Monologues

Shopping

You realize

that nobody’s there

to ask if there are tomatoes for a salad

because you don’t remember

now that you have to remember everything.

So you grab three and with the four at home makes seven.

You move about the store

shopping early to fight discovery, small talk.

You see what happened there

no more the use of “we”

not

“Do we need eggs?”

“Do we need rice?”

But do I need eggs

do I need rice?

You move on

slow and wide

push the cart

you can look

take your time

lose your inhibitions

if you want milk, buy it

regardless of whether it agrees with you

because nothing compares to a cold glass

before bed.

Buy the good coffee

it’s just you

buy the candles to light

who cares

keep moving

aisle to aisle

for the items

for the meals

on the list

never made

because you forgot

now that you remember all.

Minutia

Sometimes you notice

it’s been two days

since you’ve spoken

and you ain’t no monk.

Sometimes you get beggars

and corner guys with signs.

Sometimes volumes of experience

refuse to show for you.

Sometimes you get late fees.

Sometimes the mouse you suspected

suicides himself in a pot with

grease and water.

Sometimes you promise

to promise

because the same’s

the same

and tomorrow’s really

close.

Sometimes sitting in the dark,

cold morning is New Year’s.

Sometimes there’s no chef’s kiss

or blowing kisses

sometimes you relapse

and sometimes when

you blow the candle out

you can’t relight it

fast enough to

smell it once again.

Connecting

To something moving

to something borrowed

to something lost

I meant to share

to something beating

distant

alive

in you

to something you will not say

to somewhere

you will not look

to someone

to nobody

to vacancy

to waiting

to that one song

to that one night

to something beating

ending.