October 7, 2013
I may as well face the fact
that I am no longer capable
of doing what I once believed
I was capable of doing.
Not that I had any reason to assume
that I was capable of it.
It was just a feeling that I had.
And now I have a different feeling.
September 28, 2013
A destructive overawareness of time
knives through the hot empty spaces
of an afternoon. A sense of urgency vaporizing
into torpor. Even the traffic sounds tired.
Do something, I tell myself.
What? The same thing I’ve been doing
every day for years on end
with varying degrees of failure.
September 21, 2013
“At the end of the day, these few fleeting moments
of glory are one’s only reward.”
Performance video from the La Luz de Jesus Gallery, 8/13.
September 18, 2013
I dread the ordeal of enforced jollification,
the pressure of pleasure: those strained circumstances
when something is thought to be wrong with you
if you cannot enjoy yourself under conditions
that are supposedly ideal for enjoyment.
Some people like to have fun.
I realize I’m not that into it.
It sounds tiring.
September 9, 2013
Passing the various stations,
the vicarious stations,
watching the other passengers get off,
without baggage, at the earliest stop -
once they feel they’ve done their time,
but wanting credit for riding it to the end of the line.
For at the terminal, what awaits?
Just a faded ticket, out of date.
August 27, 2013
I felt satisfied.
It was an unfamiliar
and unsatisfying sensation.
I wanted it to end.
And it soon did.
August 21, 2013
Out of all the things
I could have done on this day,
that might have been fun, edifying
or charitable, I have chosen instead
to sink somewhere in flustered haze.
As if anything might be salvaged
from these uselessly plumbed depths.
August 11, 2013
Often, around the middle of a week day afternoon,
I find myself considering the connection
between sexual and creative energy.
Torn by futile lusts, I seek refuge
from the vagueness of the day
and the promise of endeavor
in reliable memories and fantasies
that spill, reliably, into sleep.
July 29, 2013
I do not know the meaning of hard work.
But I know what it means to adhere
to a schedule of diligent work-avoidance
as if it were a regular job: a strict routine
of wandering around and lying down
and brooding over wasted time.
I don’t like to mix business
with anything, least of all pleasure.