(no subject)

question

how the fuck
did i end up here,
reading richard brautigan

obituaries
at three o'clock
in the morning?

LPK
10.6.6 (a)

(no subject)

perhaps a memory

yesterday,
i handed my wife
the very last dime
of my ready cash:
i needed to buy
my computer
some memory
so it could draw
straight lines
and things;

it was the last
of what i had
and i had carried it
around for weeks
feeling it
gradually melt
into worn,
black leather,

or maybe
it was chewed
by pocket mice
into those
nests you
sometimes find
at the very bottom
of turned-out pockets;

and all the while
i thought i'd buy
a book, maybe,
a cd, something,
to feed my own head
to keep alive
a worthwhile phrase,
perhaps
a memory...

LPK
10.6.6 (b)

(no subject)

like an I.E.D.

ok, it's my own
fault, really:
i seem to
have this thing
for psychotic women
who post their
mundane queries
in small town
college journals

like, "who knows
how to get in touch
with so-and-so
in the psych
(who'd've guessed?)
department and
this is really
important
to me,"

then, ever so
casually,
they leave
a brautigan poem
somewhere
on the periphery
which explodes
like a roadside
I.E.D....

LPK
10.6.6 (c)

works for me

see how that shit works? now i want to buy a brautigan book and i don't have the money. ahh, but now there is balance, grasshopper. straight lines, computer logic/crazy women, 3 am poetry. it works for me...