Lot-lizards and
Shim-sham wizards
Powder-nosed sharks
wearing cheap neck-ties.
Spewing smoke like dragons
Greasing down their silver tongues
Pavement pounding predators
with 5.7 liter V8 hearts.
Money is a cruel thing.
Money is everything.
"Lets not talk about money,
lets just find the vehicle that best suits you."
"Great!"
"Excellent!"
"Fantastic!"
Throwing out exclamations like they're going out of style.
Smile.
Make wild gestures with your hands.
It's all part of the show.
It's all psychology.
It's all -sniff sniff-
and "Buddy, listen..."
It's all too much
to handle.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Juniper for my love
Juniper for my love
I carry it upon my breath
and if I weren't already there
I'd be drunk on your bereft.
Drag you to pawn-shops
where they dip my thumb in ink
I'd barter away our love, my love,
if I hadn't dropped it down our sink.
I want to buy you pretty things
and I wish my words were honey
but I cough between cigarettes
and drink away my money.
Juniper for my love
I keep it in a flask.
You deserve more than I can give
and I pray that you don't ask.
I take your hand to dace with you.
Instead I trip and stumble.
I tell you that my love is true
but I confess it with a mumble.
I wish I were a proper man
bringing you a fresh-cut flower
and I wish I could see a glass half-full
rather than completely sour.
A gin martini for my love.
A kiss of astringent fume.
A liquor-laden love-confession
sure to make you swoon.
I carry it upon my breath
and if I weren't already there
I'd be drunk on your bereft.
Drag you to pawn-shops
where they dip my thumb in ink
I'd barter away our love, my love,
if I hadn't dropped it down our sink.
I want to buy you pretty things
and I wish my words were honey
but I cough between cigarettes
and drink away my money.
Juniper for my love
I keep it in a flask.
You deserve more than I can give
and I pray that you don't ask.
I take your hand to dace with you.
Instead I trip and stumble.
I tell you that my love is true
but I confess it with a mumble.
I wish I were a proper man
bringing you a fresh-cut flower
and I wish I could see a glass half-full
rather than completely sour.
A gin martini for my love.
A kiss of astringent fume.
A liquor-laden love-confession
sure to make you swoon.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Beautiful Bust
Her eyes sparkled like tonic water
as she doubles down
without ever looking at the cards
that lay upon the green felt table
like lovers in the grass
discussing the clouds.
Smoke from an obnoxious man's cigar
mask her beauty.
She wears her hair like a forest fire
and a dress of city smog.
Her lips are the color
of dried blood.
BUST says the dealer like a rusty gear
He lays down a jack.
"Story of my life" she whispers
winks
and walks away
leaving her chips at the table.
Her husbands calls.
ring ring
Her husband calls again.
Leave a message after the beep.
as she doubles down
without ever looking at the cards
that lay upon the green felt table
like lovers in the grass
discussing the clouds.
Smoke from an obnoxious man's cigar
mask her beauty.
She wears her hair like a forest fire
and a dress of city smog.
Her lips are the color
of dried blood.
BUST says the dealer like a rusty gear
He lays down a jack.
"Story of my life" she whispers
winks
and walks away
leaving her chips at the table.
Her husbands calls.
ring ring
Her husband calls again.
Leave a message after the beep.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Voses are Red and Riolets are blue...
Freight trains were making love nearby.
It shattered the night like glass.
I was drinking one
for every ghost from my past.
The shadows were dancing high
in their beds of neon,
their rainbow coffins all aglitter
until the cruel morning sun.
Where was I on Valentines day
but in the bosom of a stripper.
"Sorry I don't have cash for a dance
I spent my money on the liquor."
But I wrote a sonnet to you.
It's on the bathroom wall.
And I could still smell your perfume
despite the vomit in the stall.
The girls gave their tired pitch,
tried to get me in the mood.
They'd be wearing sandwich board signs
if they weren't completely nude.
Where was I on Valentine's day?
"I don't know, where were you?"
"Just answer the question." you say.
I say "I'd tell you if I knew."
When I drink you get mad,
Call me a weakling and a coward.
Well I was just taking refuge between the tits
of the lady for the hour.
I wish I could be a better man,
something like a saint or a scholar.
I wish mothers would make sure I was fed
and fathers would trust me with their daughter.
I'm so sick of whiskey talk,
forked tongues, and fake breasts.
You deserve much more than me,
and I deserve far less.
To show I was sorry
I brought you wine and a rose.
"I'd forgive you," you said
"If your gifts weren't as red as your nose."
"Now, where were you on Valentine's day?"
I say "Wishing to be with you."
"You swine, you dog, you horrible man,
you know that isn't true!"
It shattered the night like glass.
I was drinking one
for every ghost from my past.
The shadows were dancing high
in their beds of neon,
their rainbow coffins all aglitter
until the cruel morning sun.
Where was I on Valentines day
but in the bosom of a stripper.
"Sorry I don't have cash for a dance
I spent my money on the liquor."
But I wrote a sonnet to you.
It's on the bathroom wall.
And I could still smell your perfume
despite the vomit in the stall.
The girls gave their tired pitch,
tried to get me in the mood.
They'd be wearing sandwich board signs
if they weren't completely nude.
Where was I on Valentine's day?
"I don't know, where were you?"
"Just answer the question." you say.
I say "I'd tell you if I knew."
When I drink you get mad,
Call me a weakling and a coward.
Well I was just taking refuge between the tits
of the lady for the hour.
I wish I could be a better man,
something like a saint or a scholar.
I wish mothers would make sure I was fed
and fathers would trust me with their daughter.
