"It's about words, and words are all I have…"



the final 3rd begins at 60  hypothetically

yesterday a dental hygienist questioned me pointedly

circling back  again+again to the question I would not

answer   in the midst of:  bleeding gums  +saliva suction

thing  sucking out the dross   the last shreds of intact

memories    +my soul


who said what yesterday?   while  25  30  40yrs. ago  minute

detail  etched   but only fragments of past 30 days    impressions

suggestions of encounters   hygienist spoke of:  argentina  reykjavick

a party at a restaurant for 30   her 60th will go down in history


but this is my final history  the one i will write alone  out of the

fragments  the blurring of the lines between: dream-state  +non

dream  everyday fugue-state   a quasi-reality occurring around me

no doubt a coping mechanism to dull the pain of losing one’s

witnesses    who either disappear  or  can’t remember    eyes glazing

over too often in conversation  once scintillating


who are you when there are not repositories for your stories?   when

your witnesses do not survive the witnessing    does it really matter if

i name some points on a compass?   places  you should see   as you

approach 60   as if in visiting these one will magically have more certainty

about  the landscape  the signposts  to watch for  in years 61 through 70!


i am not lost   nor do i need a  big trip  to soothe fears of the shit abyss

because some other thing is happening!   i care much more deeply about

the music that moves me   8 or 10 people   a bulldog’s face  +this new ability

to linger in technicolor  with full sensation in every first there has ever been


now semi-frozen like a landcrab or tarantula  pausing on the blacktop   sun

high  minute articulations   when the big birthday truck  hurtles towards me

my nude pink lips will erupt in bel canto   while the mists of big sur lift  as marcello

a gorgeous redheaded argentinian says:  ape-reeel   i will give you cosmic orgasm!



i’m just not here today

i don’t want restaurants and expanding cultural events

i want an old shack in the hills

rent free

with enough to eat and drink until i die


strange eyes in my head

strange ways

(Charles Bukowski  Mockingbird Wish Me Luck  1972)



Almost April  2017

*for my significant other   who i am sending

on a long trip  for my 






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