mollusk

 base of reason, koi ponds don't have fish  overnight working: sepia pictures of foreign folks  unsure of lots, speeding somewhere in his car nighttrain January's cold highlights my loneliness i suppose shotgun houses: whats comin' off the bayou at night 'gimme a whiskey...' self-loathin' is a constant companion  frustrated—ordering another Lyft taking a swig of gin mention of 'peach skin,' everyone thinks its a haiku... indecent as the falling of tiles from your roof taste of fall  in each apple-bite some nights  i wanna be lascivious  like Oscar Wilde  approaching  forty-three soon... finding  that i enjoy displaying  indecency for shock-value increased libido... men these days are so beautiful  are so delectable  passing  of another era... again wondering  how many years will i  be granted to live  simmering greens on the stove amid baked chickenscent  realization that i am  still man'less ...

perverse pleasure..., sinking of some offshore shrimping boat  why won't anyone showcase potted weeds—morning darkness lovemaking afterglow, "yo! you got any mustard in here!?" what to juxtapose with his failed sexual performance... what of baby lions—i rarely hate, then i start to hate

 stretch  of a night shadow crowded parking lot enjoying a cigarette i blow  smoke rings in darkness' face

nature moving into blood, barking dog speaks to me  . in a plumsilk dress, another charity gala . peeling banana, no kids and no cats...what am i . big hope for tomorrow, is that what ancestors saw

no celebration for widow, 'new normal' is walking in shadows 1st degree arson, who remains behind bars for life  is 'driven snow' pure...deliberation of a madman  floating world: paradise or exile 

bit of fog, falling into your powerful hugs . job interview: another feeling of no accomplishment . house full of love...cattle grazing nonchalantly  . burning pine cones, what the hell are conifers 

silence, my son helps me shell peas  enjoying wild turkey, stew simmering on stove  super moon: i too go through abnormal phases  train with fleshcolored seats, unsure where im going hurricane incoming, gumbo on stove before rain  blood moon: notice of a friend´s passing  haiku and senryu: ´country mice versus city mice´ he says Lyft driver took wrong turn, moonless evening  monman´s obituary: faint smell of Tabu perfume - your mother wore beryl and myrrh... drunken father always  stumbling and crashing into family peace - fields of swaying wheat this hick town always  the bane of my existence, "hi mama"  - more litigation, i can't escape the fine print  at end of hallway, strong rainscent  all his shirts in a pile, with autumn dim vision frustration—its taste iron mingled with smothered words - asked to attend  my first garden party out of town... buying OFF mosquito spray  - 2024 — with a light rain  comes  21s...

heteronormativity often toxic, too queer im a unicorn  renga master's smoker's cough, faces pressed against train window night of folklore my house quieter and quieter i live in earth's scream, a child brings me heather  not invited to the gala, paper flowers have no scent  tacitus: quite a man, mustard greens planted in back  writing kasen with mainstream poet, breakfast tacos for dinner  turgid waters: lonely beachside cottage—and that is all  cats mating, restlessly moving from one room to another fighting sleep, no Dracula movies tonight only bed cool evenings then morning September is sort of 'meh' to me not really noble, reading about Colonial Louisiana for hours  thinking of Carrie and Rosemary's baby, spirituality a slippery slope  afternoon coffee, can we talk of geraniums in senryu  what american haiku is, japanese haiku isn't (thats ok) not very clever, gave up rights to define myself  verse capping: our hamburgers come out on...

Jane Eyre and Anne of Green Gables do not get along ... i often wonder what  Absinthe tastes like 

child's irritated crying, bus seats the color of my skin  boss speaking: trademark monotone kills the plastic plants kiss my clothes off, you ask no questions i tell no lies bowl of honey roasted peanuts, crying babies on the bus lovin' Stevie Nicks's voice, more dishes to wash tonight blastin' Fleetwood Mac, did i ever play 'cartoon freeze tag' im invisible—race relations have yet to be resolved  Ellison's "Invisible Man," we bayou people are superstitious  Akiko spoke of her breasts in tanka, what'll i put my senryu  you love Rachmaninoff, smoking to my man, Jellyroll  Black person's 'double consciousness,' is Du Bois's name French livin' in a swing-state, the gerrymander must be a creature tonight: acid reflux and Cat Stevens on repeat  we watched "Columbo" episodes, tomorrow on a dead leaf's back menthol on his breath, how high the moon a joke i say rape was never fashionable, some men -- abominable destitu...

