Sun Basket

Pork chops tonight with blueberry sauce & mashed potatoes & kale. R had the kale. The meal was delicious. I don’t remember the last time I had such good food. It came to us by providence. The delivery person made a mistake & left the box containing all this good stuff on the porch of our apartment building. We called the company - Sun Basket - & told them that the driver got the address wrong; the meal was for a party on Prospect; we’re on Highland. They thanked us & said we could keep the food. They’d give a refund to the person who ordered it. Man it was good. I want to order more. We went for a short walk through the park today. A woman stood to the side of the little switchback trail & went harrumph harrumph. Neither of us know what was intended by that. We were wearing masks. She had a mask but she wasn’t wearing it. Blackberry vines hanging down from overhead. Gotta watch the thorns. I wonder if Graphorrhea would make a good title for a book. It best describes the writing I do. “Disorder expressed by excessive wordiness with minor or sometimes incoherent meaning.” There’s also Graphomania, “an obsessive impulse to write.” That pheasant feather quill I picked up at the Renaissance Faire in Novato, California in late summer, 1972: still leaping heavenward after 48 years. “I climb, if only within myself,” writes Guillevic. Clunk of the lid of the laundry bin. The cat opens her eyes. I scratch my ear. There seem to be patterns everywhere. Sounds organized as tusks. Elephants rampaging through a jungle. This is where the imagination goes. West Africa. Senegal. Four men pull a pirogue to shore. It’s loaded with scientific gear, bathythermographs, Nansen bottles, thermometers, bottom samplers, Secchi disks, and plankton nets. When you’re underwater, there’s no way of knowing if a fish is crying. Do fish cry? They look so amazed & inscrutable lying on shaved ice at the fish market. Open your eyes now, tell me what you see. If I was a colonel in your army would you feed me life with purpose & maps? Purpose is important. It’s important to have a purpose. Even if it’s a purposeless purpose. A light green fluffy scarf occupies a place on the bureau beside a wooden duck with a clothespin beak for holding bills. That’s what I mean by purposeless purpose. The various uses to which we put paper. Sonnets, documents, maps. Letters, manifestoes, notes. Blue jay pops her head out of a shrub, eager for her afternoon peanuts. The meaning of Being is self-evident, but not entirely adequate to explain dreaming. Red cloth I use to clean the computer screen neatly folded by the radio. And how interesting the folds of R’s sweater, flowing among its sinuosities at the end of the bed. Joey Ramone leans forward with the mike & says “we’ve got a little tearjerker for all you lonely hearts out there.” “I saw her today, I was saw her face, it was the face I love, and I knew, I had to run away, and get down on my knees and pray that they’d go away.” Holes in both my socks.