Thursday, November 28, 2013


is Closed Today. Yesterday’s flavor was
Pumpkin; tomorrow’s is Peppermint.
But we must learn to live in the present 
and enjoy Closed Today today. And Saturday 
the sun will rise like a warm and buttery pecan.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013


of all the things that you went through:
rhe beatings, the hunger, the illness, 
the sorrow – before you arrived at
your first chocolate cheesecake.

Thursday, November 21, 2013


The epigraph for HEY will come from THE ADDAMS FAMILY. Goodbye: original idea, Robert Desnos, surrealist. Hello: love.



If you spell “I love you” in French in America, Spell-check always tells you that you’ve made a big mistake in English. In France, Spell-check tells you there’s something wrong with “I love you” in French, in French. People in France and America often say that you mustn’t say “I love you” until you are absolutely certain, because it can cause confusion and regret. Saying it too late, they say, can also cause a multitude of problems. 

Somewhere between France and America, there must be a place and a time where “I love you” is right and you can say it right away or even too late if you choose to. It must be very special place. Some people claim it was discovered by cartographers of love years ago and at first it had no name. Today it is called The Atlantic Ocean.

Monday, November 18, 2013


I adore this photograph of Danny Kaye. 
But it reminds me of my disappointment
in the colors of the world, which don’t 
seem as vibrant and rich. How can 
a photograph be more colorful than
the world it photographs? I suppose
it is because of the photographer. 
I believe that they act in secret ways
somewhere between Danny Kaye
in the world about to be photographed
and the point I am at right now as
I look at Danny Kaye in a photograph. 
It is also possible that it is Danny Kaye
who does this. That it is something
about Danny Kaye. But I have other
photographs, other times that I look
at the world, other disappointments.
I even find myself disappointed in the color 
of lipstick on a dresser, after having seen 
Lucille Ball applying lipstick to herself
in a photograph. I would prefer to see
the lipstick of Lucille Ball applied to herself 
in a photograph than to see lipstick on the dresser 
resting and nothing before me. Perhaps I am just 
afraid of what the world looks like without 
lipstick. Or of finding myself in a pink room
without Danny Kaye. A pink room without 
his pink carnation and lavender cravat and 
ivory cigarette holder and seven beautiful women
attending him and strawberry parfaits and a hair brush–
finding only myself, and an empty pink room. Or lipstick,
flattened slightly, having been applied, but to whom, why,
when–I don’t know. Faded. Lucille Ball, nowhere. Often 
I only open my eyes when someone puts a photograph 
in my hand. I feel the photograph and am happy to open 
my eyes. I open my eyes and look at the world closely. 
And I close my eyes in order to leave. Is it the same, for you?

Monday, November 11, 2013

BLUE BONNET from HEY (2013)


When I talk to you on the phone, your voice makes me think
of a blue bonnet. A blue bonnet and a fresh crate of strawberries.
A sun, really yellow, like the one in the picture book. When you
say, “Hey!” and then “It’s me, Faye” I wonder if it’s you, Faye.
When I wonder if it’s you, and I say “Is it really you?” you say
that something that reminds me of peanut butter sandwiches and
whipped cream, the most wonderful thing, and I wonder if that’s
true, the most wonderful thing anyone can do, you do. And
I wonder, because I love it, and you, and it sounds like me that
you are saying the most wonderful thing to.

Saturday, November 09, 2013

Elsie the Cow was placed on a giant rotating automatic milking machine called the “Rotolactor” at the World’s Fair in 1939. This would be funny except two years later she was hit by a truck while her truck was stopped at a traffic light on Route 25 in Rahway, NJ. The truck had big brown eyes.

BLUEBIRDS, from HEY (2013)


The scissors on my tax voucher look just like ravens.
Or blackbirds. I am not sure which. Flying sideways. 
Sideways definitely. I am certain. I have a problem. I spend 
too much time looking at paper, and not enough time looking 
at the sky. I remember reading this in a book filled with bluebirds, 
the imaginary kind, bluebirds written in grey ink that once was as 
black as nighttime and someday will be white as blackbirds in paper 
snow. It brought me to where I was there where I wanted to be.
And then I turned inside, to paper, to hands, to grey acting as blue.

Thursday, November 07, 2013

I forget what my teachers looked like when I was little.
But I remember what my pencils looked like.
School Bus yellow with Robin Hood green swatches.

Some were short and some were long. 
But they all looked exactly alike when they began.
When they began to do what they do.

I wish I could say all my teachers looked exactly alike.
I wish all my teachers said exactly the same thing.
They were all different sizes and all said different things.
I only remember them now because they gave me pencils.

All I really remember is pencils in school and waving goodbye
from the school bus. And I only remember waving goodbye 
from the school bus because the school bus was the exact color 
of my pencil. School Bus yellow.

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

It’s funny how glitter doesn’t make me happy anymore, 
even when it is falling from the sky. At night sometimes,
you can see it better. But at night I am eating ice cream,
and it is covered with sprinkles, and they make me happy.
Sprinkles do something. Sprinkles do something to me.
Glitter does something, but I do not know what. One 
thing I know about myself is that I have to know what.
I have discovered what makes me happy. I do not know 
who makes me happy. Sometimes I think: if only I could 
meet the woman who first dreamt of sprinkles, at night.

Tuesday, November 05, 2013

HEY (another excerpt)

The pretty blue woman who looked just like my dead blue wife was really dancing the night away to the surf sounds of Los Straitjackets on Halloween of all nights she even started to twist just like my dead wife so much in fact that she tumbled to the floor which was a real rock n roll beer floor and what could I do I picked her up and asked if she was OK and she laughed and held my arm and said yes, she was OK and she smiled and started dancing again and faded away into the crowd and I said aloud as loud as I could say–It was good to see you it was so good I am so happy that you’re OK.

HEY (an excerpt, 2013)


I saw your twelve paintings yesterday

on the subway. Also, at the grocery store.

I saw them in the sky being attacked by

a bald eagle–I thought those were extinct!

I bought a book on ecology to find out.

When I opened my wallet, as to purchase,

I saw your twelve paintings in my wallet today.

And then they all flew away. I see them when

they’re away. And when they’re there.

It’s funny, but sometimes I think I never really

don’t see your twelve paintings everywhere I look

and then I realize I do, I do. I know I always will.

Until you paint them. Extinct is a made-up word

that comes from nowhere.

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