rocking chair rocks unamused by my snoring and the cat purring like a small

steam engine in training

my coffee is cold and dark my thoughts


like a derelict I’m dreaming in pornographic colors

why all this madness in the morning, I was supposed to be writing a letter to my conscience

to say I’m sorry for the way I treated you last night

sorry for the way I shouted into the stratosphere

I was drunk, or my watch was on backwards… one of the two

centuries pass and I’m still asleep waiting for

the girl to come back who

I was? and she? was never meant to be me

and the boy who held my love in a paper cup

drowned in my dream

but this is just a piece of my intricate eccentricity…

dust compiles

but the puzzle screams incomplete



November 18, 2000


Photo: Elisabeth Donaldson photographed by Ruth Chapa