My neighbors baby talk to their wiener dog.
"Come on girl! Make *****...
Come on. I love you. Make *****.
Hey, come on, make ***** for daddy.
Good girl. Thats' a good *****.
Get it all out.
You're so good. I love you.
Oooooo who made *****. You did."
They do it right outside my window and it sounds like they're in the room with me.

It's my bathroom window.

I'M NOT YOUR ******* GOOD GIRL I'M A GROWN *** MAN TRYING TO TAKE A ****.

Fill in the blanks:

1. After months of sleeping next to you, today I woke up, rolled over to see your face, and was (      ).
a) in love
b) complete
c) nervous
d) alone
e) all of the above

2. I (      ) you because I (      ) you.
a) ****, love
b) love, ****

3. I (      ) you because I (      ) you.
a) lost, hurt
b) hurt, lost

4. Towards the end it was clear things weren't working out, but when I  (      ) you I still felt like (      ).
a) kissed, a school boy
b) resented, trying
c) came inside, a god
d) lost, ****
e) all of the above

5. It's devastating because I tried so hard (      ) I knew we were never going to work.
a) even though
b) until
c) after
d) because
e) to pretend

6. We had *** in (      ).
a) our apartments
b) our friends' apartments
c)  the Tonga Room
d) the workplace
e) misery

7. I was (      ), you were (      ), it was (      ).
a) in love, in love, amazing
b) trying, trying, trying
c) yours, yours, yours
d) trying, tired, over
e) real, real, real

8. You never let me (      ), you said it was private.
a) read your recipe book
b) see you ***
c) run with you
d) do yoga with you
e) get to know you

9. I wanted to (      ) you, you wanted to (      ) me.
a) love, love
b) ****, ****
c) possess, escape
d) marry, forget
e) all of the above

10.  When things were at their best we were always (      ).
a) laughing
b) together
c) *******
d) doomed
e) all of the above

I (         )  you because I (         ) you.

1.   a) love, respect
      b) respect, love

2.   a) ****, love
      b) love, ****

3.   c) lost, hurt
      d) hurt, lost

After months of sleeping next to you, today I woke up, rolled over to see your face, and was __.

a) in love
b) complete
c) nervous
d) alone
e) all of the above

Crane Fly,
I don't mind your harmless flutter
across my bathroom tiles.
another living thing in my apartment
actually brings me some comfort.
but you need to stop flying straight at my *****,
every time I try to urinate.
it is impolite.
and completely unacceptable.
and although I know you pose no actual threat to my genitalia,
I don't want you landing on it.
when you try to, I freak out,
and *** all over the place.
and throughout time men have never hesitated to **** others who threatened their manhood.
I imagine millions of human lives have been lost because of *****.
I have no respect for that.
thou shalt not ****.
there's no ***** clause.
but let this serve as a final warning,
because you are a guest in my house,
and you only continue exist,
because I allow it.
so stay the hell away form me,
when my ***** is exposed,
and I am vulnerable,
or my survival instincts will end you.

Zoloft has killed my poems and my erections.
the unfortunate side effects of getting well.
my pen won't mark this paper,
and my ***** hangs it's head in disappointment.
they look me in the face and ask 'why?'
I try to tell them,
about the constant discomfort,
the urge to peel off my skin and escape,
how my mind fixates on misery.
they seem to understand as well as a ball point pen and a flacid ***** could.
their tiny voices squeak
'we want you to be happy'
and I think they mean it
the three of us wonder if the writing will get easier.
the three of us wonder what the point of happiness is without a working ****.
the three of us wonder if we are useless without each other.

does it bother you that they all have poems?
the ones who came before.
if you love me be thankful to them.
they all left a mark.
the ones who wore out my heart the most,
helped it grow strong enough to cherish you.
and when I was with each of them,
every fiber in my body was devoted to holding them,
touching them,
making them laugh.
now those fibers are devoted to you.
and when I was with each of them,
I was complete.
as I now am with you.
and for the rest of my life,
whether we blossom as lovers,
or fade to strangers,
I will always write poems of you.

another life lesson came to me today through the bonding of loneliness and public transportation -
a filthy bus stop if there ever was one:
trash, human hair, the smell of ****.
I was standing there in the depths of my loneliness,
despising everyone that passed by,
when I hear the clicking of boots.
they're supporting firm legs and a sharp jacket
opened just enough to see a soft white shirt
falling delicately off *******.
her head is turned away,
hair flowing and dark,
and I think to myself
'I wish I could get a woman like that,
I wish she would give me the time of day, I wish I had a chance.'
she had turned by now:
hazel eyes, cutting eyebrows,
defined lips, strong jaw.
stunning.
and as she steps onto her bus she waves to me,
because we once spent a week together in a hotel in Prague.
and our bodies' desire destroyed that room.
we broke: dishes, shelves, a chair, the bed frame.
they nearly tossed us out.
and the kicker is -
our first night together,
I jokingly told her I was an escort,
and she pulled out her wallet,
and paid me.
so here I was thinking
'this woman is so stunning she's out of my league.'
when in reality,
not only did we tear each other to pieces -
she paid me for it.

