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Love is just another four-letter word ~ Sunday, May 10, 2026

Love as a concept or an emotion only arrives when I least expect care volatile sensations passions arouse enchantment and then years of devotion absent of sentiment, while decades pass solitude, in any fashion, to share as loneliness and longing builds, to browse creative writing off-site getaways only who wants to work with Robert Hass now, he signed a book of poetry co-signed by Czesław Miłosz, the author except, I will never give it a try poetry as a profession, offer theater majors a desk job, who says organized crime does not pay, to sell books really, an absurd joke, here, please, read this avenues of deceit, Provinces sold not as well as The Separate Notebooks exactly when I fell in love with words maybe more-so-than women that I kiss only to appear young, virile, and bold time proves otherwise as such is the case if the world is all that there is, the birds only heard before dawn, as I walk home no longer in Hyde Park, a memory only if proximity, Burni...
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Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea ~ Thursday, May 7, 2026

I was born in Bombay, it means nothing well, next to nothing, except to millions and millions of other people, back then still trying to thrive, eke out a living but I have never been to India or, should I say, been back, but for squillions return, I must, to breathe foul air again no, such hyperbole, taken for truth indeed, I do not care, for Lydia now knows how sinister the bourgeoisie Bourbon neat, no ICE, please, not on the rocks or, as a deportee, or retiree maybe I can swim there, right off the docks brilliant idea, no, maybe, in my youth ah, double entendre, from Chicago yes, no problem, Leander, long ago if Salman Rushdie asked me to return then, to Midnight's Children , the Stonewall Inn maybe, Greenwich Village, Christopher Street even if I am not gay, will I burn angels dance, how many, a good question no, fruitless, except for living in sin sick, hateful, Catholic priests, walk the beat nonsense, no queer priests, forgive Father Gus ordinary pe...
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Tu es le soleil pour moi, comme un ange ~ Thursday, May 7, 2026

The funny thing is not funny at all This happens, exactly like this, by chance how we meet, at a party, on the train et cetera, our eyes meet, we connect funny thing, we know, eyes meet, at a glance understanding what is to come, unknown now, missed opportunities come again never the same, is this difference suspect yet, we long to repeat the game as fun though, excitement is addictive, wind blown hair looks better in the moment, how cool incredible to see, at the Red Line nobody can say, I am not a fool given my background, alcoholic, fine if I am not perfect, so be it, son sweet to hear from you again, my dear friend now, how the phenomenal world is strange only, I pretend not to understand to admit, I am the devil, please send flowers, for I feel grave, these words you save until they dry, upside-down, out of range not simply out of sight, thus, out of hand not simply out of mind but like a bird yes, how far you have come to see my grave angels surround their...
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Gaṇeśa ~ Tuesday, May 5, 2026

Conquer obstacles to achieve success Conqueror of darkness, of emptiness obstacles removed, hurdles overcome nervous to succeed, to accept failure question the meaning of life, penniless understanding that the love of wisdom emulates poverty, life in a slum rage against poetry as sinecure oblique references as strategies behold the failures of the caste system symbolic patronage offers a gift tasteless as the privilege of rich people away with the entitled few, this rift conquered by mediocrity, sheeple left without friends, alone, casualties embark on adventure with bold conker shatter the hopes of all around to win travel with the conqueror of forty orbits swirl, the Philistines to ponder asinine donkey ears hear what they fear chonky cat, full of treats, the eye is thin how to pass through the mind of a shorty insolent to others but to the tribe exact and cool as Kind of Blue, endear variants of the lie as to explain ego as bruised, existence as short-lived...
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Petit oiseau ~ Monday, May 4, 2026

When Little Bird wakes the fuck up how are you going to explain even to save your sorry skin now what to do, drink from the cup Little Bird is all grown up now if you act like a total pain to skate then where the ice is thin to treat badly, what memories lick salt, eat grass, better a cow endlessly remove obstacles Brilliant! Wake up or Little Bird is full of intentions, hackles raised, aroused by scent, in a word deign to say, what accessories wake up, wake up, where to begin as you well know, before the end kindness like a kick in the head endgame to come, first to open so sorry, if you cannot choose the fuck you know how to defend homeless, helpless, hopeless, in bed extended on seats on the train forgotten by the world, you lose understanding, nothing makes sense call out to Little Bird, you dare kiss the air, cheek to cheek, defense understood, your body, to care pray tell, your life thrown down the drain
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Descensus Christi ad Inferos ~ Saturday, May 2, 2026

Share the Wealth by Hungry Ghosts Sharon, technically, Rose of Sharon, called harrowing as it was, at the bookstore after Lynn, technically, Jennifer Lynn regal, committed suicide, I bawled every human being makes their own choice theater of thaumatūrgus, before his resurrection from the dead, kingpin emerges triumphant, but she is gone Wealth is meaningless without friends, her voice emulated Lauren Bacall, smoky as cigars and cognac, a low timbre liquid oxygen to my ears, low-key theater of miracles, of wonder haunted by the cat in the box, at dawn burnt by the sun, undeserving, I fall yes, into confusion, my blood runs cold Haunted by hunting dogs, I am a stag until I understand, Erwin, I bawl nothing but narrow-minded people here given the world of hungry ghosts, I fold religious pamphlets to burn as a gag yes, they take this seriously, I laugh Ghosts are imaginary, as I fear hold hands with Jennifer after she cries only if I could have made her happy stil...
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To murder Death, I woke before dawn rose ~ Saturday, May 2, 2026

This is not a novel, let me repeat history cannot repeat itself, now is the flow of time a blockage, a dream stories tell a narrative of defeat is memory itself a memory sit in meditation, get up and bow no one else in the room, let out a scream others enter, full of concern, they care to say this life is but a reverie a waking dream, absorbed in the details nothing but the beautiful distractions observe how, in this world, history fails volumes written, no account transactions elbow my way through the room, do I dare let them say what they want, arms akimbo let me display authority, a joke even without a precedent, actions talk through the mushrooms and the trees, window timorous view, the wind communicates intentions before history, I poke my friend the bear to see the attractions every ride at the amusement park speaks repetitively, the bear hibernates each time I poke my friend, the bear, he cries perhaps he needs his sleep, his beauty rest each time I poke...
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