Monthly Archives: August 2012

if you comment on a facebook photo
of a girl holding a cat
your phone will buzz on and on

‘forever’. that word is not even finite
enough to break into

for, ever she stood
at the precipice of understanding
taxis passed hummingly in the rain

– have you ever seen
this show? –

a friend’s father asks

he is honorable
trying to overwhelm
the uncomfortable silence
in which we are sitting

what is
the everglades?

DING! that marks reconciliation

alex trebek pointing triumphantly,
smiles fiercely at the camera.
everyone looks away. yes.
there is such thing
as a stupid question.


If I can’t hold you tonight
I want to be famous on the Internet.

Crawl around searching for an ice cube
on a white tablecloth

and you will begin to understand
what it is to be a lonely fool

these days. The song on the radio goes
I can dream about you if I can’t hold you tonight

If I can’t hold you tonight
at least I can drive past the Beverly Hills sign

and think about the ocean the other day:
how it felt almost warm enough
to have gone wrong.

If I can’t face into your back
while you lie sleeping
I am making an empty threat
to become almost too ethical
of a person to bare.

I remember how still your body remained
even while it made a coarse,
allergic noise from the dust.
You sounded so far away then
even as you snorted
like a tired horse.

If I can’t hold you tonight
I want to wake up feeling like an Olsen twin.
I want to talk to my friends parents for some reason.

Though really I didn’t want much beyond understanding
which it turns out is unfair and too vague and insane
to even start to list out—

Hey, that isn’t how the song goes

Walking down Valencia. Nothing but clusters
of novelty shops, predictably vivid tacquerias. Talk 
about a loss for metaphor.

It’s a relief when all of a sudden I remember
my distaste for poetry of place. Everywhere I go
I like to lie down and watch television.
And I don’t eat much bread until late in the afternoon.

I keep thinking of one thing
from a reading I went to my last night
in Manhattan. The poet spoke in a manner
nearly laughable. By the time he reached the end
of a line, his words had slowed so greatly

it was as if a large bird had gradually lost its life.
Or a poorly tied object had been left dragging
behind a car during the recitation
and had finally succeeded and become
fully unfastened.

Nothing to be done. After having endured so much.

What he said was to the effect of
“we live in one moment but our minds want to behold
all of time.” What I mean by this is more.

I recall a night in my apartment
when it rained so hard
one was forced to speak of little else.

Though we had been apart for a time
and were determined to continue in that,
Evan came over on the train. I was so nervous
and afraid. Maybe I blamed it on the rain,
I don’t remember. So badly I wanted to say
and did say one thing.

This is one moment in time.

Afterwards I watched some trees leaning back and forth
out of soreness and grey sheets of lightning:
all out the window. Of course I cried.
It sounds tautological on paper. One moment.

I know I am going to move West soon. It isn’t
that I want that old thing back, but it would feel good
to sense the capability to preserve it. To contain it
within some vial to grasp even while moving
into something else. Time, we say,
always meaning the part that is something else.

And how it ends up that we always speak
of seeing it as a fear, because there is
nothing else to move into. So badly
I want to be able to keep that old part
of it at the same time.

I almost can believe myself when I say
I’m not trying to put it here right now.

Knowing, too, that like all of the best parts of things
it is the kind that can not be convinced to rest for long.
The kind that wants to evaporate even more
for the fact that you love it.