1. Our Primary Put-downs
2. D.S. Penhaligon
3. Piltdown Man, remember that one?
Every few seconds another wave of rain comes roaring down.
It’s almost tidal, enormous and simultaneously comforting/terrifying.
The rains here.
Recovering from brutal awakenings, remnants of dreams swarming under the pillows.
Cats and more cats. The too-small kittens in the vending machine,
encased in plastic, mewling and drooling.
I couldn’t cut them out with a knife.
Trash-and-treasure-collecting, inane arguments
over rare red woven cloaks.
I had wanted to go the racetracks today, for Opening Day.
This is what one does in New Orleans for Fanks-jibbing, though I’ve never-
You get dressed to the nines, men in fancy suits, everyone in hats.
You gather round the paddock and place bets and cheer.
I had a hat in mind, but it really required the perfect slim black suit,
which at the moment, I lack. Back-seamed stockings. A veil.
In the other dream, I was plotting the acquisition of plastic fruits and veg
to adorn my cornucopia-esque coiffure, a few mushroom birds to top it off.
And Cosmo’s great-great grandmother’s wedding gown, in slate blue, faded-
A structural masterpiece, the bustle and train
an architect or set designer’s wet dream.
After that, nothing in my closet was really acceptable-
for the opera, yes alright- But to the races?
I’ve been before, to see the horses high-strung and wheezing from
bleeder medication, flanks agleam and white foamy mouths.
But today, everyone there is sodden and cramped,
the horses slipping around in the mud.
Inside is fluxus and ramble. I am still slightly displaced, diasporadic-
left in a box or on a dusty shelf and then forgot myself.
Warring daily with belligerent appliances-
the icebox is a pit o’ stench even
after four hours of bleach and paint.
The hot water is less than adequate.
My hidey-hole, my sensory deprivation
my sacred aqueduct is a blasted furnace.
Scars on his neck. All of them
“uniformly various and variously uniformed”
I’m still coughing up black lung frogs
and planning my getaway.
Eating horse-head shaped gingerbread
and manzanilla con anis.
Thank god for the cuban grocery on the corner.
The rain.
This sound.