 once again clocking in... lately work has become  my most annoying lover  . eviction notice for the family  downstairs — the yellow of dandelions ignoring we humans . i am unskilled  trying to dodge shadows ... a little boy pulling a bright red wagon  . the war in Ukraine should never have been ... dictators and authoritarians  are so passé these days . kids climb up a steep hill  then tumble down — sighing, where did my childhood go .

 crash of beach waves  somewhere there´s a man crying  on a night bus headed home life dont much make sense ... pausing to think about that i continue my walk home rebelling against social order  tonight feeling compelled to read Marx  peering outside  nothing but darkness and a small light  from a sad streetlamp sleeping with my first woman  cinnamon-colored stockings  like dried blood on my floor off to bed  for only a few hours ... how often i mismanage my time  these are certainly weird days ... there´s something charming about a rotting banana water for mint tea ´Bondjé what is this contempt  churning in my gut ...´ *Bondjé - ´God´ in Kouri-Vini awake longer than i should be i step into the warmth of a shower too concerned about ´poetic police´ curbing the creative way  i write tanka

again he's in some sort of crisis. he says its 'existential...' i draw a blank.  he wants me to call him when i get home. i know he'll talk my ears blue.  not much of friend, what does 'existential' even mean

  I tend to think of senryu as real earthy, both feet on the ground verses that find a way to bring some sort of illumination/beauty/enlightenment with the casual, mundane things we all see and experience every minute of every day; if that makes sense. I tend to think of senryu as the Blues. The Blues tells things as they are. Often, they are not interested in making grand enlightenments, but they tell the fullness of our experiences, thoughts, emotions, doings etc. The Blues doesn't always seek to present escape from a thing/situation/problem etc but the Blues starkly presents what is and finds a way to humorize it, induce tears, nonchalance etc. In many ways, the Blues reminds us we're human, and its ok to express our reactions to Life's various things...the Blues also beautifies Life in general and even in singing of troubles, heartaches, hatred, the negative points of Life, the Blues finds something beautiful/meaningful within those situations. This is what I think #sen...

another assassination attempt slowly Summer heat returns  sing me the Blues, i'll tell you my Life quiet lobby—deciding what to eat for dinner  list'nin to the Carpenters the day waves goodbye stories told, "they wanted me to prove loyalty" Japanese-American says old drinking flask, full of everything BUT water  periodically walking land that belongs to others Hispanic Heritage Month: the moment sweet queso spicy  around the bend, potholes and washed out roads  getting comfy doing nothing, watching old Dracula movies  tremors in town, hat on mannequin shifts to the right  blazing noon, never met a woman named Clementine drinking buddy, his wife's left him for good  left with the kids, young widow's daily heartache too many love affairs, they always want money money money  near the border, desert cactus performs for no one  close of business day, office mgr's shoe untied  nothing new under sun, something strange under moon  Yesh...

 watching the strange story of Robert Durst— remembering  the pizza guy's  gold teeth  what of  those yellow flowers... the summer that i  met him in Galveston  we were reckless  somewhat  quiet night  eating slices of pizza the guy brought me parked cars  in this parking-lot  on the counter  a rotting apple continues  rotting  'not guilty'  for some man... on the deck  of a southbound yacht soaking up sun  hanging  on a nail  behind the room door maman's muumuu that bold blue color midnight work-shift... eating slightly cold  slices of pizza i avoid  coffee altogether 

 cold pizza watching Robert Durst story with interest potted roses dull in color  more gambling debts soaring birds the smooth edge of a tear bored these days then again... still bored  unbalanced barstool  having a  Viking's ale with pizza breath  taking another walk 'round hotel bone China no one ever comes to visit in world of computers humans become obsolete blank pages in diary boredom came to visit  frustrating day—not one friendly face on bus  toiled sunup sundown dad's dissatisfaction children's inheritance maman  doesn't come to my dreams... damp shadows  simple things matter—peeling an orange in silence buying child new raincoat—he want's another kid  reminding self, 'buy new umbrella' afternoon rainpour  near water-fountain for lunch, just people-watching before exercising blood sugar down drinking Gatorade though intelligent and degreed, can't get pass skin color  women's rights decimated—politician's still fin...

