I encountered this line while reading a Peter Carey (Hunter faculty) short story at Barton Springs: “He buries the dainty pieces in the small fleshy orifice beneath his large moustache.” Ah, I sort of want to collect interesting lines of literature referring to facial hair. I’m such a sucker for a fine mustache or beard- or a catchy line of lit! Oh, how distracting are the tattooed torsos at the swimming hole! In between swims, Julie gave me a pep talk about how I must be proactive and reach out to faculty members in the process of applying to MFA programs. They need to know my name when it is decision time. Oh, and she also brought me goggles, and we discovered together the captivating underwater world that is Barton pool- tangled domains of green weeds and abysses…I also wrote a poem just as Julie was arriving. It’s rather juvenile but remarkable only in that I write so few poems- or wannabe poems- these days.

Here it is:

sometimes it’s enough

the confluence of greens

of the tall Texas grasses and trees

meeting the nonchalant sky

through the opposite bus window

from where I watch concrete upon concrete-

endless dens of consumerism

as the pariah non-driver makes his

steady way through semi-suburban Austin

sometimes it’s enough

the conspiracy of a solicitous smirk,

calculated compliments, a divine torso,

and the promise of a memorable performance

sometimes its’ enough to sever

from the impulse for romance

(or those obscure resonances

below sea, from which is supposedly feeds)

other times

the fallacy of fulfillment

arrives at a culmination of contempt

and i can only be a hermit unseeing

sleep or masturbate into a thin, fleeting oblivion

Afterwards, Julie and I got tacos and a wrap at the S 1st food truck park, and she spoke more about her past relationships (she had a 9 year one with a fellow Oregonian). Then I delivered my check to Write by Night on East 6th, so it’s official now. I will be having 6 of my stories read and a discussion about which are strongest and how to set about improving them. Fortuitously, on the way I passed a table staffed by two girls outside of Cheer Up Charlie’s (one of the girls the hip Af-Am girl who rings up my iced mochas at Caffe Medici) registering voters. I had kind of given up the idea of becoming a TX voter because I figured it would be a hassle, and the electoral college of course will go red for the presidential race. But, still, I should be registered- glad to find it is easy.

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