If I'm a plumber then she's my princess peach,
if she's Zelda, then I'm her Link.
If my life was Contra, then she's my Konami Code.
Can't you tell ny Lady is the subject of this ode?

If she's Curly Brace then I'm her counterpart Quote,
Seriously, I'm in love with her if you didn't catch it I left a few notes,
If I'm the Belmonts, then she's the vampire killer,
if I'm Michael, she's my thriller.

If I'm Pac-Man, then she's my Miss
If I'm Alucard, then she's my transformation into mist
If I'm Kirby then she's waddle Dee,
quite frankly this is getting sappy so I'll get to the point.
I love this girl more than a stoner loves a joint.

(bonus points if you can name all the games referenced, and the Konami Code)

5:00am and folding laundry

when the inspiration tank is yellow lit,
and E stands for more than empty,
but evacuation,
try this remedy,
a first generation family secret!

fold the laundry.
all kinds.
his n' hers,
blacks n' whites
really clean and

and the kind that never get clean,
no matter how much d e t e r-g e n t
you use, how oft you wash 'em...

Instructions:

1. fold only when wearing t- shirt, tank top, briefs (optional)
2. put on Pandora 60's rock n ' roll (folk rock - highly recommend Runaround Sue by Dion and the Belmonts, The Wedding Song, The House of the Rising Sun)
3. dance, shake, improve your moves when nobody's looking
3a. control yourself, if you must sing, at the top of your lungs is not acceptable.
If alone skip, skip to no. 5
4. every third piece give a sniff, get high on
fresh starts, clean notions, the idea that all can be washed away
4a. Every third piece of hers give an extra sniff,
so you can know why love keeps you alive
5. if you have to sing, then only loud is acceptable
(***** the others, you're doing the folding, they're sleep-dreaming)
6. drink lots of water
7. have pen + paper handy cause ain't no doubt
the poet puppet muse masters gonna smack you down
when folding sheets alone.
8. finish the write and post it ASAP
9. always leave the single socks on top of the dryer,
a prayer to the laundry gods for the
safe return of their better halves
10. finish
11. If done correctly, you need to shower (wash hair!)
12, around 6:00am, all scrubbed and clean,
fold yourself back into her arms. Snuggle, spoon.
13. when she mumbles you smell clean, you reply,
                                  "been folding laundry, writing poetry,
                                   and the clean smell done fell on me"
14. if alone, despair not, read this poem and know we are together
15. believe this day is full of possibilities,
write me a poem, put the load right on me

there are stains that cannot be removed,
deterred by this gent, and his a-gents,
they are history, treat'em with respect
and not more
deter-gent

every poem must end,
so when the folding is done,
whisper:

*the day ahead is full of possibilities
like the pleasured reinvigorating of my clothes,
once happy soiled, no happy cleansed,
so I possess an excuse, a reason,
a rationale for living
to fold laundry again!

last night i almost
gave up thinking of bronzy brazilian girls
perspiring pure coconut oil, eau de margherita ;
supermodelas eating my dreams like concord grapes, lionesses
lounging on new york balconies, lithe, reading céline.
(esti ginzburg, on the phone, considers another pomeranian) .
almost stopped.
almost derailed strange vogue-like fantasme of irina shayk, standing legs planted
left knee out-****** and foot
in ebony heel, cocked against the earth.
set being imitation of gloomy coal mine, east of prague. thin arms firmly controlling the
arc of her pickaxe, clothed in leather, high heels;
sheen of sweat holding her feline body in sweet embrace.
imagining that when shift's end buzzer echoes thru the tunnels she smokes a cigarette
on a bench in the women's locker, apple planted on old planking, elbows on her knees.
cover-alls peeled
down to her waist and her hair,
free at last.
(click)
on the tram back into the city all the smoked glass
cartier storefronts pass by like polaroids held in the hand. the same speed.
giggling, 'rina thinks of the six she could place
along her arm; gilt gold, brushed silver, diamant...

there are 11 smoked belmonts by the back steps; i did
little with the night. (tall shadow of a woman in a black dress and my mouth
a cotton ball)
that is to say:
i did almost give up thinking about bronzy braz ilia     g rls ,
-
but i didn't/and so there's nothing else.

I.
you never saw me in winter:
shearling fur and kettlebell boots
my outer crust cracking from one step outdoors.

I wear socks to bed
and smoke Belmonts to cover
my breath with toxins
instead of you.

II.
I never wear pants when I’m with you
mostly because I’m hoping to re-enact me walking
over the Millennium Bridge
in May.

if the wind pushed any further
up my skirts, it would force my lungs right out my throat.

my hotel room called for us
but you were on a plane to Norway
and I was in my head.

