Each of my three poetry collections has had a poem published at Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY as part of their weekly Saturday book feature series. In 2023, it was "Sonnet 11PM" from Infinity Standing Up. In 2024, it was "Cerium" from Periodic Boyfriends. And now in 2025, it's "Room 666" from Fassbinder: His Movies My Poems. Before this last book came out, however, that particular poem had been published at Academy of the Heart and Mind in 2024 and, long before that, at the now defunct Red Fez circa 2012 . Which may make "Room 666" one of my most-published poems.
Room 666
There’s a conversation that’s supposed to be happening or that’s supposed to be started by someone else soon. I guess I stopped believing that I could initiate it
even as I admit there was a time when I thought
that I was in the middle of it, that I could be the cause
of it, that it was happening continually
all around me, and not solely with me but among
everyone everywhere at different points of the day.
Now all that’s stopped. For now.
I feel sure it’s still possible, this conversation.
I’ve heard the suggestion of the beginning of it,
side commentary that feels like it could grow into it,
and brief exchanges that confirm its inevitability.
I’ve even had facsimiles of what I’m waiting for
play intermittently in my head.
What’s missing is this extended thought communicated
as chatter continues. Or instead of chatter continuing.
Well, that too petered out. Life went on pause.
The television of consciousness went on static.
Now all that’s left is glib talk about the weather,
chummy complaints about money, pat reports of the job,
and pompous grandstanding about the future of cinema.
To say I prefer the sound of a plane flying overhead,
or the whoosh of a car heading down the street,
or the tick of a clock that isn’t in this room,
because I don’t own a clock that ticks,
isn’t to say that I’ve nothing to say to you,
or that you’ve nothing to say to me.
It’s just that I need you to say something with meaning.
This time, for once, tell me something I haven’t heard,
the truth or as close as you can come to it,
or what you really think, raw and unguarded,
where you risk looking ridiculous because
you’ve never even tried to express it before.
Maybe that, whatever it is, will mean something.
Even this late in the game.
The above image is a portrait that Sok Song took of me at a New York cafe. I then put the image through the Warhol Effect x 9 at LunaPic.
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