24/01/2019, Pt I

Today is the fifth anniversary of this website which I might, both traditionally and affectionately, refer to as my blog. Who could believe it has been five years since I began this fresh bout of nonsense? From a cornerdesk in my dark Whitechapel studio flat, to this, almost nowhere at all. In search of something new, I went to C—.s—, losing many more readers in the process, such is that peculiar self-destructive habit of mine. If you read this, you are not only quite unique but you are immeasurably appreciated. The anniversary, I simply wanted to mark it somewhere; and so here as easily could have been anywhere else. This was it, five years ago tonight, now hidden—
Divide the cotton in two
until a pair of columns

with both pillows
gives headline

& toothpaste brings about
night’s cold kiss—

It’s that 1 half of snow-angel warmth
while she
in black lace
disappears before electricity’s final curtain

our sight—& a spine
close to my fortunate desires

as though we both forgot our strangeness

for a good time we please the ceiling
, & mercury falls on the sweet mounds
of our heated temperatures.
    I do not feel much like celebrating or writing today. Forgive me. There will always be Saturday night. As long as I am alive, there will always be Saturday night.