Bookstore

"Are you gonna be here next year?"
I ask, to myself,
looking your way.
"I hope so," I answer, both
for you and me, but lets's
be honest. How often can I come here—to the bookstore,
maybe I should check the event schedule,
maybe Tawada Yoko will be coming.
Maybe there'll be something going on outside
and I can come in
from the summer heat
and get a cold
drink...but bookstore's don't usually serve drinks,
do they? And I wouldn't expect you
to get me one
anyway.
Maybe I can buy pointless supplies
like pencils
and leave them in a drawer for years.
At least they'll be a memo to you,
post-its and notecards
filled with poems,
but devoid of meaning...

Or maybe I can return the Chinese books I bought today,
and then buy them back again.
Return, and purchase, return
and purchase, return and
purchase
until the state recognizes mutual ownership.
What will we do then?
Stick around for awhile?
That's what I thought.

Dreamy jazz

It's been WBGO 24/7, dreamy jazz
and New Yorkers demanding more money.
They always make me laugh...
I wish I could be so brash.
I've been
dreaming of making friends, talking about movies while watching movies
with those friends,
and meeting their significant others
only to become a significant another
and appropriate that significance.
Done it before, and I'll
do it again.
It's like working out: once you've been in shape, surely
you can get there again, especially
if that shape is the shape of a
cuckold.
Wait, that's not right, but
such is life, no—
such is dreams.
I closed my eyes, opened a fortune cookie
and imagined what it read:
"Believe in your dreams,
you'll feel a lot better in the morning."

Nightmarriage

I'm having nightmares again.
I woke up, reached for the remote and
watched the tail end of CBS Sunday Morning,
pretty moose in ponds and swamps.
Maybe I should play video games again,
turn off the open sign on my brain,
"Be back in five, really,"
or maybe I should never do anything "again"
ever.
I suppose every poem I write should be
about you, it'll help
me cope, it'll help me organize things,
maybe, one of these times
I'll come across your name
in a thesaurus.
What's a synonym for your name, anyway?
Lovely,
natural,
compelling,
I'm not going to use hackneyed words like "wondrous"
anymore because I'm sick of it.
Wait, was that a synonym for your name,
or am I just scared again?

Notebook

I need a notebook, to send these notes to
nameless you,
taking note of when you cross my mind,
or take the scenic route.
I'm having dreams again,
wading around fantasies,
looking for a faraway reality.
I have to stop writing on the computer,
and I need to start again.
I looked on Antipodes... the opposite side of the world is in the Indian Ocean,
close enough?
What is water but the milk of the Earth,
nuturing and comforting us into
thinking we're home, and
not thinking at all

Vivacity, Vibrancy, Vitality

Fly me to Taiwan, fly me
to the moon.
If the Earth is a sandwich, then I am its
dressing, its mayonnaise.
The giant jumbo jets flying over a world of green,
let me land with you in its leafy foilage,
caught between the heat of the heart
of the Earth
and my own.

Poetry Lost

So much poetry lost
to the netherrealm,
how can we damn the levee, "Curses!"
I say,
"there is nothing that can be done except that
can't."
"Why are you so pessimistic?" you ask,
"Because we're not on the ListServ
of dreams and nightmares! We need an in!"
I go to netherrealm.com/careers, looking for an
in, but I'm unqualified,
just like the last time.
"What are you so afraid of?" I demand,
"Afraid I can't answer that question!"

Memorizing

The memories that make me...
Make more, make
more of me.
More of me to remember, more of me
to disremember,
consigned to the present,
holding and held dear,
more of me to be surprised by,
and more of me,
unsurprisingly