 Should I live long enough, and after sufficiently learning my heritage language; Kouri-Vini (Louisiana Creole); ill begin the undertaking of learning Japan for the purposes of reading #senryu of every kind. senryu can be elegant and sensual, they can be pithy and matter-of-fact. They can be biographical and diaristic. They can also be fragmented thoughts and feelings etc. they can appear to be statements... reading Sunny (Sankyaku) Seki's #senryu collection, "Gardeners’ Pioneer Story in senryu" shows how the jotting down of fragmented thoughts/feelings/emotions/hopes/fears etc 1st and 2nd generation Japanese-Americans felt about life. From these examples, I see how simple they are Most of us, know of #senryu and #haiku straight from Japanese tradition in Japan. IMO, few know the 'America' tradition of haikai poetry started by 1st/2nd Generation Japanese American everyday folk the 'Father' of American Senryu, seems to have been Shinjiro 'Kaho' Hond...

  falling skies— avoiding a heavy rainpour  his black truck plows through watery streets on any give night, granny; now drunk speaks about life within barbed-wire fences over a let-down-drawbridge... often i wonder what the troll  feels or thinks of its lot dishes in the sink  thinking to myself  what color are the  walls of anger tonight  is a night of  rusted pennies and this unmet  craving  the walls of this house hve unscreamed screams another cup of mint tea i can't taste... fascists  come in all forms... men with nice dispositions  and mouths full of teeth  smiling ferally  pulling another all-nighter  my stomach has a touch of diarrhea—how irritating buried in an old elephants' graveyard the remnants  of shame i ever felt as a woman  something beautiful  about things that  could kill a person... belladonna flowers apologizing  for joking with a guest who's upset... he smiles and i ...

 kidoairaku (喜怒哀楽) — tr.: happiness, anger, sorrow, cheerfulness— the term used to define the entire range of human emotions. Senryu are said to be poems about kidoairaku, while haiku — poems about kachōfūgetsu (花鳥風月) —flowers, birds, wind and moon 

flawed humans on floating world: flowers are perfect - door in deep ocean -- Hell not so bad... - plantation refurbished slave quarters glower in the sun - Confederate flag Black/Brown folk have long memories - night bus leaving he and she aren´t speaking - home from work red dust on dad´s shoes - brazen: wearing her black dress with no shame  - frying chicken domesticity runs the gamut of boredom

late Thursday night revival service spills into Friday  - teen´s child put up for adoption sour bitterness of unripe pickles - dozing off, such is the power of boredom  - seedy hotel - not caring meeting with a john  - minimal exercise suddenly craving a juicy pear  - behind wall of fatigue more and more fatigue... - funerary urn catching sight of her weird smirk  - locked in mortal battled damned six-pack yokes - wide streets abandoning adulthood we´re just queer men - manure: fine quality-smell sits heavy on neighborhood

stayed up all night -- why have children if you´ĺl  just abuse and murder them - cranberry juice and vodka  noticing how quiet  my house really is  - too many cathedrals  in this working-class town --- somehow i make it tho maman isn't here - creamy white magnolias  displayed online  im not really sure what I want right now - into the womb of a leafless tree all of my adult worries  tonight i am bored - something satisfactory  about walking over  dead leaves and bugs  - cluster of grapes no more spooky than the expressionless eyes of hand-painted dolls  -

attempt to reconcile-- just a cold shoulder  the tea kettle whistles rather loudly - quiet courtyard... and abused woman  married to her abuser for 40 years - slightly tired tonight cant seem to  string words together  in poems -

thinking  ill take a class ..ballroom dancing  with each moment  Fall comes closer  - really soaking up  these cool days... really wanting something exciting  to happen in my life - church day... watching  mémær put on  cinnamon colored stockings on - after 1 am  giving myself  time  before i work down  this blood sugar - warm milk on the stove what is this thing that sticks in  my craw - dream of kids playing  in dense crabgrass my brother´s addiction intensifies

crunchy leaves  littering the courtyard at the local store  buying brown sugar - next door neighbor plays piano... i wonder what winter will bring this year - family dinner  amid the conversation  the walnut wainscoting  distracts me  - for breakfast  eating leftover steak... skipped reading Tolstoy  seven times  - incoming storm... an awkward kid  behind his eyes wrestling  with insecurities - smell of figs  and burned sugar cane -- claiming what its like  to be Afro-Creole  - lots of cosmos before the rental house  up and down the street  afternoon sunspill 

lunch with an old friend this afternoon, the sound  of his dialect nostalgic -- whiskey & Coke - on the bedside table your glasses, my book... not sure how long we  will last  -

