You've had all of your life to be a good kitty

we've got little more than the pitter patter rain clouds,
somewhere to hide when it's wet.

eats, shoots, eats

I fly out on Saturday, book a short gig of old friends and old soft places to be. I spend a few days living out of a carry-on, cold coffee breakfasts and the rest of the time trying to gauge the progress of my life since then. The week will be a barometer for success. I might get off the plane with a straw hat and a pocket of pesos, waiting for some challenge that may never come. It will be the barometer that asks; have you said anything viable - done anything heartfelt - mended anything wretched. I will answer stiffly, with jet-lag in my voice. I'm still sure those might not be the best days of my life. They might not.

Libby dropped me a message a few days before my birthday. It comes up now even though she will be no where near my landing strip. It comes up because I did still hover my fingers over a reply, turned to an insult, and then becoming just dust on the clutter of thinking. I have all this time, and a fancy trip to prove you wrong.

New

Proud new cities,
Onion domes like teats or chandeliers,
The din of soft pornography in the street names,
The musk of helpless cathedral bells.

I might mistake her forehead smudge,
And think her hubby struck her,
On ash Wednesday of all days.
Maybe a closet superstition-ist,
With a penchant for the theatrical,
Leaving me in a sharp new polo,
And an avoiding glance.

And the catholics gather for fish fillet,
And talk a storm about the terrorists,
And the baptists in tow,
They balk about the homos...
And the shy socialists take notes.

Guten tag, Taipei

Molly confided in me that she was flying to Taiwan to teach English to little kids. I was headed to New Mexico to make my fortune in flier design and subversive publications. Little time to think about the consequences.

I had a year off from writing, a serious loathing for the unknown, and some bad habits like wasting time. She had a shattered belief system, some good jokes, and a habit of wasting her time with me. We figured it was time for something else.

Instead of shacking up, we picked the congruency of forced separation. We talked about it all damn day. We laughed, we drank; we cried and understood.

Molly thinks I'm crazy to talk her into it; its hard to push and pull at the same time. I hope we are just as ready in a year to scrap something together out of this. Either way, I'm writing. Molly would be proud.