obvious desperate breakfast

i hit the ground running after a layoff
of a few days and bam!

(1) turn on the burner. all the way up: “high”.

(2) grab whatever clutter is on top o’ th’ toaster;
jam it all over in its spot on the washer.
fuss around as necessary with whatever counter-
-tops you’ve seen along the way (though, of
course, most–maybe all–of this would’ve been
better left unmentioned).

the butter is already starting to burn.
so grab a fork… the plastic stuff works,
yay…an’ slsm that better-than-perfect

more will be revealed

when we got back from the roadtrip
i must’ve been in a cooking-show mood

(and so to bed.)

anyhow, first thing. show up; put the burner
on “high”. get a bread-bag bread out; drop
one slice in the toaster and jam it on down.

find a coffee-cup; fill it to 5/6 or so
& start it up in the micro-wave. beep-
-beep-beep. 1:30. trust but verify.

“eggiweggs!”, one is called upon to exclaim
at this point. back to the “fridge”; grab
an egg. you know what? set that egg aside
in whatever measuring-cup is handy; good.
*now*, what. more *butter*, okay.

i’ve lost the “thread”. but
“the sky’s the limit”.

g-d i wish i was me.

mystery dance

i can’t do it anymore and i’m not satisfied.

negatively fifth street

a drifter escaped from a boxcar/ denouncing obviously jive believers/ has a zine about it in the catalog/ but nobody can work the damned randtrievers/ and the cats are praying in the alley/ and the pool shark is chalking up his cue/ an’ i’m out lookin’ for my lady/ down on kirkwood avenue

jesse, he’s round the corner/ buskin in front of the bird/ doesn’t bother him if no-one stops to listen/ doesn’t bother him if they don’t like the words/ and some violence boys might come and beat him down/ and he’ll forgive ’em more than i could ever do/ but that’s nothin compared to what’s goin on/ back on kirkwood avenue

a melancholy cougar/ buys a hoagie from a clown/ there’s a tempest brewing somewhere/ and there’s panthers on the other edge of town/ and the goddess of gloom and the jester/ are doin’, that thing they love to do/ in a video montage/ at the parking garage/ on kirkwood avenue

a cloud of marijuana/ is obscuring the people in the park/ or maybe i’m just losing my eyesight/ or maybe it’s just getting close to dark/ an’ the tournament game was a victory/ so now it’s turnin’ into a zoo/ an’ the riot squad and the thunder god/ are on kirkwood avenue

A Bodybuilder’s ABC (1997)

A is for arms, although some call them guns,
B is for back: from your neck to your buns.
C for the curls that we do without cheating,
D is for deltoids, and
E is for eating.
F is for Flex, the uncrowned Mr. O,
G is the gym, where we frequently go.
H for the hair that we shave from our skin,
I is intensity: I’m gonna win!
J for the judges who
K keep the score,
L is for lifting and lifting some more.
M is for mass which is ever progressing,
N for the noise that we make when we’re pressing.
O! The Olympia! Bodies like gods!
P is for pectorals,
Q is for quads.
R is for rep and so
S is for set,
T for “Today was the best workout yet.”
U Unbelievable! Just can’t be beat!
V is the vitamin pills that we eat.
W: weights which are heavy as hell,
X is our shirts which are size XXL.
Y is for Yes, you’ll remember to train, and
Z is for Zap (and it’s also for Zane).
Now I’ve said my alphabet. Tell me… am a bigger yet?

unclear

the next load will have fresh dishsoap
and consist mostly of glass. quite a bit
of it is sitting even now to the right of
the sink unwashed (but already rinsed
when appropriate). but first i’ll’ve eaten
something. grub before ethics.

countdown to bastille day

bonus (deleted scene):
here’s a first take of that
insanely-fatty bacon strip.

homefries preps

if life gives you pigfat,
fry a bunch of stuff in pigfat.

until we have keyboards

domestic arts in the age of digital distribution