something really arrhythmic


Matthew's chicken in Hollywood blvd

I wanted to write something,

Something about dog-spangled banners,

Coughing cats,

golden-bearded monsters

and cigarette ashes, flying under my chin.


I thought about connection,

a molecular level one.


I brought my hair in front of my eyes

as if it’s my polarized sunglasses, or a prism,

to separate the colors of the light

coming out of the florentine light bulb:

It didn’t work.


the salt on my neck

sounds entertainingly violent.


You see,

the sofa,

we used to make love on,

doesn’t care anymore,

just like

Dog-spangled banners,

Coughing cats,


golden-bearded monsters.



I found the




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