The oak tree stretched and twisted
towards a sky trapped
in the hour between dusk and darkness
pink lace across the deepest of blue
wind trembling the leaves
just enough to hear them whisper.
you stood stripped at its base
hand searching across the bark
a taste of wine on your lips
eyes searching the horizon
knowing without a doubt
that I would be yours.

so there they sit,
drawing like idiots,
without a care in the world.
drooling, coughing, smiling
laughing, shrieking.
like life is an all you can eat buffet.
the things they have to look forward to:
heartbreak, health insurance, taxes, rent, a tedious
job, a loveless marriage, the death of a loved one - and then their own.
so I walk up to them and break their crayons,
to warn them of the evils of this world,
and they cry.
now they know how the world works.
but then then the pretty blonde waitress brings them another crayon.
they stop wailing, get distracted,
move on.
and I'm bitter because a pretty blonde lady isn't handing me any crayons, or paying my rent, or laying in my bed.
and those kids
never worked at Denny's, got evicted, or got their car stolen.
- they have earned nothing.
and those kids
have never had ***, drank beer, climbed a mountain, or carried their lives in a backpack
- they have lived nothing.
and the waitress hands me my receipt,
and I smirk,
because she scribbled a note on it:

"415-555-3827
call me,
Stacy

PS that was the last crayon."

I bought a mannequin for $65
it was used, just like you.
it has a stain on its chest
where our matching birthmarks lie
two skin toned islands, both yours.
I carried it home on a rainy evening,
like that wine buzzed night we shared,
baked it your favorite cake,
chocolate, dulce de leche, strawberry.
it was vegan, just for you.
I dressed it up in the clothes you left:
yoga pants, leopard print bralette, black scarf.
your parting gifts.
I'm sure it's cold,
I'll put the space heater on high,
like I always did for you.
it doesn't talk much, it just sits
eyes vacant, without breath,
empty.
like you were at the end.
a fine replacement.
it was used,
just like you.

not my finest moment, but one worth examining -
I had a mullet and lived off of Haight st.
she didn't mind my mullet which,
at that time, was about all I could ask for.
we made out in the rain, copulated in bar bathrooms, lay in bed for hours laughing.
she was an explosion of life - a sunflower in the wind.
and beautiful.
(because how many ordinary princesses get poems?)
I thought I was prince charming.
turns out I was the stepmother,
the witch, the wolf.
I turned our bedroom -
where we love, lusted, and lived
- into a dungeon.
because it was the only place I wanted her.
to myself, pleasing me, craving me.
I did everything I could to keep her in that dungeon.
and her eyes glossed over, and she started to die.
I watched her starve.
then one day I unlocked the giant iron door,
swung it back,
and she was gone.
maybe rescued by a prince,
most likely grew wings and flew out on her own.
because I was the villain in my own fairy tale,
hers too.
and this one had a happy ending,
which means,
I lost.

Your eyes stare through my window
the sky dims to a calling crow
my mahogany chest holds whips and chains
I invite you to watch the show

Comprised of three acts:
the binding, the lust, the sin
the sun has set, my guest arrived
it's time the show begin

Her years on earth so few
******* still firm, skin so tender
do your flaws cry with jealousy?
will you joy to watch me end her?

We waltz into the bedroom
prey so innocent through and through
I've drawn the blinds with caution
so you can enjoy the view

Her body takes rope so natural
time slows to let it linger
a leather cuff for each ankle,
a twine for every finger

The binding now complete
are your eyes glued with such thrill?
this beauty's last night of leisure
first pleasure - then the ****

My bite tickles her warm torso
a soft breath brings her to dew
my tongue guides her to fruition
do your fingers, the same, for you?

In bliss she asks for her release
I give my answer - "no"
there's plenty left in the mahogany chest
the last act of the show

To the floor fall whip and dagger
her face to terror with such splendor
a silent scream slips through her teeth
a whimper of surrender

The whip draws blood and flesh
ripped like a child from the womb
our eyes lock as as I raise the dagger
electricity fills the room

Crimson flows from her sweet veins
her heart beat starts to slow
but you see there is an encore;
a fourth act to the show!

With the room now dead in silence
and a witness to my debut
I pull the knife from my lovers side
and point the blade straight at you

Your frantic fingers dial for help
but I've already cut your line
the door frame splinters as I enter
there's a curtain call this time

My swings slice you to pieces
that I tie neatly with a bow
break a leg I did!
good night! the end! the show!

not all poems need to be about love
said the paper to the poet

another ******* last night
the things you make my body do
restraint and self control
all in the name of you

understand that I'm red blooded
and the flesh I can't resist
so close, so firm, so tender
even in sleep I must persist

a stroke of your hand brings pleasure
the juice off your lips a treat
but sweetheart you're a vegan
and my wet dreams are of meat.

a lot of amazing women have loved me.

a nurse from Izmir
with almond eyes
and a quite confidence
that snuck out in her laugh.
both of us with lust for life,
and each other.

a teacher from Christchurch
with a competitive fire
who whispered me a confession,
under cover of a rattling train,
that was never heard.
our first night together left me in the hospital,
I still returned for more.

a co-worker from San José,
a sunflower in the wind,
untameably independent.
her smile buckled knees,
her touch left me thoughtless,
her voice felt like home.

a lot of amazing women have loved me.
and I sit here,
staring at this page,
trying to see what they saw.
and it's blank.

"Rock Dove"
what *******
you're a pigeon
a cloud rat
a winged flea circus
if cancer doesn't get you,
a car wheel will
you'll become a corpse to step over
an inconvenience
a meal for real rats
but fear not, pigeon
there is beauty in your death
a collective relief  
that you're no longer here.

I can't get out of bed today
the sheets still smell like you

I can feel you
getting close
your breath picks up
muscles tense
your face twists
your beautiful
freckled face
into pleasure
you prop yourself
up onto elbows
and explode
back down
onto crisp sheets
quivering
sweaty
at ease
I can feel you
because I know
from across this city
you’re thinking of me