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  Oct 2018 CE Green
JJ Hutton
There he waits,
the Nice Guy,
looking academic
and out of reach
in his tweed.

There's something
feminine in the way
he crosses his legs,
draping right over left in the fainting chair.

There you are, across from
him, at this party your
roommate dragged you to.
And you ask how he is.

He ushers you to his chair.
Sit down, sit down. I insist.
You know, he says. Most people
would tell you they're good or just fine.

The Nice Guy reassures you he is
not most people. He's a Nice Guy;
he's down with feminism, waves
One through Three.

He has a dog named Atticus.
They frequent open-air bars
in the summer.

He's a Nice Guy, an old soul,
someone who should have been
a young man in the 60s.

God, he has so many female friends
he tells you, leaning on the banister,
sipping on Glenfiddich.

You wonder how he is. This was your question.

He has so many female friends. Notice
how I'm stressing the word friends, he says.

I do, you say.

He's a Nice Guy and all these female friends
they're all the same. They love the bad boys,
the rich snobs, the ******* jocks.

I don't, you say.

Oh, sure you do, he Nice Guy-splains to you.
And there's a golden light coming from the chandelier
behind him, and he looks so holy and pure as he tells
you how one day Tara, Sam, Whitney, and Amber
will wake the **** up and realize just what they're missing.

But by then, this Nice Guy will have rambled on. He'll become
someone's second husband. A Good Woman will see how precious, how rare this Nice Guy truly is.

Okay, you say.

Prove me wrong, the Nice Guy says. He leans in closer.
You can smell the scotch. Prove me wrong.
CE Green Oct 2018
Mostly these days I enter a room, polka dot populated by folks with too much perfume, or none at all and presuppositions and a cold drink lingering near them.
I carry a shadowy painting with me, but it’s unfinished. It’s meticulously cared for and not yet ready to receive merit, let alone garner attention or criticism of ubiquity.

Mostly these days I find myself troubled walking into these galleries laden with baby boomer critical gazes, though some understand in a competent comparative fashion and look forward to seeing the end result. The saturation, and the color spectrum.

Mostly these days I wander into a tavern with a short story in my arms. It’s falsehood glaring, but with truth inside the lie. It is also unfinished. And yes it’s five years in the making, and everyone gawks, and watches carefully over glassware beaded with condensation, fury during October, the lights come down a bit, and I feel better. Mostly.
CE Green Sep 2018
Usher in epoch of sentimentality
Grazed arms with hickory, penultimate grazer mud nails.
An entire room filled with people I thought I loved, when thinking was entertaining the thought I once had.
Vocal retention. Left and heard, not wanted but understood.
Can you bring me back?
Is it possible?
Can you take me back?
Is it honorable?
CE Green Oct 2017
I can be a lot of things
I can be an impressive thing
I can wear the hat
I can be a desirable thing
teasing the casting of the hex.

I can be a monstrous thing
chest swelling with prideful posession
I can be a despicable thing
nose upturned with unshakable stubbornness
eating up worlds with my carelessness.
© CE Green 2017
CE Green Oct 2017
If your heart is full, it must be October again
annexed in California land
every whistle and bell silenced
by Indian summer contraband
Coffee from Zimbabwe
Crimson petals on the sheets
smile in the sunlight, dance to Billie Holiday and repeat.
© CE Green 2017
CE Green Aug 2017
Wednesday shook me awake from a dream fleeting:
Something about a grapefruit and how
I just can't find creative ways to hurt you anymore
That is
Without inexorably harming myself.
Caffeine out of wedlock
Enough to take the edge off
An afternoon battered with
Presumptuous dialogue.
CE Green Apr 2017
These devices are better now, elctro charged
Saturnine lanterns reflected magnanimously.

Let me wait, wait endlessly blue.
Sand scatter, hourglass bottom.
Like Alan I'd tell you I'm in Rockland with you.

Honey, this don't feel the same
eye linguistics and the way your body moves.
Jump at me in April showers and groove.

Damage control, digital and beautiful.
Let's see ourselves out of reality, briefly
and lose our minds in euphoric agression.
Attention grabber, tongue tied neatly.
© CE Green 2017
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