slowly coming into myself my forties  have been a renewed  pursuit of self  - slowly  hothouse orchids open their purple  brilliant against this world teetering on a cliff´ś edge - phone call  from a previous lover right  in the middle of drinking  a blueberry mojito - my past  full of nameless faces in hidden spots ive become too numb  to the feeling of shame - my lunch  simmering etoufee over  brilliant white rice... teapot whistles  - argument  between friends... the night´s  coolness seeps  into my marrow - secrets  of a dead friend... on the table the whiteness of a camellia  - evening coolness all to soon  the wedding  is called off... sliver of night moon  - having left the Christmas tree up  all night there are certain things i find myself remembering  - against blue hydrangeas i throw away  what remains of my insecurities  - i should be asleep  inste...

no pond -- gentrification even in the animal world 

swirl of thoughts the rise  of a monarch butterfly from a mandarin orange plant

by midnight  my night-owl self on the couch  eating a sweet banana  - midnight movie watching i despise the way  he eats popcorn  - cleaning house  finding and old Birthday card  from the dead one, my father  - after midnight  unsure of a great many things  there´s dust on the chandelier - a dissatisfaction like rain  falling from the afterlife where mother lives dead leaves in the courtyard

the momentary happiness  of standing in the mirror flossing my teeth  - thinking of Germany's Black Forest... i want to travel  i want to make memories  - woman wearing  a dangerously low neckline ...  i want that kind of reckless abandone - most of the books i loved  reading years ago i now find them tedious  - in night coolness a light rain  standing under the awning  my thoughts are few - having eaten more chips  now 4 am i get up  to make a much needed walk around  - pausing in my tanka-making  to patrol the hotel  it is rather cold in the office  - walking these quiet hallways  i suddenly wonder about  'The Son of Sam'  - brief moment staring around the parking lot  something comforting about the silence  - tanka are miniatures  holding slices of Life... i really jot down anything  - only a wife and husband  having breakfast this morning i keep fighting sleep...

mixed veggies thaw in the sink  how i settle in the day's  mundaneness - in the skin of tanka  all of these  feelings  and thoughts—light rainpour starts  - wiping off the tables  lingering fragrance of some woman's  cheap and strong perfume

there are some days  i find i do indeed hate humanity id rather be on a trip  - slow drip of the bathroom faucet i lie in my bed  my mind blank  - despising the potted plants  in the hotel lobby no text messages from friends 

 high treason: he says he hates candy corn  washing laundry passion in his laughter  fear of the unknown, coldness of every doorknob  browsing new books, there's things i aint reassured about stone saints their indifference louder than chainsaws new tattoo on his neck i crave chocolate right now  five years dead, moman's laughter fading in my memories  indian summer nothing about outside captures my focus actively listening    still ive heard nothing  given a man's phone number tonight's train late  no punctuation in my senryu i dismiss the red flags  potted azaleas—something made up trying to be clever now forty-two too acquainted wit loneliness's taste

hands on my chest i absorb you  - early monarch     you massage oils in my back  - katydids in my blood  the maple just turning  -

the gentleness of lapping waves im unafraid to hear  what you'll say - on a night of fireworks  in the darkness realizing you aren't 'the one' - under a steel-grey sky  feeling as though we're people in a monochrome photo - fat oval moon  unconcerned with what  the children of Adam are doing  - these days, all tangled up  in poetic theories... ash from my cigarette falls nicely  - happiness is stopping by the florist  to buy flowers for dinner   - wanting to be vulnerable  and you take me in your arms— comfort of old house slippers  - beach picnic for one— over a sandwich watching  some man in the sea - now turning 3 am  i enjoy this hotel silence  a fast walk around  - he never loves only lusts still i corral him  pink peaches ripen slowly  - considered myself clever... amazing the things we  fool ourselves into believing  - in the stairwell  pausing to practice my breathing...

