My Relationships with the Arts [May 31st | 134/365]

I'm a little bit in love with Schoenberg
like wanting to fuck a windy day I see out the window
leaves and branches flailing in harmony
the occasional cloud rhythmically screaming across the sky
like I want to buy Pynchon a cup of coffee
and ask him if he likes it rough

The 88th Thing to Do with a Lobster and a Slightly Soiled Pair of Lederhosen [May 31st | 133/365]

A man will call, he will tell you he's a lobster, but don't believe him. Nevertheless, tell him that you're wearing lederhosen and when he asks you about the barely perceptible stain marks tell him that they're just crustacean eggs and definitely not the viscera of the last man who crossed you. He will ask if crustaceans lay eggs and tell him you don't know, you're too busy eviscerating people who ask inconvenient questions to keep track of the procreation methods of the various subphyla, something he'll say he understands. He'll tell you that the money is where it supposed to be and all the trawling reports too. Tell him he's a good lobster and that he can lick your lederhosen clean. He'll say that he doesn't think lobsters have tongues. That's when you know he's a traitor and that there are men outside who'll break down your door three seconds hence. Hoist up your hosen and leap out the bathroom window. Run, as fast and as far as your leatherclad thighs can take you.

Regrets Flap Their Wings [May 30th | 132/365]

sensibility crushes idiot improvisation
under drive and force
sweeping all poor decisions
into the quiet river

diving after flying objects
is a matter of
muscle memory not thought
consciousness is a hindrance

then suddenly you threw
paragraph after paragraph of
contract law at me
like birds swooping in

there is a breath
to me like stops
and starts like being
beating like a wing

You Are Where the Trees Have Yet to Lose a Leaf [May 28th | 131/365]

Hold on to my elbow
I will keep my arm close to the body

I will get you across the river
All the way to school

Spring Tanka [May 28th | 130/365]

In this weather I
can't tell the difference between
the road and the sky.
Even the violet seems
not to have color or roots.

Relations with the See [May 27th | 129/365]

he pretended the insult
was a joke but
the apology was ebbing
and flowing like tides

whistling like the bird
perched outside the window
startled the humans inside
unused to beastly noises

you watch his hands
while he touches you
and he angles away
when your body approaches

the cardinal sits eating
the offering in silence
we watch expectantly waiting
to hear doctrinal pronouncements

Making the Tendentious Real [May 25th | 128/365]

a hole into another
universe passed over me
like a plane traveling
across the Atlantic Ocean

his story is simple
it is always simple
the world is what
makes the events complicated

I will sculpt your
shadow out of clay
I will hew your
iris out of granite

he said he would
rather the musicians stopped
paying attention to themselves
and focused on you

Haiku [May 21st | 127/365]

Jet trails pink against
a blue sky fading to white.
The birds are soundless.

Sickly Menageries Seen Boldly [May 19th | 126/365]

the delectable comestibles you
have selected most carefully
sate my hunger joyously
at a journey's conclusion

the lamentable is imaginary
when simply ambling away
as if measuring borderlines
marks a serious distinction

red splattered ink bleeding
prettily unto the evening
paper under the settee
in the patterned study

meeting on cold beaches
calls for building castles
so that lastly we
can banish calendar discordance

Entropy Doesn't Work Mysteriously [May 18th | 125/365]

you hid the true
image by drawing out
the lines making it
look like an error

if we remind me
often enough I might
forget because all information
must submit to entropy

signatures are very hard
to forge but easy
peasy to fake because
few people compare rigorously

I thought that if
I focused on all
the good the bad
would drown from exhaustion