did you know
there's an island where
you can hunt people?;
free-range of course.
cruelty free.
but there's not a whole
lot of sport to it,
you stay up in a tree -
for days and days -
so that the animals can
become used to your smell.
'cause you dont smell
the same as they.
and they tend to sketch
out with ease, and often.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

an exercise in trust:
her white nisan maxima speeds down the roadway.
speeding away from my sixty-dollar loan?
speeding away from my repayment?

i say:
check your pockets!
                                             check your purse!
              check your wallet!
                                  check between the seats!
                            there it is.

why am I here anyway?
choose one of the following: (desperation/generosity)
__

the maxima now wanders aimlessly
through unknown city streets
far from home
on the laziness of pet merchants:
an exercise in trust.
__

a fib is told, biding for time
two
three
a hundred fibs for the hundred unwary,
an exercise in fate.

Pink: the color they hid from me in the days of dewy youth.
But what I see as pink may be a yellow, green, or blue.
My eyes don't deceive me;
I think yours do: you have not the slightest clue.

Pink: the aid in love's elusion.
Pink the way and pink the means
by which I loved at last!
Still, they all insisted on my blueness
while emboldening dividing lines
dividing most of human kind.
Open minds will quickly find
that nothing and yet everything is pink.

And I loved him as a human,
not an object of desire.
His knees must be weary:
sore from bowing.
He found god between my thighs,
but I found Love between his lungs.
It's okay– at least I felt something.
And now he just abandons me
and -silence- ends my fantasy
and I can see reality.

Could I, would I sacrifice
a stable mind
for one last night?
Would that I could sleep so fine as to
not rely on him beside me,
emboldening dividing lines
dividing most of human kind.
Open minds should quickly find
that nothing and yet everything is pink.

Everything is pink (and yet nothing).
Is it too revealing?

and i find myself
barely able to type
of the girl dancing and
teasing me so in that instance
of pure cockhardness
that i am too embarrassed to mention
how i enjoy'd to see her move with such motions.
and i move from her
as i grab another beer
another girl joins in on this
secret intimacy as
you and i joked and laugh'd
and out the door,
not with my whirling dervish of love
but with another man echoing into the night
'just tat Cat-in-Hats over the scars.'

she grip'd my hand
in front of her boy. between the
two there were four kids,
she age'd in at twenty-six and
i never caught his. twenty-nine
he call'd me, and thirty
thrown at crony -
come on man,
just ask for a cigarette.
conversation ensued in air of
reeking oil and acrid smoke,
thankful for the backs of chairs.

I know that now it's far too late
For you to take me seriously
I'm sixteen glasses deep
Of that wine you recommended
That night you thought I wasn't
Even paying attention
I did that a lot you know,
Kept quiet in the serenity of your presence
I was always afraid
My words would cause you to
Vanish
Again

Anyway,
I never had the courage to say it,
I would just get so caught up in my head
But the words flow now
So effortlessly
I want you to know
It's true what they say
Ain't no rest
For the wicked


White Zinfandel,

I still have the headache.