the kind of person, anyway)

(POWER-GRUBBING)

and why? Who knows, but I don't care. It's just

kind of a novel sensation, far as I'm concerned. Are they
controlling me or am I just enjoying their illusion

of control?

Si, yes, oui, I expect
their patience will soon be run out. Meanwhile
here I am, thumbing their nose
or is it mine, and

that won't do. They don't tolerate
insouciance!

And insouciance is all I have.

So I probably won't know when I die,
but

at least my life has had this rather riveting
narrative lately,

to explain things!

pretend what's real

Thank you for the kind effort,
giving me

an alternative narrative to believe,

but I prefer to pretend what's real.
Or what people tell me is real. It's more
disappointing sometimes, like bleak
foreign films without a soundtrack, but

I find something satisfying
and lifelike about it.

Lifelike: a virtue we prize
in art more than life, arguably

But I can always point
to the time in my life -
one long montage of walks in the park
eating hot dogs and laughing,

shorthand for falling in love
with you

and say "it is unrealistic to live

expecting life to be this way,

or when it inarguably, empirically is,

expecting it to stay,"

Sexy poem time

Sexy poem time.
Hot feel it in your legs
like a heat between them. All bothered
in these moments, you bucking
and groaning with salt damp slick writhes
and a sudden vertigo like
the whole sexual position got lost
in space and time! Whoa there we are,

where were we?

An out of body experience, Oh fuck
I came. Oh my God I'm so sorry! I know,
I know you trusted me Damn though,
that was otherworldly

for a minute. Did your mind cross over? No,
oh. Well it was wild, sorry. Can I hold
you though? Sorry. it was only a SEX POEM Yo

"sense enough"

I want to come in
from the storm with you.

I want to help out
with those wet clothes,
smell the rain in your hair,

and kiss from your neck
to the rest of you bare,
as we take every care

to warm you and dry your skin,

and slowly
find out what
our wise blood knows.

"times two"

I get as much sleep as cats
- more than one - but I'd rather be dogs,
and have all that fun.

finer things

The smell of a wet rained-on world. I loved it
in my childhood, but I realize now - was it just
cause we were poor? I'm loving it still,
and I'm still not sure

"Fake Friends"

About your fake friends
it's funny, you know
a lot of them are other people's

real friends.

They're not fake people
They just don't get you
when you say some things, and
they don't know you
well, enough to ask

Or don't think they do.

they think you're ok, not great.
They know some people love you,
they try to be nice to your face
So you think "they're fake,"

Well, they're not the one
going through life
making friends, just to
call them fake later

When they don't measure up.
When they're not into you

enough.

You fucken fake-ass
fake your self

Let me tell you,
as a friend:

grow up.

Am I right to think "the man in a tie is about to lie to me some way?

I'm wearing a tie right now,
and you are right on the fucking money, chump.
I shouldn't tell you this,
but you asked. Necktie men
are the fucking advance guard, a pseudo-crypto-psychiatric
strike force of confidence artists
for the one percent.
You talk to one,
succeed

in making us nod and smile
and you walk away feeling great
like an accomplishment with your
fucking balls in a bouquet, and
the approximate dignity of a pet dog. All pleased

with your imagined glimpse behind the curtain, secure
that everything's under control of crisis actors
running their narrow earth conspiracy shadow play
for the lizard people, all because

the necktie man smiled saying 'Really?
Tell me more,' and you fell for it.

I love this job.

The fact you spotted the gag means
you could have potential to be one of us.
Get yourself a necktie. Practice putting it on
in the mirror, convincing yourself in low,
smoothed tones.

Smile and play around charmingly. Then go

out in the world, and see if you can engage
the chumps and keep them fooled - or pal around,
hobnobbing with other necktie men! Greatest feeling
in the world. Your efforts

will be observed for some time before
you are officially approached,
recruited and scheduled for furbishment. If you make it,
you will know it is me. My tie

is a deep red design,
covered in pink ballerina feet."

big chance

They call me big mister chance
and would you be miss fate?
I came all unprepared when I saw you
too late - not last night,

but the night before.
We exchanged destinies, now
terribly
charmed,

I'm sure.

unique problem

The problem is, these
malcontents - borderline
misanthropes, most of them -

(I don't say they haven't had
reason to be)

they hate the happy we're trying so hard
to fake. They think

that they're the only ones
about to break;

They think

their alienation's
special. And we
can't see. Like we

keep trying to feel unique?

- but they really do.
They hate it,
too.

And it's getting so bad,
they're each going to have to do

something irrevocable
to prove it to you,

how fake your fake happy is,
and the world

is
horrible,
oh God

if only they knew

"to Alice"

This place is amazing - and you,
little one, are making it better already.
Have fun, grow big and unruly
and listen to mom.
She can teach you to love
the adventure you're on.

dog is love

A dog will lie there letting you
stroke and pet and scratch her,
endlessly
until you're finally through.
A dog will lie there letting you

sea señorita

I'd like to dive
into your sea bed with you,
and lose myself

in the nest, in the nets
of your sea curls, only
to find myself all the more,
of course - with a sea change
working between and upon us,
our sea legs entwined, I'd sink
and you'd pull me up,
and kiss salt air
into my aching lungs.

For once,
it would work
and I will come alive
in you.

And we'd see
what's next, washed
up on the beach
with these
incoming waves for our covers, some bed
we've made! Come, teach me
the way

to breach these seas

sea legs

She rises from the surf like a girl
which she is,

on her shakier legs than when she
went in,

and the world really reels
so much realer

for her having been
up under the surface, and breaking again
like a wave,
into air like a salt-spray crest,
she is cast up upon the wet verge of sand

snaking all down the beach, neither ocean
nor land - and she pulls herself up,

and looks all 'round in glee
on this glorious day,

and relearns how to stand.