absently groping around my navel  a sudden fury  rises and falls inside me

enjoying your hesitation  while you search for a response i glance outside in the dark 

webs on the shrubbery someone guest's dog  has stopped barking  - in late August  lying in bed with him  the smell of Brute and some regret - 'rhododendron'  im not familiar with that plant— i stop by a pawn shop 

 the lobby once again quiet up and down i sit and rise  walking this stretch of silence

 old pond...all frogs relocated to southern resort town

arguments  over political parties tonight  pushing aside irritation  with canned margaritas

reading and re-reading  tanka by Takuboku  things to pass this hotel time  - overnight shift— i just want an evening free of other human beings  - 2:09 am— my breath smells of the  Fritos i've been eating tonight  - a Latino family in the lobby eating their Whataburger... i want a hamburger and home - he's a man  free to ride his Harley into the night— im only left with memories  - though i close my eyes  really ain't much in my mind... mountain pheasants and running water  - paying for company tonight this man  and his daddy issues  - feeling restless  tonight propositioning  a random man for sex for release... - tonight watched a funeral procession  taking a pessimistic stance this life, flimsy - chocolate syrup on his chest pausing when licking it up  what am i doing here? - nothing to do... walked the neighborhood streets until even the darkness got tired of me - not really hungry  just really bored...

warming up  cinnamon rolls... in the corner a  wilting plant  -  her loafers  Navaho designs  in beautiful leather  Saturday commences - throwing trash away my mint tea sits on the counter steeping 

red spider lilies are my weakness a man i lust for greets me warmly

exhausting  myself my mind  for some reason not too fond  of Basho  -- much like Sandy Goldstein  i choose to spill these tanka  five lines down -- grabbing  my weary knapsack and my weary self this morning clocking out i head home

 men unaccustomed to feeling our anemia  -- what i write, rarely interesting, rarely coherent  -- for man i love, leaving letter full of haikai monostiches -- another affair, with no shame, putting away laundry  -- you leave i remain a pile of half-notes  --

queer men  are beau- ti- ful Sun- day ho- li- ness in that thought

manic woman  in red heels her too bright laughter grating  on the nerves  of her guests  -- shift's end— waiting for her  to finally arrive fatigue  settles heavily on shoulders eyelids -- my bags already packed my feet tapping  still  this colleague  has not arrived  -- savoring  the taste of  peppermints finally  my colleague walks through the doors -- roomtemp water leaving a half drunk  bottle on the desk grabbing all of my things  and clocking out 

 happy with Summer's leaving a child's stumbling walk through a patch of  wild flowers  -- church revival for the week... brother and i dread getting dressed  sitting in that hot church -- on bed rest after giving birth  mama weakly laughs when brother tells  a lewd joke  -- flowering quince  near a rotten fence  the hills of Tennessee  are quite charming  -- something quite sexy  about red dahlias and spider lilies— eating wedding cake -- this dark emotions  saturating the soil  the old farm sits in dilapidation  -- all this excitement  around Football season... i don't give a damn i continue to write -- pool of oil—  early in the morning the husband comes  stumbling in drunk -- savoring the flavor after biting deeply  into a  ruby red apple -- quiet night ignoring the ringing phone  i stare at the moon -- on this sleepy night  my only friend an empty  Coke bottle  --...

  *koushmá leaves me immobile hidden moon  *nightmare in Kouri-Vini -- again: old pond, some creature....boy oh boy  -- sleeping baby in shape of Sanskrit character for 'River'  -- bar hoppin', feelin' stormy, i drink hurricanes -- night walk: passin' humans tired of hustlin' & bustlin'  -- gran'ma doesn't use measuring cups its in her intuition -- caffeine on overnight shift, leaves me sleepy -- scribblings on napkins boredom becomes cheap wine -- gardener's gloves carry the dirt of today and yesterday -- fresh coffee, slowly moving toward 5 am  -- child of willows—my notebook full of senryu  -- nearing 6 am --- suppressing yawns --- i avoid coffee too  -- gold of rape flowers, reading Shiki's ku on rape flowers -- deadlocked jury: enjoying the smell, of baking cobbler  -- though i don't smoke, enjoying a cigarette, 6am comes slowly -- whiskey from barrels, no interest in going to work tomorrow  -- fat black grapes, they look like e...

delicately delicately, embroidering, tonight he works downstairs in his woodshop --  crunch of dead leaves—his side of the bed, impersonal, empty -- what of the forgotten? tonight's breeze smells of desperation and boredom -- familiar sound of the elevator—up, down  everything in me hopin' folks just move on  -- potted cosmos—our neighbor's baby coos entertaining a few friends for brunch -- what happens under windmills—i share a drink with a man passionate about war criminals -- cars floating down inkdark highways—another overnight shift, i hope i have peace  -- ive grown accustomed to misery's taste, printing up work papers in silence—now midnight  -- sea flowers in brilliant red—another meetup with a man i really abhor -- fragile morning—ritual bowls set out  salt water and honey for absent gods -- ripe peaches. what we discuss. we remain at odds. in the distance. passing train -- leaving  all these 'sad toys' in a journal bought at a kiosk  lat...

