#napoleonic
I see you in the arrival of streetcars
in the mud and blood of New Orleans.
You’re a Stanley among plucked weeds.
Or I recognize your smile, your horse-like nod
so curtly possessing me once before
(though you need to brush your teeth).
You used to prance around, chest like a rooster’s, your
gaudy breath seeping through decidedly crude remarks.
You pecked at my hen cage. I could’ve let you in.
And there again I lay in bed, your Napoleonic
threats—the implied and fabricated—
haunting me. Such are the dangers of being lonely.
Among the stella, I’m Laika-like, floating in fear as the Earth draws farther,
the pinhole camera world ecstatic with discovery, and I feel your
panting presence over my shoulder. Desire.
In every cell of my body, you have chained bits
of your brain into. Stanley, won’t you,
won’t you, just leave me be?
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 10:19 PM UTC
So I'm told in Albany, there lives a little man
He's two foot at pinnacle, Napoleonic of demand
It's not his stature that makes me laugh, or his tiny angered rotund face
But the way his body jumps and shakes
And still can't get above my waist
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC