Category: Uncategorized

it’s the easing heat of a Boston day, Junemeeting July, Will and i walk the shipyardin Charlestown. we sit to rest in the sun. i say, “i regret this immediately, let’s findshade.” “we’ve gone too far,” Will says. i stand and begin to walk. he grunts, rises,follows. “this my favorite view of Boston,” i say…

let’s get a car home, i don’t care about the pork.  it’s barely raining!  it looks like it’s raining pretty hard.  cmon, let’s go see. if it’s bad, we’ll take a car.  ok…  we get up and walk out. i stand in the middle of the sidewalk and hold my hands out. it’s just a…

counting the bulbs on that strange chandelier in your living room. six. and the two of us are at the airport casting affections at each other. a giant worm flexes its back and we step onto it, ride it north toward the laundry room. when we get there, we strip naked and stick our heads…

pick one, they’re all bathrooms, you said. and i went up and pulled on one and it didn’t budge. i pulled the next one and it opened. i went in and shut the door and locked it behind me. it was dark. lit by one of those lights you see in underground government facilities in…

it’s after our coffee,the room is still a messfrom last night’s “Italiannight.”we made our own pastawith your new pasta makerafter we finally figured outhow to put it together,jamming the plastic inthere and me cranking thehandle like mad. dougheverywhere today – i wasthrowing it up in the air likei was making pizza – and theentire apartment reeks…

“Massachusetts Avenue!” I yell walking with her down Westwood. “I always seem to find the Massachusetts Avenue in every city. Somehow.” We continue walking, past Bristol Farms and she asks, “Is that it right there? Should we cross?” “No,” I say, “it’s past the FedEx, on the next block up there. See it? Paris Bakery?”…

the reasons not to write a poem are many. you only have 20 minutes and you know you need more than that to get into a FLOW. you know that poetry isn’t made with sips but gulps. you know poems are like the birds and they’re not singing. you know that poems can’t be squeezed…

on our bikes, my memories are of looking back at you to make sure you’re OK. in your big helmet that makes you look like a martian or an amateur skateboarder. over my shoulder, you’re there, pedaling along on that hand-me-down bike from your ex-husband’s friend’s wife. ALL OF YOUR PELOTON TRAINING HAS BEEN FOR…

at the urinal i look down and see two pubes sticking to the porcelain. gross, i think, and i take my dick out and notice two of my head hairs have fallen down there. i pull them off and throw them in the urinal. i look at them next to the pubes, about 9 inches…

i am vacuuming to prepare for a date, in case she wants to come back here, but i am thinking of  a girl 3,000 miles away who i will see in NY this week. and i push the vacuum forward against the nap, it makes lawnmower lines and i think of the plans she and…