in the morning, i like to have time.
my E l e c t r o n i c
pen 2 0 1 2
i n d
8:09 AM. of nieces birthdays. random
mEp thoughts; coffee. laundry. the Swiss man reads
the LA Times. it's a pretty big city i guess.
pools of sleep, an hour on a folded ear is
distracting, and distracts from sleep too.
it's a Sunday, dream memories slip thru my waking
mind; forecasts of what i might see today, and
ranting about women and men was not historically my
style, was it. somebody's got to do it.
i need a q-tip.
the swiss man, in an attempt to distract me,
mentions something about male DNA ending up in a
early as LA. poots, unwittingly, is up alone.
and, it would seem, slept.
machines hum, they tick, the guinea pigs course in
their square walls.
sip number five is important.
so is number seven.
and so, my mepnotes from the metro, tell me things
we already know, only on a different day.
they talk about his cajoling.has it been so long,
that i have lived with cajolling?
did i wile it away, did i ignore it, in any case, a
man's lighthearted cajoling should not be taken
i know that now.
and on the metro yesterday, everyone seemed
accessible, as if they all knew each other.
was this theirs, or my attitude, well, we all know
it was mine.
and of course, we have little control over this,
aside from sleeping well and avoiding white wine.
poots, in all her post worldliness, is only allowed
about twelve minutes of sanity per day.
then, the cycle repeats.
in that sense, not much has really changed.
and fitting a week into the mEp is difficult.
thank God the Spanish test was but a dream.
back to facebook, news at
oh to be
again. and again.
how important, to speak your mind, and, why such
i had a clearer thought at midnight;
our love shines, brighter than i know.
it's a mess here.\cats rummage. coffee's too strong.
men and children sleep, women think.
nothing has changed. do people?
oh to be silenced.
736 AM. where we're needed..
a month flies by
a long, long time ago in biochemistry, i learned
something which i have never forgotten.
oxygen moves to the tips of your fingers, to the
ends of your toes, when you move them.
carried by large molecules of hemoglobin,
transported in the blood, to be used in some ATP
in order to move muscles. However. it doesn't move
because the oxygen is needed there, because you
decided to move your fingers. All it does is move
from an area of higher pressure to an area of lower
When your muscles use oxygen, the amount of oxygen
in the surrounding blood is reduced (lower pressure
All the body wants to do is maintain homeostasis. A
bunch of molecules running around your body, not
because your brain wanted to move your arms and
legs, but because the body requires homeostasis
in order to function properly and because a lower
oxygen pressure (potassium, CO2, etc.) is not
think about this in your life. think about why you
run to who needs what. the possibility exists that
you are chasing your own balance.
what events would
be recorded here:
heart rate and gentamycin levels
chilly air raises poots shoulders,
taught thighs, falling dreams, september here i
sip that java quickly poots, whoever you are, you
and your teeny breasts, now covered in fur,
resist chatting, focus as though you're under
unaesthetic, no one will remember, and arkansas is a
mostly though, a stiff straight slept back, an eager
everything else, caffeinated thoughts, transgressing
here as i type
from a world of made up olympic sports, to a chilly
but bright montreal morning where one man lays in
cardiac care, another listens to Dylan,
and the most beautiful child in the world calls for
what's a record of
if there's no more cheek to chew;
a hospital is a haunted place.
like a bat, my life shifts to night - the day is
for daydreams, waiting, lost, fleeting and
constant body ache, follows this life ache
downstream, upstream, the last will i have, to
prevent a wrenched torso from overflowing a
million more tears, only as endless as my love,
generated by the same.
empathy sucks life.
then, my heart gets sucked into the hole in yours.
yet what's the point of a lost daydream
when it's nearly all that's left in a day.
later. time zooms
run through it.
ravaged aching both of us
which life is right?
the morning sunlight, reddened by montreal bricks,
bathes your bare shoulders.
and if something, someone, keeps lighting you up
you stoke that fire for all you're worth.
a step backward for me, yet forward for them, that
man who appeared here, so many years ago.
aching, arched, poots chews to put words on it.
not so great, today.
but we run through it.
each of us.
i sip alone, in between the rhythm of the decarie
and the beat of snoring,
i dare not
out this green-lit window panes, eternal movement,
hope, promise, work, death,
and behind me, behind an orange wall, and a blue
hope, promise, work, death.