ERRRPROBABLY

Dental Fixsation

errrprobably — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 16:12:04 +0000

Wishing you and I were
like gap teeth
that could be
squeezed together
by braces.

Trash Weekend

errrprobably — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 16:11:28 +0000

She loved him because he paid her in big wads of cash fastened
by string. Money like that was heavy. She felt it lumping
around in her purse when she walked to the bank. And since
he was very old and sometimes forgot to pay her, she decided
to love him regardless, no matter what. Besides, he always
remembered the next week and compensated her well for his
mistakes. Also, the job was relatively easy. The old man
didn’t require much love. He had already lived a long life
full of love. Which was lucky for her because she was lazy
despite her indulgent taste. Who could blame her for liking
cashmere sleepwear and pungent, imported cheese? Expensive
taste is a virtue in an overcast city. Like religion. And like
an honest (rich) housewife she knew when and where to spend
her money. She could credit her mother for this, but she
wouldn't. Before her mother disappeared at sea, she lived like
a slob. Somewhere inside her was her mother’s taut, pointed
finger shaking furiously at her, jabbing her organs. Tsk Tsk,
echoed in her mind like a ringing phone. She had spent her
whole life trying to tune it out, among other things.

When the old man died she went to his funeral after a
disappointing visit to the dentist. Her flossing efforts
had not paid off. Three and a half cavities, mocking her
previous three. Since she was the only whore in the funeral
parlor everyone stared. No one offered an excuse for her
appearance. Which didn't stop her from leaning over the floral
arrangements and smelling the peonies, her bulbous breasts
glowing in the foliage. But it meant she shouldn’t stay long.
When she passed the solid oak casket with the old man's body
inside she didn’t resist putting her hand on his stiff chest
and petting his silky green tie. Grey wrinkles in the fleshy
make-up made him look pickled. Or perhaps it was the downer
lighting or the drugs from the dentist, but it didn’t matter,
she felt sorry for him. That night she went home and ordered
too much sushi. When the bell rang, she answered the door
wearing only her bath towel and a pair of crass flats. She
tipped the young delivery boy an extra two bucks and watched
from her window as he mounted his bike and rode away against
traffic. It was a Monday. On Friday she received a letter in
the mail. Inside the envelope clung two yellow post-its. One
from an old woman’s shaky pen: “You filthy bitch. You sucked
him dry.” The other in his patient, elegant cursive:“I’m sorry
for this and everything else. In the end I didn’t know who I
was or what I was doing.” She tore the first post-it in half
and threw it away. Then she carried his note to the fridge and
stuck it beneath a magnet spelling out Happy Holidays in tiny
reindeer bodies.

Stenciled Measures

errrprobably — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 19:16:44 +0000

I got used to your skin. I crawled out
of sleep to answer a call and you were gone
when I crawled back. The skin of youth reserved
for me. The mold of a pig underbelly left
hanging. Clothes in the closet hung
callously. Moths in the armpits. The pig
wandering the hillside leaving little plaster tracks
in the grass. A plaster of your skin. The armpit
of youth. I crawled in. A call.
You were gone. I got used to it.

The End Again

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:56:31 +0000

THEY WENT
TO THE END.
BUT THE END
WAS NOT
FAR ENOUGH.
SO THEY TURNED
AROUND AND
WENT TO
THE END
AGAIN.

Yours Truly,

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:48:21 +0000

A mild voice standing out
in a crowded room.
Fan in the third-story window
ready to jump.
Future wins

written all over the sidewalks.
Emptiness
in the dust of cigarette skin.
Ready to cope.
Something past
in the past.

Remember the night
we froze ourselves in the lake
between dinner and the party?
Your light-yellow jacket
still hanging on the nail in the hall
for everyone to see,
resembling only a part
of your shoulders.

Confession

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:45:38 +0000

We woke the ceramic tiger,
that is, he stretched and yawned
and licked his gigantic tooth,
which meant he was capable of anything.
So we backed further into his cave
and found our ceramic selves
and hid behind them and never returned
to each other.

Your Signature

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:30:06 +0000

A bouquet of plastic flowers
laid perfectly on the cement
outside the apartment building
like it had been delivered
to that spot on the pavement.

Passing Time

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:19:43 +0000

Build a mountain next to the sea.
A mountain lasts.
Add enough 

warm water.
Remove unnecessary rocks
and salt heavily.
Knead courseness into dough caves
and dig east for wave-effect.

Cover with cool hand towels.
Drifts should peak.

If the mountain needs
more time, wait.
If another appointment arises,
go ahead.
The forests will form
naturally.

Look Summer

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:11:30 +0000

getting so serious
The cicadas dried into their skulls
like rattles or dumptrucks;
clothes on the line calculating the speed
of growing grass,
factor heavy rain;
and left-over soup cans turned to bells
with weathered spoon dongs,
turning to rust spots over the garage door,
which no longer opens
with the touch
of a red button.
Boxelders.

Antibacterial

errrprobably — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 18:07:31 +0000

The dishes are stacked.
Meaning two or three
months have passed.
I avoid them
by washing each
new dish immediately
after I use it.
It's getting harder
to maneuver under the faucet
because that's where
the pile is wavering.
It's keeping all my other things
very clean.