III.
the last time we had ***
you told me you’d finish me off first next time
but I’m always like your backup song for karaoke,
in case someone takes your first choice.

you never:

acknowledged that my rice was shaped like a heart
and yours like a star at dinner,

ask me what my tattoos mean,

but always ask me if I’m pregnant.

you’re a roll of film that needs be developed but
I keep smearing the edges with my fingers
and scanning the red light over myself.

A half burnt smoke never tastes the same
As an un-lit cigarette.
It’s the same with love.

We can never tumble back in time to;
Happy nights nuzzling in bed,
Clandestine kisses on the dock at midnight,
Drinking in glorious sunsets and city lights.
As if we could ever pretend that the world was perfect.

We can never dance back into;
Long car rides to Victoria,
Drunk laughs in the rain,
Late night cuddles on the couch
Playing video games to our hearts content.

In all honesty, I don’t need to live in the past
I like smoking full cigarettes to make them last.

I saw him led across my BLACK AN D WHITE  television screen in the rundown city of NEWARK huge shades covered his eyes like black bandages head skyward voice a dynamite musicial roar of sound as RAY CHARLES screamed I GOT A WOMAN WAY OVER TOWN THAT"S GOOD TO ME  THAN JAMES BROWN  in a shoulder cape danced  did a split dropped to his knees and roared PLEASE PLEASE  PLEASE and PAPA GOT A BRAND NEW BAG the DRIFTERS took the stage with UNDER THE BOARD WALK  JACKIE WILSON ex boxer punched out the tune LONELY TEARDROPSwhile doing another split and throwing his coat or hankerchief to waiting  screaming  fans DION AND THE BELMONTS told about RUNAROUND SUE SMOKEY ROBINSON AND THE MIRACLES with his high falsetto touched the rafters with TEARS OF A CLOWN  the TEMPTATIONS told everybody that would listen  that PAPA WAS A ROLLING STONE  and I WISH IT WOULD RAIN so that no one will see my teardrops when I go outside BROOK BENTON with his smooth baritone sang about A RAINY NIGHT IN GEOGIA  and that ITS JUST A MATTER OF TIME and THE JAGUARS were careful on tiptoe because THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT ELVIS PRESSLEY wanted to know ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT  and sang about THE JAILHOUSE ROCK and JERRY LEE LEWIS known as the killer on the stage beat beat the piano like a bad child with elbows feet hands letting us know about there is A WHOLE LOT OF SHAKING GOING ON we ain't faking there's a whole lot  of shaking going on

it's been two years and i remember that night through
a drunken haze, but no one ever taught me that no matter who you are
(almost) every drunk person is friendly and that should not be confused
with friendship or even acquaintances

you always said, "drunk men tell no lies,"
but then you would slur, "i swear i'm sober"
i should have known not to believe you
i should know that drunk people are anything but truthful
you just say whatever comes to mind
and two years ago that happened to be, "i want to be burned"
which left me with a scar on the back of my hand
that reminds me of a boy i can't ******* stand

two years ago that happened to be, "i'd like a pack of belmonts, please."
and "yes," when the cashier asked if i wanted king size
i wasn't dumb enough to think i wouldn't get addicted
i never really expected black tar
coming out of my throat
or nicotine making most of the decisions for me
headaches stomach aches anger sadness and suicidal
are all synonyms for withdrawal
yellow stained fingers and an empty wallet
a drug worse than you

two years ago, i asked you to be mine and you said yes
two years ago i thought i had found true happiness and i was naive enough
to think i would be the one person whose first love would last forever
even though you lived miles away
two years later i'm still not sure who broke up with who first
i think you had already broken up with me in your mind
a place i used to go for comfort
two years later you are a complete stranger

two years later i am a complete stranger

two years later

-                             -                               -                          -         -                 -


two years ago
                  
         i went to a party and made some of the biggest

                                                        ­                            dumbest
                             ­                         
                                                                ­                                drunken
                         ­                                                                 ­                      
                                                                ­                                         decisions
                                          
            ­                        of my life
                           but then i have to ask
                              would you go back in time and change it all?
                                                            ­ would i?

I swing my legs over yours, languid sprawl barside stoop
You light Marlboro golds your cousin brought you from North Carolina.
Or were they those ancient Belmonts
Procured from that corduroy jacket you picked up last week?
Or did you roll us two in the palm of your hand
with the kind of ease that makes me wish I was still a stoner?
We wash it down with cheap *****, or whiskey
Or was it the leftover of your mother’s brandy?
If I close my eyes I can still feel the warm in my belly
The burn on my lips, that metal flask taste on my tongue.
We stumble through cobblestoned alleyways.
Did I forget my bike?
Did you?
I want to exist somewhere in that dark before 4AM last call.
I want everything to be as easy as we believed it could be.
I want to remember how to forget like that, again.

The clouds were amazing
On my reluctant drive back home

It's the transience that gets me
Stately pleasure dome

Never been to Xanadu
Have been to Hong Kong

Dion and the Belmonts
Oh those 50s songs!

          lonely long