seasonal allergies. seasonal depression. the smell of sugar cane. seeps. into my memories -- ripe peaches. what we discuss. we remain at odds. in the distance. passing train

her grandfather a former Japanese gardener  now collector of priceless swords -- quietness of night disturbed by a car chase... stragglers stand around in a daze  -- cool pre-dawn when i finally go to bed my discipline truly sucks... -- often wondering whether God dreams my neighbor climbs up and downstairs restlessly  -- spilling out on the pavement from a schoolyard, frightened adults and kids, Apalachee tragedy  -- memories of Louisiana - old folks speaking Kouri-Vini we´re in the middle of sugar cane harvest

mending an old fence late afternoon  granddad´s stories become more outrageous 

near the old fence dogwoods blooming  another bout of seasonal depression begins

wrapping up my work shift-- unfortunately i have an *envi for fountain pens *desire in Kouri-Vini

with a man not actually mine --- most days hes a stranger and others not really

drink after drink at the bar  i spend time talking to other restless souls

tonight much warmer than last night  i hope Fall´s coolness comes quickly  throat parched  only up to grab water use the restroom then going to bed in my forty-third year no children yet neighborhood lawns are yellowed and scorched

laugher of sad men alone with their whiskey: beating myself up  im my daddy´s child propped up against  a warm wall  afternoon sunspill and all this mundaneness enjoying pulled pork in the distance  a coming rainpour  i do believe 

the guest i checked in  we spend hours  speaking of Life over pancakes - at last the coolness of autumn is it possible  to have joy any more - quite irritated this afternoon a single pheasant  nests in my heart

piles of yellowed raked leaves this long courtyard walk to  calm my racing mind . waking up after three hours my tired face reflected in a sinkful of water . moving my five fingers somewhere in these shadows regret for last night 

a breeze of balminess passes me this midnight walk made up of too many footsteps deep inside of me a black hatred writing and turning --- this is my curse on my lunchbreak  a woman in a pencil skirt purchasing  another chocolate milk

with my entourage of random dreams  those hothouse orchids continue to wilt thinking of Louisiana Folktales another winter will come with me  being loveless someone buy me flowers... the rise and fall  of governments and  society´s appreciations

thinking over  Louisiana Creole folktales im sure redemption´s  a real thing - passing a man  wearing a blood red tie the lunchtime bus is fifteen minutes late - rancid scent after a long rainpour  crushed leaves  are all that´s scattered

long after midnight on the porch again lit cigarette  and a white moon  - beyond the barbed fence shadow of the boarder guards patrolling - i no longer dream... stalk of incense  smoking on bedside table after midnight

reading  Takuboku... wondering how long will i be on this tanka road - walk  around  the neighborhood this September night - light rain aimlessly following these random  thoughts

from the porch watching  a guy and his girl walk through crushed leaves -- field full  of goat herders tonight scribbling in a  cheap store-bought journal

not sure  what flowers mark Summer  the memory of moman fading fading - slicing  bellpeppers  for this afternoon´s simmering gumbo - behind  black curtains listening to  Mahler

restless tonight pausing on a corner i can track all  random thoughts i think 

cookie crumbs -     there´s an employee meeting  Friday afternoon  -- lazy afternoon    leaving hallway mirror unpolished  -- dust on curtains grandma´s old parlor where time stands still  -- ma´s return home     always that scowl on her face -- new futon needed-      finding this brown carpet depressing  -- off day-    too tired to exercise  after dinner  -- craving      a margarita badly -- only beer in fridge -- strong strong liquor      somewhere  a slamming door -- nonsweet mint tea        asking grandma what´s a victrola -- bay leaves in chili...       my daughter spanks  her baby doll -- tangerine moon        not really hungry just bored -- unfamiliar with peace        tv left on  in back bedroom  -- traffic standstill-      editing my  grocery list...

nearly  4 in the morning  typing tanka  im not accustomed  to the weight of silence -- beyond four seasons something undefinable  crunch of dead leaves under the feet of a drug addicted woman  -- cheap tile floors in mama´s old house  memories  of her blood stains of his balled up fists  -- diarrhea side effect of the medicine... thinking of Sandy each memory stacked against vanilla pine scented wax cubes -- this other ´me´ standing off to the side staring at self... i do not want to be a Hamlet  instead let me be an Achebe  -- trash left  in a flimsy plastic bag tied up neatly  now turning 4 am i was  supposed to be watching a movie -- once  i wanted a daughter  named Savannah... now i hope i find love  and dont remain alone  -- remembering  when i first learned about Mona Lisa my own Giocanda smile to the handsome guest i check in  -- on the porch  enjoying a bit of a joint the air...

