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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Love Now

She went to the window

And her perimenopause turned on the air conditioner

“Not tonight. It hurts and I don’t want to be touched.”

It’s OK. A young lover lies on you; an old lover lies with you.

She lay with calm nose breaths

While he came up with some new jokes

The one last night really killed.

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Yellow

The magazine was dripping with innuendo

It promised nipples and betrayal

The moon and Page 6 asked my hormones to dance

“You’ll never guess where Tom Kaulitz and Heidi Klum ….”

Began the headline I didn’t finish.

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The train coughed off its riders

Who would watch hockey or meet a friend

Or hoped to meet a girl

Some had been drunk on the train

To get ahead of the way they hoped they’d feel

A young teen explained to his friend

How to mug Long Islanders

“They’re so stupid, when you stare at them,

They just give you their money.”

Another woman chatted

As loud as she could

In the quiet car

And for a while it was enough,

For me to just watch the city

The firework box of surprises

 

Then I went to the street corner

And yelled “fuck” as loud as I could

 

I heard once the bulls of Pamplona

Like to knock spectators off the walls sometimes

And gore them.

And I remembered, no matter what city you’re in,

You really should participate.

 

 

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Piano

The little boy played
The piano
Sad and cold and blue
Like he was on a ferry pulling out
Leaving you behind on the pebbly North Fork
Dressed in clouds hiding their tears

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A pile of bottles. An empire of bottles
Each leaking spirits into the bottom of the bin
Who built this Solomon’s temple? What spirit?
Just experience
These blown bottles have left their hurts
Accepted and absorbed
With desire and cigarettes

A spirit is always in five different places
I only make it whole by talking
The way the song rings over the glasses
Lose it in a bottle
Find it in a temple

Who built this? Really,
You’ve got to tell me, gorgeous
Who built this?

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Lickspittle

“That congressman is just a lickspittle, I said
“Lickspittle,” whispered my friend. “Lickspittle.”
He didn’t know the word, but he repeated it
Back to me
He had only heard the new word
Not my sentence.
He would try it out
In new conversations. Get it wrong
The first two or three times.
But he would improve his conversation
By using it as often as he could
When he talked to others
And by that I mean,
Improve the conversations with himself

I was glad I could help that relationship grow

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I read about monetary easing
And thought of a guy painting a house
Who didn’t give a shit.
He was mad at trans people
He didn’t think of the Fed and his paycheck
He was thinking about chicks with dicks and bathrooms
And he was caught in economic deflation
And the degraded value of his labor
And the asset inflation made him wiggle like a mosquito
in a spider’s web
And yet he’s not thinking of excess trading value
It’s all those dicks, he’s thinking to himself, wriggling around
In an invisible dance of dollars.
Being pushed from job to job, house to house
The dollar making him whip it out, I mean his money,
And buy more expensive
Cigarettes and beer and chicken and barbecue
While people laugh at his overalls
And tumescent paintbrush
“All those breasts and dicks,” he keeps thinking.

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