Brunch is a way of life. I always wake up late and I do not exercise. I never make it on time for breakfast when the world is new, when minds are clear. But I don’t mind.
I’m the queen of open-faced sandwiches. Bread, mustard, pepper, eggs, and avocado if it is in season. As I looked down my cup of coffee before sipping from it, I saw splatters of mustard on my nightgown. A good, admissible evidence.
After the bread, after the coffee, I read a Frank O’hara poem. This whole order became quite a tradition to start a day. I came across As Planned somewhere and it kind of stuck around. It grew on me. It remained relevant regardless of the time of the day, the day, my feeling at the moment, my demands, my disposition. Maybe because I am the blank paper and it is what gives meaning to me and not me giving meaning to it. Like how poems are supposed to be approached. Or maybe I’m not just a poetry person and that I am doing all of this wrong. But I don’t mind.
After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don’t you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?