Tuesday, May 18, 2010


there’s a fat lady who stares in my window with jellybean eyes

while I sit shirtless and type through the chow mein of my afternoons

she plods along out there like an elephant on a smoke break

same time every day

and I trace the generous swath that is her shape with my nose like a compass on the air

while eying her too through the guts of a thousand long-dead bugs

the circumference of her girth is the bloated geometry of the sated boar

her dress a movie curtain’s double

and her misery just a horse’s answer to a river

there is nothing to do but wait

I here with my cold coffee and these misfiring typebars

that become stuck and smudge the paper with unrecognizable symbols

scrambled things resembling grenades and Pulitzer prize medals

and she out there

waddling by on the sidewalk

glancing up at me

wondering why I am typing naked at my window

though I am not

(to her it is possible

as my bottom half is hid beneath the rampart of a desk)

the music from the radio spills and crests

and my fingers dance

making their own dumb music

not unlike a monkey lip trilling through a badly dented trumpet

and the wind stirs like something with a hair up its ass

and the fat lady clomps her way by

possibly wondering about me

up here

this crazed typing naked thing with wild bushy hair and a deranged look on his mug

an ugly mistake burrowing rudderless in the horizon of her gaze

just as I wonder about her out there



she does not wonder

she might just be out for a stroll

and maybe she can’t even see me here


trotting along too

in my own way

rippling the surface of oblivion with beer cans

though sometimes

late at night

between hustling bougainvilleas down the boulevards of remorse

and nosing through the remnants of leftovers in the fridge

a little dancing too