i believe it was last night or possibly the night before last
i don’t know it’s been about 53 hours off and on insomnia
watching news programs
no music
no music for about a week
feeling very tired
Christmas 2020 is upon us
i miss the world
i’m not sure what’s going on
i stepped outside
i saw the faces
covered muzzled no joy in their eyes
and i live among peoples who are very jubilant
my heart sank
last night or possibly the night before
the sickness came
cold sweat
tears
headache
heart jumping out of throat
fear irrational dark squeezing fear
i thought i had been dreaming about Queen Victoria and that first tree in the palace
i thought i felt the snow from Utah
i thought i smelled the stench from downtown
i thought i saw the lights from my Christmas tree go out
then i thought i saw Mary Magdalene touching my menorah
putting out its lights
when i was able to gather my soul and stuff it back down my throat
i sat at the edge of the bed
my cats trembling in the closet
looking at me 6 big bright eyes the Pleiades
i thought and i smiled
i went into the restroom washed my face with cold cold water
fingers shaking causing tiny little droplets to congregate around the bathroom sink surrounded by bottles of hygiene
there was no wind
there was no noise
unseasonable quiet
every other home that i saw through my window dark
no laughter of children
no blow up snowman
no nothing
not even a lonely bug or a spider
i imagined
i really should try to rest
i really should try to stop watching the news
i really should just stop and catch my breath
i was watching The History Channel the other day
they had a Bible soap opera and Jesus was very glamorous all of the Persians
wear eyeliner it looked very chic
then i thought about Bukowski’s Dinosauria, We poem
i think he was a prophet
that drunken old fool
i’m sending you hugs and kisses Buk
i think sometimes i think too much
but nothing worth a sigh
nothing worth anything at all
i will relax
i tell myself
i will relax
i will pour myself a tall glass of black coffee pour molasses very slowly
i shall stir
i shall not want cigarettes
i shall not desire a little drink
i shall not touch any needles
i’ve been so very good
i’ve been so very good
yes i remember now it was last night
it was full of terror
good thing about this dream
was that i could not hear myself scream
i wouldn’t want to cause any problems
i wouldn’t want to scare anyone
cold cold sweat
cold cold hands
cold cold brow
i smile today at the bouquets of sunflowers
i thought about Vincent van Gogh
how would he wear a face mask
the poor devil only had one ear
these are the thoughts
that pushed the other thoughts
but i don’t want to think about it
i walk through the grocery store aisles
looking for noodles
looking for broccoli and brussel sprouts
my favorite
i passed on the candy bars
no good i say
i pay and i get into my car
for a short but silent drive home
i climb up the stairs
very carefully this time
i open the door and then
i’m in a desert
i could feel the heat radiating on my
cold cold brow
i look around
i’m no longer wearing any clothes
instead i wear a coat of serpents
i can feel my arms flailing
hoping to cast them off
i try to wake up
i try to leave the desert
during my morning coffee
i recall what had happened
i look in my refrigerator
there are no brussel sprouts
there was no Coca-Cola zero
no broccolini
but i thought about going for a walk instead needless to say i didn’t make it out the door again today
instead i tied ribbons on my Christmas tree
i have to say i like Victoria’s style

eating my words [xiii]
three Thelmas
Thelma was from Panama
a dancer in her day
came to Hollywood with glimmer in her eyes
but ended up scrubbing walls
and partying it up for pay she said
Thelma was from Washington DC
went to fancy chemistry school
came to NYC to do her thing
and we all three Thelmas
black eyes in common have we all
three Thelmas from different places
in the world cold winter rain
has become the norm
beads of soaking wet misery upon our windows
stretch and shrink and rainbows emit
no colors through the smog
Jean-Michel where’d ya go

mi amor

we stand on soil and dried blood
my window from my grave looks to you
staunch proud vulnerable and loud
you smell of shit but yet hike up your skirt
that makes my mind get a hard on
deeply i breathe and think thoughts
that only you and i can decipher
like when i chased that first dragon
down your Chinatown manhole covers
or when i kissed your cold flat marble walls
you and i
you filthy whore a threesome with a snarl
the Clash reimagined the haiku as i sit on the kitchen counter picking at my elbow scab watching the Silicon Valley news
let me tell you bout
your soul techno kid it ain’t
righteousness its ice
our Grady of perpetual (fill in the blank)

original picture by Rob Banks
falling feathers
black feather floating from the sky piercing gravity on it’s way to the ground where its little gray tips will be dampened with winter weep i stare at cranes by the river’s bed standing on a stick like leg waiting for the shooting stars for miles and years i’ve been right here looking up at falling feathers

the one I love
by Thee Witch Hazel Martinis
dear everyone i wanna share the Pope of Punk Rob Bank’s one man band know as

for a few weeks i’m gonna share a song for TWHM Wednesdays enjoy and smile
failing in love
as winter whispers
candles of my eyes light up
my heart pounds for you
