About an hour later she slipped
Yuri Andropov into the conversation:
“I have to drop off a blouse at the dry cleaners.”
Suddenly it was May Day &
I’m back in Red Square,
Dwarfed beneath larger than life
Lenin, Engels & Marx mug shots.
Inter-continental ballistic lorry loads
Roll past the reviewing stand, while
Geezer Reds in Ushanka fur hats,
****** on Stoli, reeking of borscht,
Chain-smoke cheap Soviet Belomors.
I share these thoughts, handing
Mrs. Khrushchev the car keys.
Having cowered herself in terror,
Having ducked & covered many
Burial promises & shoe-pound threats,
She gives me a tired babushka smirk.
We are conjugal Cold Warriors,
Both weary now, creeping up on 70,
Skirmishes & brinksmanship behind us.
Tolerant of each other at last;
Lukewarm détente between us.

Dangerous princess tells him ''***** you,
what makes you ******* think I need you?''
Bangs hiding her eyes
Queen of hearts is smiling/crying
The sun has set down forever
on her glossless lower lip.
Breathing only the smoke she exhales
Living only through his hurt
Satanic daisy walks away waving her Stoli bottle

.
.
.

He's
in
love

She held up the bar like Goliath,
standing there so stoic,
ordering Stoli's on the rocks,
her arms draped in ink-stories.
The scorpions on her elbows
were as revealing
as her broken heart shoulders.
She stood there beautifully,
clenching the tiny glasses
with love and hate
written on her delicate scarred-fingers,
downing the clear Russian-liquid
as if it were a serious habit.
A cascading mop of lime hair
spilled over her darling face,
attempting to hide
her eyes of pure
sweet magic.
Whew.
Kabam.
Abracadabra.
Hypnotized,
I wondered why
anybody
would ever
want to hurt
such a beautiful creature...
But sadly,
I watched her slowly go,
bebop into the swirling crowd,
disappear
into a cloud
of burning tobacco.
The heavy bass
broke my thumping heart.

I was out, looking all night
In a time that it felt right
Could have stayed in and slept tight
Couldn't go on with it, this life
  
Now I know in the twilight
Gorgeous blondes, Yeah, they looked tight
But, their plans had me fist fight
That idea in a dogfight
  
Stoli made with fruits and berries
Gave me thoughts of that girl, Liz Cherry
So close to connect, burr
Got the chills, then just left
  
Waiting to find someone young, like you
Finding the wait for young, someone like you
Can't buy the bait no more;  Don't need a clue
Waiting to find her young, someone like you

What’s one more broken heart?
Theirs or mine.
It’s like taking another drink, seven and a half ounces of Stoli in.
It doesn’t matter at that point.
The taste of love has long since been dulled
burned out of my mouth.
It used to be a sweep of a hand made my cheeks blush
but no more.
So simple a child’s mind is. A better understanding of love they have
than this fading soul.
And to friendship, the thing that makes all of this possible.
I have blown that bridge to pieces, the shattered remains lodged in my hands
my feet
my mind
haunting what I once believed I controlled --
I did not need some lover as long as I had my companions.
They deserve more. Deserved more.

I have betrayed forever

I'll probably wake up sobbing again tomorrow
Don't mind my drunken confessions
I have the tolerance of a gnat
But the emotional girth of an elephant
Weighing my light body down
That's my tragedy I suppose
If I were to be dramatic
Though drama emits catharsis
Drama is meaning and beauty - creation
In short: not me
In other words
I'm love sick
Sick for it
Sick with it
Sick in its absence
Just straight fuckn sick
Don't mind my vulgarity
It is what one uses
When convention fails
Expletives are the outcasts in language
They wear leather and smoke all night
While the rest of the dictionary
Sleep, pay taxes, and attend PTA meetings
Profane words are death row inmates
Offering their final translucent confessions
Stripped of pomp or rhetoric
****. Mierde. Hijo de la puta madre.
There I go again
It's late and I'm on my third drink
And am becoming vaguely beautiful
In spite of the tarantula
Crawling inside me, through me
Its prickly legs sprawling
Its ugliness spreading
Until I feel like clawing
Clawing at my breast
To get it out
Get it out!
Anyhow, I'll let you sleep
Shhhhh....shhhhh....
it's fine, really
Come morning I will sob on my stoli-scented pillows
While others yawn and smack their alarm clocks...