Sure, you hate me, but who are you? Well into winter, no hint of warmth or light from the sun, only the precise metronome stillness of a hard rain. It’s hard to remember the last day of whatever -- the tides of time slide by without any sound – just relational crap until you map it out and find some kind of human sense in the disordered movements, usually by tying them into loose sheaves of something both explainable and real enough to fool the casual. All just marks on a stick, and who has time for that? I remember lighting my cigarette on a gas stove, hair held back with one hand, black light staggers around a Hawaiian kitchen and the belief I’d never die. I remember it like it was yesterday, just like I remember yesterday in the spotty sunshine as the same old music reflected off a dashboard as I sat alone in a work truck waiting for time to pass. I remember the click of avocados as they separated from the tree over my bedroom. I remember counting the s...
Poetry, Politics and Humor