Not Being Quite Like Other People

not being quite like other people

I slither out of the apartment

clumsily

 

like a Paratodon

the dinosaur of the moment

 

into the hammered alloy

and the molded plastic

of the built world

 

oy vey – lights

of the twinkling city

on the curving planet

 

where jobs come and go

physical beauty fades

and markets rise and fall

 

as mealy as penises

in their greed canopy –

discursively, like brats

 

sung in a low

with flops and fumes

along a jaded mass

 

but unattacked and rubbed

against their fate –

they’re hip like cuneiform

 

down the greed tongue

out of the boring gum

into a glorious slump –

 

they’re bone.

 

.

 

 

midway through my life

for the second time

everything’s destabilized

 

it’s a given –

like hush money

to pornstars

 

sounds of subway moving

a luxurious concerto –

these head-bent strangers

 

swiping images of light

dismissively

hopefully

 

“I alone can fix this”

the little blond strongman

in the solar plexus

 

bouncing shrimp off trump, too

 

chameleon hatches bright turquoise

crawling, crawling

out of the egg

 

I didn’t do it I didn’t do it says the train

Sheherazade or Krishna

in brown spots on the door

 

and a bison-shaped wall smear…

 

 

What might it actually mean

to live my life

as I want to live it?

 

Pale strawberries pushing out of a voice

Pale strawberries

pushing out

a voice

 

.

 

 

This is the fancy street

next stop, fecund avenue

awash in electro-beats

 

studiedly, people amuse themselves

as they know how,

knocking back beverages

 

my foot swells up…like a foot

 

why y’all like MAYA so much

 

Friday night:

he walks a white borzoi

through the F train

 

She stops to stare

at the closet simulation

in the organization store

 

shoes with rivets

but no laces –

“relationship” such a cold word.

 

neutral dull palette

in a world where only looks

matter.

 

in the past,

beloveds came to me

so surely

 

with a kind of sleek magic –

a miniature dachshund

like a dik-dik

 

but metaphors

I guess

are easier than marriages

 

either way

two disparate things

forced together

 

.

 

why go out?

stay in!

away from head-bent strangers.

 

something’s masquerading

as an umeboshi

on the train floor

 

never again will I romanticize

our usual spots

in New York City

 

I sit alone

with pursed lips, aware

of my eccentricities

 

It’s foggy outside.

Dutifully, invisibly,

I do my kegels

 

My head –

so heavy

like a lavender mask

 

My head a lightbulb

radiating pink

lightning

 

.

 

Train stops in the tunnel

just after a drunk woman

has suddenly puked

 

a woman with a ponytail

and strong thighs eats

an egg sandwich

 

tech guy with black earbuds

clenches his backpack

between his shins

 

I call my past love

into my attention

and give him a baleful look

 

A woman holds her coffee cup, covered,

to her mouth, as if

she’s praying to it

 

A vulture stands next to a hat

 

People are super-strange birds

with necks.

 

The sidewalk grimaces

with its grids and teeth

 

I say by way of painful critique.

 

I sing a single word: “it”

Quavering a little

 

I’ll keep unmatching

until the lion’s mane

is gone.

 

Phlegm pools in lungs.

 

I’m tired of looking at men’s faces.

 

I see your handsome face dissolve

into a one-eyed puppet.

 

And the eyes are also on bananas–

are they the high masters of history

or something?

 

fish sauce smell on the back of my thumb

 

I’ll have a sharp lamb jerky – metallic squeak.

 

It’s sarcastic in a bulb –

his highness

in your spot kingdom

 

never endorse this president

in my culture

 

I feel offensive.

I’m having 35 minutes worth

of processing.

 

Spilled gravy on the label

I think GOD knows how to do it

 

It’s from the salmon man

in question –

the purse development fathers

 

Playing a rat game.

 

He died recently –

without VIKINGS –

properly

 

otherwise and chrysanthemum

 

Bye little kazoo,

that was on – the maximum?

It’s simple

 

The thing is, I was hungry

This is excellent in our dreaming.

 

In the situation with birds, no choice!

I’ve been writing words, consecutive words

with a cat thing:

 

it is happening.

 

I understand you are coming from an altitude

of words

 

I understand you are coming from the attitude

of words

 

on the egg hold

of this latin poison,

a warble of flood rainbows.

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I tap a red minus…

You’re no longer VIP

on my iPhone.

 

 

these baby boomers
these anxious millennials
water in a stream

 

while in a gold room
Ivanka clips her toenails
with a gold clipper

 

secret service men
in dark suits and sunglasses
under pink blossoms

 

Cherry tree crotches
and crotches of aides

 

wet, open, toothless,
rosy mouths of infant ghosts
pink as cherry blossoms

 

Flat wet petals -ha!
What have the blossoms to do
with Ezra’s ranting?

 

Culture appropriated
for a famous line of verse

 

In a dark subway tunnel
Pink plum blossoms on my skirt
Aspiring to spring

 

pink goldfish cherub planters
fragility of all things

 

(my verses extracted from Mel Nichols’ Cherry Blossom Renga, composed on facebook)