For You I Name This Orange

For Kat

There is some guilt.

People are supposed to do things on weekends
and
at the very least
they answer their phones.

I am choosing to do neither.

Your message is enough
and I am grateful
that you not only hope
I am already out painting the town red
but
know me well enough
to say orange.

Super Bee

Bare Surfaces

Winter's waning youth
is wearing a fresh scent
of pink and green.

I have found its odor
commuting and
radiating sex
upon bare surfaces.

O' a body aches
jealous when there is nothing
swellingblushingbursting
like an organic firework.

The Condition Is Called Napping

but without working
arms,
legs,
and mouth

how is a woman supposed to pass the hours
and
so
many
of
them.

Forgetting the Past, Moving On (2004)

It's jut not that easy.
The new is decorated with the past.
I am sitting on it.
I tell time by it.
The room is lit by it.
It is cleanly framed and
organized by shape.
It is collecting in cabinets.
It hangs neatly in closets.
It is this notebook,
a Christmas gift from last year.

My home is a fucking calendar
with a different object
to represent a different day.
1976,1998,1981, 2003.
Yesterday's mail.

My past collecting dust no less.

I can't tell you one thing
that represents me in the now
(not even this poem written 5 years ago now)
on October 10, 2004.

I've got this
but even this gets old
and even a new this
becomes old too quickly.

That's all it really can be,
isn't it.

This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This
This

It's a Perfect Day, Isn't It?

I agreed.

"I've worked hard all my life.
It was time for me to slow down
so I sold my car a few months back
and now I take the bus
or walk places
like brunch here on Sundays."

He raised his cane from the bench
and tapped the sidewalk once.
is wooden exclamation point
ended our exchange.

I walked home

but more slowly than

I had left it.

Dear Mathematics,

I've been reading all about you and have begun to wonder.
If I am just a number

am I whole or natural?
Irrational or rational?
Positive or negative?
Prime or real?

Do you even know that these questions
own a double meaning?

I worry;
once you solve this puzzle
I can be predicted.
Controlled and instructed to do something
more constructive than both you.

These sterile steps
of recognizing, classifying, and exploiting
makes you a difficult friend to trust.

You are everywhere and nowhere...
sort of like the image
some might think of as God.

Do you get that often?

Infinitesimally Yours,
T