New paintings by someone will be at some gallery. I bought new shoes. I was considering the Chewy Adidas and would have gotten them, if not for the sort of silver side-spikes or studs. SoHo Security Guard came in, high. Everything all right in here? You sure? You sure?
When we get home next from some UNIQLO Realism, Bobby gets an e-mail, someone calling him a homo. This after the deterritorializing of housecleaning. The doggie won’t stop peeing in the house. So no more runner in the kitchen. Carpet Men Stretch What They Lay, says one t-shirt not sported today. Rather, Heather Gray: On My Way to Movies & More. He’s pouring red wine. I’m not purring or ready for it yet, being an asshole trying to get this thing writ at kitchen table. Tonight we’ll watch Episode 520 of Dark Shadows--get as far as we can before falling to sleep. By this point, Adam has been taught to speak. (If Adam lives, then B. does too, but if Adam dies...) First, Charlie is coming over for dinner. If that’s OK with me. You know what 10/11 is? I mean, besides Bill Clegg’s birthday.
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Douglas A. Martin is the author most recently of a novel, ONCE YOU GO BACK (Seven Stories Press), and a lyric narrative, YOUR BODY FIGURED (Nightboat Books).
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