Pinnacle

FADE IN

THE CAMERA MOVES IN TO
CLOSE SHOT
A MAN

The man is standing
in his kitchen
late
at
night

He
stands in front of the
open pantry
tired
and
hateful
of himself

He
is not hungry.
He
does not want food.
He
looks at an unopened bottle of wine,
black wine,
and says (VERY CLOSE SHOT),

"I wish I were
an alcoholic.
I wish I drank so
uncontrollably
that every one knew,
and hated me for it."

Hated him
because they accepted him.

WIDE SHOT, STREET LIGHT
THROUGH KITCHEN WINDOW
MORNING IS COMING
CUT TO MOON
TIGHT SHOT OF MAN
WITH MOON-SILVER FACE
LOOKING OUT WINDOW

SERIOUS SLOW MORNING MOON FADE
TO BLACK

ROLL CREDITS

Conditioner

My love has a problem.
The kind of thing
that will make both of us
crazy
eventually.

At the store she means
to buy
shampoo
and conditioner,
but
returns
with
shampoo
and shampoo.

"Remember the time?" I say.
"Yes," she says.
"You mocked me, because,
in my colorblind
ignorance,
I painted my new speakers
forest green
thinking
they were charcoal
grey?"

"Yes," she says.
Yes she says,
but she is ready
to defend her shampoo
snafu.

"And when I
used colorblindness as
an excuse," as I often
do, "you said,
YOU KNOW HOW TO READ."

"Yes," you said,
"but that's
different.
I would think
you would pay
more attention
to a can of paint.
I would
check
check
double-check
check-check
the label."

Conditioner
is just as
important.

Orchid Oolong is a Comfortable Tea.

I get nervous
When
there are only one
or two
buds
rattling at the bottom of the golden bag.

The tea reminds me of
your stories
the same stories
told
over and over,
comfortable stories
rattling at the bottom of the golden bag
of experience.

Tomorrow I will try
Black Currant.

Pure Life

I heard
every
muffled word
of your 101 degree
conversation.

I thought it was
funny
that you were still
dripping with
discourse
when you
pointed
to the water bottle on my desk,
a towel around your
neck
saying,
"Write me a poem about that
water bottle."

While you were
outside my window,
I heard every word,
but understood none
of them. But when
your friend
came in the room,
I looked at the water
I saw the water
and you
and her
and then she talked…

When she left
I told you to marry her.

"Just write the poem
about the water bottle Pegg."
So here it is:

Why would you ever
drink
tap water
again?

Newspaper Walls

I do not live in
an apartment down
town
with leather chairs
reeking of smoke
and old
books

I do not live in
a dirty
stinking
rats, you know,
rats, kind of
weekly motel
with yellow ceilings

I do not live in
the country, in an
old
farmhouse
sitting at a lead-base-painted window
or drinking FOLGERS
on my porch

I do not live in
a shack
on the
rez
in
Coeur D' lane
Idaho

I live in a neighborhood where
minivans
drive by every so often.

When I come in this room and close

the door behind me, I am allowed
to do whatever I like.

And so I ask, what would you like
to do? or where would you like to go?
Doesn’t matter to me,
however, choose
quickly.
The coffee is entering
the general population of my
blood.

Here is what I mean:
I am writing this in Chinese.
I am in China.
In China hearing Neil Young sing
Ohio,
wondering what the hell it’s about
because I can’t understand it and
I’ve never heard anything like it before.

Now we’re in a blimp with…
well,
I would tell you,
but I hate name-dropping poems.
So just pick someone.
See them?
I do, and I like your selection.
Although I thought that he (or she) would have been
taller.

Not to be selfish, but this next one is for me.
You may stay if you like, but it may make
you feel a little awkward.

My mother and I are walking at dusk
and she feels no pain.