These come in from a cull of some old notebooks. I’m posting them here for an archive, if nothing else. Feel free to peek in this archive if you want. If, when you leave, you are still counting, I have failed.

 

I am unsure of the date for these three. Maybe March of 2017

 

Is alt-medicine

newspeak for Flint tap water?

Or do you smoke it?

 

My father enrolled

in watchmakers’ school. He lived

His perfect metaphor.

 

The rheumatism

has my left leg in its jaws,

Motherfucker!

 

 

On November 1, 2017

The old, fat man sees

his penis in a mirror.

“There you are, young Toad.”

On August 4, 2018

Refrigerator
On the fritz. Warm beer’s better
Than no beer at all.

On Ash Wednesday of 2016, I wrote:

No ashes for me.

Why the annual proof of faith?

Faith isn’t on skin.

I also wrote a note that I was glad I got to live in a country and a culture where I can write this idea. Today…eh.

 

A February 2017 offering a memory of a thing of beauty.

Thicker than bacon

Spanish cheese made of sheep milk

Medium oven.

 

It seems very odd to post the next two in May. They spoke of a much different experience than now.

At last, it is winter.

I have missed you like mania

Misses depression.

and

Today is too cold

For Valentine’s Day, my love.

My blood fails to heat.

And the marginal note said, “Deb’s 200 miles away anyway.”