temple to temple
sex marks the spot
it’s just four small letters,
a microwave and a dog basket
shy from (real) love
there’s a mile-wide, shrill divide
the snag to post-marital bliss
in pretending we’re here (sometimes) and
pretending we don’t exist
so let’s bitch and eat crisps
and nourish this flaccid guilt
together, for the kids
I don’t even get to say
That I swing both ways,
Because she won’t even look at me.
But this is par for the course,
Head off at ninety,
Peeling labels off sauce,
Amassing salt,
I’ve seen it all before.
What was it she said?
Transparent? One-sided?
A pushover? Unhinged?
As critique, it’s technically weak,
As I have two sides, at least
And four hinges, at the time of press,
And some kinder souls might allow that,
A glass heart ne’er did harm
To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,
With his limbs outstretched
And wait and wait but remain unchecked.
And also, i might add, if I may,
This coat’s fresh on today.
No exit, no fires, no names in lights,
Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,
From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,
To brassy pushplates and a fat waiter’s behind
That is my jamb, my friends, that is my jamb.
And who goes on a date with a door?
Maybe this isn’t a date, more a fixture.
No, wait, this is a date.
I’m a fixture.
copywriter required
six cents a word
proven track record
personal best
for hot-eye clickable content
for fresh young online pub
kicking out jams on
pool halls and tar pits
lyme disease and squash
penny whistles and two-bed lofts
caramel phagocytes and silkworm thought
turmeric-colored sweater vests and ambient chalk
the magnetic hills and first-look tomtom pranks
old-school broken necks and winter’s breathy chuckle
the fifteen percent of people who think in french
when they make fuck with their partners
in south-southeastern ontario
six cents a word
six cents a word
six cents a word
a curt delinquent glide
eyelids slide from side to side
hang; over builder’s yards
suburban sprawl, no sound
for a mouse is a mouse, after all
burst!
and swing
from silken thread
at once,
low-cost and locust
at twice,
not found or lost
a third,
dutifully read
not placed
on a wrist
but saved
surreptitiously
for the hangman’s head
i hope you don’t walk over
everyone like this
not everybody’s concrete
or heavy sand
there are some whose feet are made of clay
inscribed with feathers
they fly unsure
too close to the ground
listing, to and fro
without sound
and you know who they are
i hope you don’t walk over
everybody like this
in your dollar store sneakers
and capitalist genes
evolved, like no other
to symbolise fear
and the shock of the nude
a fornication of ideals
and the stillborn bloodshot hump
of a blistered nation
given up and over
in it’s salad years
i hope you don’t walk over
everyone like this
make of this what you will
the template of whore
you know tearing off
thin strips of ripped skin
is not massage anymore
not in anyone’s book
but it’s a catwalk snap
trapped nerves and singularities
winking at paparazzi and working it
back to me every time
with your size fives
walk/don’t walk – green light/red light/wait
online, wasting time, blind
drunk footfall on my spine
I hope you don’t walk over
everyone like this
porn stars and pilots
malevolent land gulls and girls
who smell like parma violets
dead mouse
that roadhouse feel
behind bars or planchas
disproportionately gummy
inky tarantulas
freshly pressed blondes
sharp nose and sourdough
an unforgivable scene
deep ellum grove
it sounds like a blue note
tender control
fleet geeks and herberts
little jack’s corner
coca cola and sherbet
floor her and fawn her
