August

Faces and spaces
what does it mean to be settled
anyway?
and a buck’s exploding on my arm
in my head
anyway.
I still don’t believe in fate
(besides, ashtrays don’t do much good with this wind)
anyway.

Forty hours a week yeah sure why not
take that to go yeah sure why not
ride across L.A. yeah sure
meet up when you’re in town why not
keeping it concealed yeah
stay here for a bit sure
wishing things were different why
hold my hand yes please do
not.

Some people speak with their hands
and some sit and watch.

Where do we what do we get here how did
that happen?

And “so this is just something temporary?” (you have no idea)
so then where’s rent coming from (no idea) what
do you think when you hear _________
and what makes a day
a bad one?
(what day of the week is it?)
everything has to wait, right? (right)
All my things
are missing but three days ago
I was in a movie.

And then, the writer reading.
“Why don’t we each read a few pages and then
reconvene?”
“Sounds good.”

How are you really? You seem to repeat yourself more
now. Really I’m fine
really, thanks. Yeah, sorry though that was just a lull you caught me in last night.

I was about to write down that it’s funny how I don’t feel the need to have my phone near me when you are (then a slew across my face of days marked forever).

Why is it important that I spent Sunday near the ocean and how do I keep this going now that I’ve come clean?

Didn’t sleep much last night and I’m seeing spots
ocassionally my right
finger is numb (is that symbollic?)
I guess I’ll just keep picking
up because I’m forever
leaving off stepped
into the cheese store today (and later saw two old men playing chess)
and I wanted to taste everything.

Here everyone can pretend to be beautiful. Cue it up.
An evening can be telling
the truth
and that can bend the imagination
in ways it wasn’t ready or willing
and that can lead to wakeful nights
watching eclipses against yard lamps
through eyes looking for something bigger
to believe in—searching for relativity—and then
nextdays that are really full of shit
and Tuesdays that don’t deserve a name.

I put my book down because there’s too much to
say today to have time
or energy for that… An outdoor scene and a bus murmurs to downtown and Mexican horns light the heat another three degrees in the right direction. Look at the kids.

I like to be alone (always on my mind) but I’m tired now and too busy talking to myself to write poems
too busy asking rhetorical
questions
to write
poems
a harmonica unused at home bridled by
the real hours of the day and new! Coming soon! Future
attractions include:
“Jared goes home and rekindles a relationship with his family”
followed by
“A poet who drinks”
and
“A visit to the wilderness, a simple camping trip with a love” in which our hero comes to terms with his sentimental stacks and buys a new pair of sunglasses
and
“He finally gets settled, starts publishing consistently” and makes enough money to travel: a cool one that explores movements and also with hints about what it can mean to be
smoothing out, with hints of a child named August in the previews for upcoming features.