POEMS


Hors d'oevres

I Till the Soil
She stepped out of the ladies room. Blond hair, painted
face, and legs that wouldn't stop.  I stood to the side of
the narrow aisle so she could pass.  I didn't expect a thank
you, or smile or a nod; she was clearly a descendant of
Athena, or maybe Daphne.  I waited while she walked by.
All of her reminded me I was only mortal.
A man of the earth.

Night Scope
I was inept at relationships.  I only knew how
to seduce and deceive.  I was a sniper, often with one shot,
I’d fall my prey.  Sharon was one of the female hostages I
took after Lori had left.  She and I were both young,
our only connection was penis and vagina.  We didn't talk,
 feel or breath, but when she told me she was
pregnant I cried. I still wonder what is name would have been.

Albino Carp
I wasn't bad, I was just broken. I wasn't a liar, I just loved
telling fish stories.  I wasn't a cheat, I just didn't like rules.  I
wasn't fearless, I was just numb.  I wasn't a decrepit, soulless man,
I was just a boy who'd not been shown how to live or love in the
world.  And it wasn't that I was insane, like an armless amputee
clutching at straws, I was just a fish with no gills in a big, wet, ocean.

Puncture Wounds
Meaningless relationships had become like small talk at dinner
parties.  I'd reached the point that if a women liked me, I was
game.  I no longer pursued, I'd become prey.  It was easier, really.
Rejection had become too painful.  After Lori left, I couldn't eat
enough pills or snort enough coke to stop my ingrown porcupine
quills from piercing my soul.  And I no longer made my bed.

A Day at the Getty
I hate lines.  I hate waiting.  I hate being alone in a crowd.  But didn't
yesterday when I waited for the tram at the Getty.  The throngs were as interesting
as the art pieces being watched over by the bulky security guards.  There
was a thick soup of diverse dialects in the air.  I savored each one like
vichyssoise or gazpacho.  Then my eyes rested on a Asian flower wearing
Dior sunglasses.  She reminded me of my old lover Yoriko and I remembered I was alive.

In Contempt
By the time I reached the metal detector, the cocaine had worn off.
It was a shitty day for an arraignment, but no shittier than the next.
Department 101 was on the fourth floor, so I got on the elevator
crowded with thugs and attorneys.  The only difference between the
two were Brooks Brothers suits and neckties.  I should talk.  My
attorney was provided for me by my connection Tommy Tomorrow.
Andrew Rodgers Esquire was a hired gun.