Parfait

Destitute for the brush of Bacon, who will depict you in some shunga scrolls. A statue from the Orient with no mind. Your eye shadow the flush tones of Dali. Wedding cake of a face, you sweeten the leaf of Arches. The bugs are dancing beneath your lamp like at a disco.

Sushi

Sushi as an aesthetic pleasure. Sushi as status symbol. Sushi as art form.

Bluefin tuna doomed. Salmon spoken for. Mackeral and halibut had it. Sea urchin and sardine goners.

My ink spills like whale blood. Embattled octopus.

A Thursday

Outside it is silvery like a side of fish. Books are spread before me and coffee. Both are oxygen. I sip, trying to stay alive in this muck. My cat has had it (already), asleep at my feet. I’m trying to respond to my environment by writing this poem and then it’s off to work. I’ll have to save these Scarlatti keyboard sonatas, too, for later in the day.

Yogurt

I am taking forever and ever to eat my yogurt. The creamy substance is something to stir and stir with my teaspoon until homogenized and then remove gently with my mouth, using no teeth, only tongue and lips.

The pomegranate seeds are a bitter, crunchy counterpoint. Still, we must bear the unpalatable in order to be more present during the blissful — even if it is, in this case, bacteria that somehow rivals Reddi Wip

With the yogurt, the bottom of the cup is something to scrape and scrape — the spoon something to leave in my mouth as a I carry the cup to the kitchen and drop it into the trash, comforted by the thought of another and then another waiting in the fridge to be eaten.

Wednesday Evening

The smell of the workweek is fried fish —
on the verge of burning
and flaccid green beans —
pushed to their limits.

The sound is of arguing & stomping —
the clinking of dishes
the television sparks —
a war in Tel Aviv

The setting off of lawn sprinklers
The smell of moisture on concrete

homeostasis

I’m thinking those pot vapes
might be an idea. What happens
when you rouse me with a strain?
Jubilance is not what i’m after
Just knock me out of my homeostasis
Not quite a kick to a cardboard
box down a spiral staircase
but giving me amazing flight.