Someone put porn site links on my blog

as comments.

And I am going to fuck them up.

Until this moment, I had no idea what Jessie meant when he said, "My teeth are itchy."

Oh wow. It's a whole new world, I guess.

I'll never forget that party. I lost him for twenty minutes and he came back saying that shit. And he was happy about it. Like I should know exactly what he meant because itchy teeth was my kind of thing, and he was visiting my club for the night. He brought a friend. It might have been (one of his) sugar daddies. Sugar daddies always have bright ideas when they're out at the club. Like, 'let's try ____' blank'. So, anyway. That's what happened. An hour or so later, Jessie comes running up to me from the parking lot, saying, 'oh my god,'

( oh, well, you know, what now? i think. things are getting crucial and he looks like he is about to pee himself and fidgeting with his hands, but all 'I'm a pro' about it because sugar daddy just did something that made him look very cool calm and collect by comparison )

He / hates this guy / and we saw his car with the windows open / and he is freaking out and then / he just put his ass in the window and / shit in this guy's car.

I really wasn't listening.
I rarely ever hear anything but the last three words of your monologues, so you better make them count.

Two or three years ago everybody on the East and maybe West coast was over-using the word, "Segway"

Probably because mall cops all had those lazy-people scooters by the same name.

Segway is supposed to be the part of a story where you LEAD up to a point.

It's a lost art.

The point is, that I just had my bones scraped underneath my teeth.
And now, it feels a little like an itch. Amen.

Now, my teeth are itchy, and I was thinking about that time when I was fifteen at the nightclub. I haven't thought of it in years.

Simplify

Manifesting in the body, the worry and weight. The waiting for the future.
The appointment and commitment and the hours sitting.
Standing on the wall and the corner,
Waiting for the break out.

Mirroring gentleness.
Mirroring kindness.

Not heard, but speaking the point.
The point is driven across in spades. The wheel turns.

And what comes up must come down.

Wig out on the inside for no reason except a five year old surrounded by doubt.

I simplify the necessities , a hard right turn.
Basic.
Sleep, food, time, hit it and quit it.

The Next Thing

I was there when the looting began, when the first brick was thrown through the German print shop window.
I was there when the street lights were pulled from the wires by an invisible force, and the same force flung the cross from the top of the steeple.

( Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors and there's all the people. )

I was there when the nurse met the mail man; a.k.a. the beauty and the football player.
I was there when she drank herself to death while her son listened to a Bill Cosby record on headphones in the next room.
I was there to scatter the ashes.
I was there when the piston failed to fire.

I was there when the paint coated the canvas a hundred times.

I was there to speed up the process.
I was there to put the breaks on too.

I was there to offer condolence and make jokes and move on to the next thing.

I am not...

Big walk, fast walk, voice, voice, voice.

Wailing from the soul. Hurry.

Hurry up and wait. Vote twice. You double time a freaky Tuesday, silently, for the jump-out.
I get up and go out to crip-walk, to cobble and hobble. It's a metal detector and a name tag, and a bum-chaser running out of space to run to; abscond.

Quick walk. Fast talk. Stoop down. Stand up.

The man on the bike begins yelling, "Bar-ock--O bammma. I am NOT... I am NOT afraid to die."

I try to ignore him as the police officer appears frightened.
I have to much on my mind to worry about this guy.

Firetruck Left Turn

Stop pile up in lines, miles of lines, dotted lines and straight yellow pairs
Hilled driveways lined with perennials and ivy
to the pit of the arm and the rib
and summer carpet
Berber with sand and sweat on your feet
woven underneath the toe-prints
feeling the granules
The smell of iodine on skin, on tee shirt fabric, sleeping, burning eyes,
tasseled hair.
My favorite tank top, wet skin, bikini top pressing my sides underneath the salted weight of the day.
No caffeine, no water, but thirst in the fold.