for forty years
duck soup; don’t talk to me
i won’t talk to you
relationships
(he)matoma
why would you love me?
all i ever do is bruise?
feckless abandon
folk|us
swingers, flingers please
loyalty, veracity
“i” fidelity
#3
only know three girls
one is rich, two is a tease
but three’s my main squeeze
us/her
only the first dance
a callow lie on her lips
love thrives as a weed
erotiku
fifty shades dry run
up shit creek with a paddle
emergency room
g/rave
i’ve been known to dance
once, in ‘ninety eight and once,
on top of your grave
see/esther
the scales of a fish
sleep next to one another
breathe underwater
s/word
at the night’s end
when friends
force you to recall
a person you were before
you stumble and fall
on a tastefully forged
double-edged sword
an undesired reunion occurs
where memories blur and
you calibrate reality
a few dignities are saved but
from collar to point
the hurt you display?
the retreat
of the blade
it’s a mortal regression
down misery lane
pierced and beset
by physical pain and
how cunning and awkward
so sincere and benign are
the peacekeeping forces
of laughter and wine
in the eleventh hour
you’ll assume the position
of imprisoned volition
rediscovering friends
and you’ll say to your wife
how nice, how nice
how nice we’ve become
turning your back
on immutable fact that
warrior and weapon are one
La Rebbekah
Rebbekah’s Italy
like Venice streets
i know she’s petrified beneath
because i watch her sink a little every day
and like the northern lakes
all unfathomable infinity
and amorphous traits
she waits, while the promises she makes
stagnate to seal
her liquid fate
and when she goes up in smoke
the amalfi ghost
and she can’t find the spark
or the spell that was cast
she goes back to sinking and drinking
and laughs, cursing the ashes of her
Pompeii heart
and like Italy, she survives
a caged bird
flying only at night
her curves undeterred
she’s a venus in streetlight
and thrift shop furs.
she’s a paradox
in a vintage frock and hi tops
and my world would mean nothing
without her
blackfacegeneral 