some dreams involve barstools in the kitchen

the newsprint ran blurred at the right corner
where the wet tends to gather when i look for too long
  people always whispering about my crying
  it's nothing a warm reception might cure.... just a straightening out of aluminum anntenae.

    and they call them 'rabbit ears'

                    i grew to fear Easter;
                              would consult the t.v. guide for egg hunting clues.
:
the phone never rings
      something having to do with my age
27 doesn't need a house line
    she needs laundry detergent, fruity pebbles, and Marx brother's movies...
    apparently an age bears sexual identity
    even if it sleeps at home

it waits for that shrill siren to rise from matte plastic shell i was taught to call 'phone'
    it thumbs through waxy folds of grey heather pages
        sections marked by letter
        paired with numbers
      27 fingers run along the spinal columns
      the margins hedging each bi-line...
:

a week ago i came across a personal
  it was crammed within tiny typeface riff-raff and the casual assault one attributes to
  the terminally mundane

there was a quote that struck
                        so sudden and funny...

                                                              in retrospect, i confess:
                                                                  it may have been a Marmaduke.