Can these feet be killers
& stab the concrete,
If only the ribs would come, and lie lie lie,
My wet streets, my wet cheeks,
My porcelin toenails break, sweat down cheeks race,
Eyes they started,
Deep breathing on & onoff,
Deep breathing on & on off,

KISSING THE DOT

Our new black & white
more full of snow than pictures

holding the rabbit's ears just so
(“No...no...no...YES! ! ! ! ! ! !”)

holding it aloft like 9 year old Statue of Liberty
watching with fascination as I DREAM OF JEANIE

emerges
to our chorused 'ooooOOOOO! '

Even turning it off was a thrill
the little white dot dwindling to an infinity

the electric static tingling our lips
as we kissed it goodbye

. . .a pleasurable pain.

Now, after the bus crash
lost in staticky snow

I turn the set
on off onoff

watch the little white dot
die again and again

place my lips
against the fading screen

the electric kiss
of death.