September 4th rain came for last few days, much needed. cool days frm start to finish. work frm 3p to 11p. D and I jived around; lust for him grows. no work tomorrow.  too happy  to end this shift tired body  cutting the night into  slivers of choice darkness shift ends at 11p, as usual I linger around talking with D. he smells delicious. I suppose I´m merely horny.  his scent  natural and cologne  lingers... a tightness forms  in the basement of my groin September 4th Beyoncé´s birthday is today. She was born in 1981 like myself. She´s 43 now. Im steady approaching my own 43rd Fet in October. Beyoncé´s birthday- in October ill turn 43 the words on these white sheets seem to laugh and mock me

dating couple enjoying Chinese buffet im jealous - rain after rain he's still  not here - printing poems  random thoughts  not fully formed - buying drink after strong drink no tip - tangerine— memories of  Willow Street - my lover- someone  else's

summer day  getting darker...    eating crackers - comparing our small incomes  tepid coffee - impoverished... twirling a loose button on shirt  - always lying  he goes through life big con

 bed chest...  yellow birth certificate  for a dead child -- affair with dentist man's  false tears -- small-town secrets... the pastor's  indiscretion  -- ripened peach      election season  frustrates me -- Chantilly lace...    never attending  my own wedding -- office solitude, senryu after senryu written  -- unsweetened chocolate's bitterness taste of my regrets -- passing white SUV, i only want to be home now -- another "meeting" not that much  talking in world -- evening here... counting down minutes to shift's end -- off tomorrow.... think i'll bake chicken tonight  -- guest's 'thank you'  suddenly tired  of hotel life -- costly Japanese swords i too want  expensive things -- Heian lacquer fan— id have been  someone's servant  -- dripping faucet  tonight's difficulty  falling asleep  -- slamming door downstair neighbor an asshole -- more emails  logging in ...

  dinner  at Olive Garden... my life a cycle  of visiting  various restaurants  - frayed edge of a finger band aid in this office jotting down tanka - folded  paper orchid is there promise  within  each fold

late night  gossip session  how odd  to be friends with  your lover's wife  - dreary rainfall there's a hole in his sock his shoulders quite broad - in and out of this hotel such  is this workingman's life

Sertraline keeps my mood  buoyant  my anxiety at a distance— still more and more guests  slightly irritate me  -- this heatless day  the coolness brings with it  a taste of hope  -- of warm walls  and shadowed corners  most folks  walk their hesitant  sideway-walk  -- heatless day  when the sun goes down  a coolness that prognosticates  the coming of winter  -- into the mouth  of a twilight wind  walking  the parameter  of this hotel  -- in the west  mackarel colored sunset  diabetic-me enjoying  Bluebell Cookies'n Cream  Ice Cream -- long overdue  for a shopping spree... a man's black truck with  a fresh polish -- winter  will arrive dramatically and in style i will be wrapped up  in throws  against hungry heaters -- tonight's breeze  nibbled  on my exposed skin  while i took my walk  -- this 'meh' me scribbling down t...

years ago  i was *in négriyon... now in my forties im on a search  to reclaim childhood *in négriyon: 'a little Black boy' in Kouri-Vini in a fig rain  noticing the leaden sky working this  Labor Day away old man  with a turbulent soul... this beautiful  Black man  on a motorcycle  early  in my teens  awkwardness  was worn by me  like a 2nd skin biting edge of tequila in this margarita yellowness of 'wet floor' cones  in this rainwind  swinging lanterns  again i pace the parking-lot  home  how long do i  settle back  into the warmth  of a dark porch  smell of rain  quite pungent... 'pungent' a word that i  use often  prejudiced jury... eating pastrami  they wonder 'did he really  murder his wife' rainfall  over the Great Wall  the greenery  of China  seeps into my bones 

