Zither Mood

you said "sometimes lap dancers wear pearls"
you said you'd "give me pearls"
found I was laughing in my sleep last night
don't know what was moving through my sleep
I crave popcorn
"popcorn love" just like the boys
in Miranda Sex Garden
who look so much like girls
what was I thinking
only noticing the flood light through the window
and a wild fuzziness of sensation
perceptions juggling together 
like the two vodka tonics and the sips
of McSorley's dark in my tummy 
I call up these emotions and they set
my neurotransmitters popping
in stereo--no polyrhythmic layering jamming
the system--lower back aching
my boyfriend says from too much Pepsi
affecting my kidneys
why don't I find the Yugoslavian journalist
attractive--why ask why
when a sliver moon smiles down

first thing this morning
almost waking--thought
"the sliver moon looked down on us"
then the phone rang
a woman with a chipper voice
asked for the number of the former tenant
I gave it to her my voice rasping and scratching
and even 15 minutes after I found my glasses
my eyes wouldn't focus
I wonder if you'll call
I should clean up my back room
and start reading the encyclopedic
tome "This Business of Music"
on which I spent my last dollar
buying last night
and trudged through the first
snow of the season to find
this is a poem of dailiness
or is this a poem of dallying
this is one of my first days off
when I have absolutely no
commitments--long time since
I've felt this kind of lazy freedom
this is a journal like poem
a rattling off of minutia with
things of great import hiding 
in the corners--I love 
what hides in the secret
corners of poems like codes  
begging to be broken
have to wake up (stop) my tea is cold