this afternoon i was so damn happy
for spring. i pushed aside my dead tulip plant,
opened our cutie french windows
onto our cutie little west-village-newly-referbished-for-the-rich-park
and let the sun spread like a blob-thing into our room
like something ambiguous
something not quite brilliant,
but not to be underestimated.
it defined with contrast what was a pile of dirty laundry
and what was not,
bouncing off every hard thing (the tv, playstation, and more)
yet held them tight in a sort of warm embrace
of a cozy, fuzzy, nuzzling glowing,
and i thought ah… for a moment
after all
these things might be holy.

upon closer inspection
it was just dust.

is it art?

someone out there is tortured

so maybe this isn’t really as funny as i think it is.

my dear city

at 8 am on saturday the jack hammers on 8th ave. started outside our window, and i cursed you and your old pipes. we tuned static on the radio and called 311, but there was no change. i thought our day would be lost to miserable sleeplessness. then, your convenience occurred to me. i called my pharmacy and had earplugs delivered. they cost 3$. no minimum, though i would have paid any price, and after we slept until 2.
thank you for being the best and the worst of all things,

finally some advice i can follow

a woman on the phone at fifth and fifteenth

…well, dear, do you have a housekeeper?

…you need to get one right away! it’s the secret to a great love life.