2.2.25

 no umbrella 

for this plastic rain

i cried out against it

with all my might

fell back into your arms

we worked it off

at the pool hall

20th century relic

faded fabric tables

in blue and green

I finessed a stripe

into the side pocket you 

stopped the cue ball

on a dime

#katyamills

swim in baby blue

i finally used the key to open the gate and let myself in. summer was over and i was thankful. i set the water in motion, immersing myself complete. what a sensation. i left it alone and a trail of dripping wet. above and looking down from where i hung my clothes, i noticed the light show. a translation of my form. a liquid print. what was left of my rhythm. illuminated by the sun in baby blue. something understood me.

an unfortunate sound

i don't mind

sure i feel bad for the kids
decked in flippers
and snorkels

waiting for the
 green light

a pipe burst underground

inky liquid came to
 surface by the pool

 i never swam here
but i lived here

and
came to consider
the filtration system
an unfortunate
 sound

pool key kid

i dreamt of a jump
off a balcony

before

i got a key
to a gate 
to a pool

now i can
get wet
the way they want me
to get wet

civilized
like

then if i make it
up quickly and
indoors

i can lie

down
on the couch
by the window

watch the waters turn
my ceiling into a light
show

and daydream
some more
through vertical
blinds

made an urban dictionary out of our constitution

When you came into my life I was shooting pool, and neither were the other kids in school. There was a break and all the balls started rolling, and who could be prepared for a world administered by twitter feed, half-mad on fast food fry-batter, running down an uphill battle? The recycled oil had turned, the battery gone dead. A postmortem analysis found the conditions out of which the nightmare came to steam. All the way in the back of the tired rolodex of eighties-punctured index cards, we located the moment butter got sideswiped by Country Crock. Even the name gave it away! Yet we accepted the substitute and without any hardcore/softcore vetting. Consider us fucked right there.

Dare I look into these projects you are slumming? Somewhere in each one a person pushed out front, coat-tails blowing up egos in need of personality. Altruism was suddenly a four-letter word like media and Muslim. You made an urban dictionary out of the constitution. Wannabe celebrities still slinging their ghostwritten books, to get a stab at some easy cash before the crap inside all the margins falls out of consciousness and to your cutting room floor... now ankle deep in film, archaic, in a dark corner of ill-literatures.

Meanwhile...

Here we find a thorough & recent review of my work:
GIBNEYS BLOG: BOOK REVIEW