 Labor Day—working tipsy with strong magarita  "ion give a FUCK!" said to colleague while working  cloudy skies his black and chrome motorcycle parked  monkey-mind slowed down potency of this margarita  looking me in the eye...Burmese cat hogs the couch  dating pool quite shitty—*onanism my saving grace these days  *masturbation  fried pickles aged woman waves goodbye while leaving forty-two still i call this new lover 'daddy'  strong tequila all day the skies overcast and aloof  diving at wreck-site no Atlantis no Pirate's gold no Bermuda Triangle  underwater grotto i know nothing about swimming  sea kelp: rehearsing his departure speech from earlier elephants hunted for ivory someone slaughtered in my dreams  frothy waves magnolia scent and cigarette smoke this evening  boiling sausage on stove remembering stranger's odd smile  wind from the interstate another walk around hotel property  dinner—frozen tv f...

 lonely beach watching the moon take her leave 

hungry  wishin' tant Mari would make me  *kèk dê binyé for breakfast *'some beignets' in Kouri-Vini 

Community Coffee... the brand everyone  drinks in Lafyette 

sweet cane sugar in  dark dark coffee reading early morning  newspaper 

housecleaning  moving around  under my breath  reciting words and phrases in Kouri-Vini  *Kouri-Vini - name for Louisiana Creole. Given along the Bayou Teche region because Creolophones say "Kouri/Vini" for "Go/Come" while Francophones say "Allez/Viens"

breezy night  my daughter screams... 'Koushmá's' kept her from movin'  *koushmá - nightmare also a creature, sometimes spider like that 'sits on one's chest' rendering them immobile

gombo simmerin'  old folks  'stir the shit' on *galdri-la this Dimansh *galdri-la - the porch *Dimansh - Sunday 

wasn't raised in Louisiana like my grand and great-grands. was born and raised in Texas. 'Cause of ancestry, that makes me a Texas-Born Creole. Creole has come to mean many things; mostly racialized. but Creole actually means, 'native to the place...' the place being where one was born. *mo dê mémær é pépær and mo dê gro-granparen were actually born and reared in Louisiana before migratin' to Port Arthur, Beaumont, and Houston, Texas.  mo moman é tant were not taught Louisiana Creole or Louisiana French (we don't know which one my great grandfather spoke). but certain words they would say, seem to maybe point to the family speaking Louisiana French, however without audio evidence; its a shot in the dark. I found my home with learning Kouri-Vini (Louisiana Creole) and leaning into my ethnicity as a Texas-Born Creole. If Louisiana Creoles are a sub-set of American Racialized Culture then Texas-Born Creoles are a sub-set within that sub-set. Some joke that Sou...

needin' deliverance  'preacher-man put yo  hands on me drive this devil out... dew on climbing ivy  burning  a vanilla-pine candle tonight  two women in the dark arguing loudly puttin' on  a pot of Decaf... slowly time  creeps toward 5 am  scarin' us kids with stories  of the Lougarou  comin'   bayou breeze tonight  *Lougarou is a character in Louisiana Creole folklore...a kind of werewolfish-like creature  prayer circles  at the Catholic Church Creole elders  turn up their noses at those 'Americans'  *lala played  at Our Mother of Comfort  *Nonk Gabriel  smells strongly  of liquor  *Lala is another name for Zydeco *Nonk means Uncle in Louisiana Creole  for hours  starin' at a photo of 'Pop Coon'  my  *gro-pépær *great-grandfather in Louisiana Creole  mention Louisiana everyone  thinks of New Orleans... *ètoufé krèbis  simmers s *crawfish etouf...

pacing children's feet again the elevator rises  deliverance service...a child's fear of Satan  letters from a soldier what happened in Hiroshima  "Unsolved Mysteries" have yet to de-weed the garden cooler temperatures was the Unabomber loved political policies—like a box of bright LEGOs  pecan harvest still no peace in the dust bowl  brewing coffee everything about Life is strange  these days Zoloft provides companionship night wind pungent coffee— needle-point that hasn't been touched rice pudding... a child's irritation  with coming tooth exorcisms...impossible to detach your shadow  know nothing 'bout foxgloves mutual hatred of daddy is wonder still in world who the hell is 'Annabel Lee'  messy divorce—foreign correspondent leaves quickly  photographer's sharp gaze tepid tea tepid conversation sister's unresolved fears passing dog shittin'  kids playin' 'hot potato' no sepia prints of my childhood