I'm so sick of whiskey talk,
forked tongues, and fake breasts.
You deserve much more than me,
and I deserve far less.
To show I was sorry
I brought you wine and a rose.
"I'd forgive you," you said
"If your gifts weren't as red as your nose."
"Now, where were you on Valentine's day?"
I say "Wishing to be with you."
"You swine, you dog, you horrible man,
you know that isn't true!"
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Okay.
Just smile and say “Okay”
At what point did I become
ridiculous?
My left shoe says yesterday.
My right shoe says it was earlier than that.
I don’t trust them
or I don’t hear them
because there are heavy-set gypsy women
stuck in my ears.
It’s cool.
We’re all waiting for a minute past midnight
when everything goes back to the way it was,
and everyone stops laughin’ their heads off
at something too true to be funny.
Stroll to the Convent 10-5-05
She found her virginity again
After 20 years of separation
Arresting Jesus - May 26, 2009
In the summer
ants lodge in my brain.
Ants
exiled by the queen.
I do not hate them
because I’m pretending
to be Jesus,
crucified in the front yard
until concerned neighbors
call the police
and again
I am taken away.
At what point did I become
ridiculous?
My left shoe says yesterday.
My right shoe says it was earlier than that.
I don’t trust them
or I don’t hear them
because there are heavy-set gypsy women
stuck in my ears.
It’s cool.
We’re all waiting for a minute past midnight
when everything goes back to the way it was,
and everyone stops laughin’ their heads off
at something too true to be funny.
Stroll to the Convent 10-5-05
She found her virginity again
After 20 years of separation
She forgot the scent
It forgot to smile
“Life’s a bitch
get it pregnant
stuff it till its belly bursts”
she heard the old man say under his breath
oblivious to her presence
She sees her childhood
Hung up on the pawn shop wall
Run through by hooks on strings
Visual stimuli burned through her brain
And tears evaporate down her cheeks
She trips on a dead man
Still holding on to the string of a white balloon
That reads “Happy 4th Birthday!”
She digs deep in her purse for a pen with which to pop it
But finds nothing.
Arresting Jesus - May 26, 2009
In the summer
ants lodge in my brain.
Ants
exiled by the queen.
I do not hate them
because I’m pretending
to be Jesus,
crucified in the front yard
until concerned neighbors
call the police
and again
I am taken away.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Porcelain Lady
She's the one
who wears the skin of a pretty psycho
and repeats to herself:
"We will be like rabid things
walking circles in the middle of the street."
I'm watching her cautiously
wondering if she is even aware
of the razor blade she grips
in the palm of her hand.
I'm afraid to comfort her
because she trembles
like something ready to explode.
And the foggy window that is her skin
would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces
and I'd see her every tragedy reflected from each
before they embedded themselves in my skin.
who wears the skin of a pretty psycho
and repeats to herself:
"We will be like rabid things
walking circles in the middle of the street."
I'm watching her cautiously
wondering if she is even aware
of the razor blade she grips
in the palm of her hand.
I'm afraid to comfort her
because she trembles
like something ready to explode.
And the foggy window that is her skin
would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces
and I'd see her every tragedy reflected from each
before they embedded themselves in my skin.
Our Lady of Mascara Tears
It ended like all things, with so many bifurcating roots at the ends of which precarious brown leaves mourn the verdant spring, its last vestiges dead and frozen beneath the snow.
It began out of primordial discord and ended with a haughty tone of sophistication.
It ends here, now, with the words that I am writing.
Fire. That massive fire that seemed to burn through the bitter winter. When it waned we fed it furniture we bought cheap from a junky fresh from a home invasion. Shadows slept at our feet and we stepped over them as we danced around.
Someone hidden somewhere in the black strummed a guitar and women swayed in an inebriate trance, gazing into our inferno centerpiece as if divining its secret language. The sky was held up by columns of smoke and through it they all appeared as phantoms.
Through that smoke, that soap-opera mist, I saw her; that actress from my nightmares. The one I inevitably fall in love with because of the secrets she hides in her eyes.
She moved gently to the music, drunk, imbecile, yet with all the appeal of Greek tragedy. I don't recall now who said what or what was said but we began talking and laughing.
When she left I thought I must know what terrible memories seize her mind.
I blink and I find myself, days later, at her birthday party. She has just turned twenty-two, or so she claims. We are playing a drinking game in the garage with her friends and when someone suggests we play truth or dare we all say "Hell yeah"
"Dare" said she, our Lady of Mascara Tears.
It began out of primordial discord and ended with a haughty tone of sophistication.
It ends here, now, with the words that I am writing.
Fire. That massive fire that seemed to burn through the bitter winter. When it waned we fed it furniture we bought cheap from a junky fresh from a home invasion. Shadows slept at our feet and we stepped over them as we danced around.
Someone hidden somewhere in the black strummed a guitar and women swayed in an inebriate trance, gazing into our inferno centerpiece as if divining its secret language. The sky was held up by columns of smoke and through it they all appeared as phantoms.
Through that smoke, that soap-opera mist, I saw her; that actress from my nightmares. The one I inevitably fall in love with because of the secrets she hides in her eyes.
She moved gently to the music, drunk, imbecile, yet with all the appeal of Greek tragedy. I don't recall now who said what or what was said but we began talking and laughing.
When she left I thought I must know what terrible memories seize her mind.
I blink and I find myself, days later, at her birthday party. She has just turned twenty-two, or so she claims. We are playing a drinking game in the garage with her friends and when someone suggests we play truth or dare we all say "Hell yeah"
"Dare" said she, our Lady of Mascara Tears.
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