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1
you said "sometimes lap
dancers wear pearls"
you said you'd "give me pearls"
found I was laughing in my sleep last night
don't know what was moving through my sleep
I crave popcorn
"popcorn love" just like the boys
in Miranda Sex Garden
who look so much like girls
what was I thinking
only noticing the flood light through the window
and a wild fuzziness of sensation
perceptions juggling together
like the two vodka tonics and the sips
of McSorley's dark in my tummy
I call up these emotions and they set
my neurotransmitters popping
in stereo—no polyrhythmic layering jamming
the system—lower back aching
my boyfriend says from too much Pepsi
affecting my kidneys
why don't I find the Yugoslavian journalist
attractive—why ask why
when a sliver moon smiles down
2
first thing this morning
almost waking—thought
"the sliver moon looked down on us"
then the phone rang
a woman with a chipper voice
asked for the number of the former tenant
I gave it to her my voice rasping and scratching
and even 15 minutes after I found my glasses
my eyes wouldn't focus
I wonder if you'll call
I should clean up my back room
and start reading the encyclopedic
tome "This Business of Music"
on which I spent my last dollar
buying last night
and trudged through the first
snow of the season to find
this is a poem of dailiness
or is this a poem of dallying
this is one of my first days off
when I have absolutely no
commitments—long time since
I've felt this kind of lazy freedom
this is a journal like poem
a rattling off of minutia with
things of great import hiding
in the corners—I love
what hides in the secret
corners of poems like codes
begging to be broken
have to wake up (stop) my tea is cold
