To the Pretty Lady on the 19

There is more to me
Than you can see.
Why won’t you smile my way?
Is it my wiry, wispy beard
That makes your eyes slit
Behind the shades?
Or can you not imagine my tar skin
Wrapped around your milky way?
Could you get past the gimpy limp,
My stammering lisp,
And the haggard hole
In my flannel shirt?
If you would just give me the day
I could manage without my
Duct-taped cane.
You could fit yourself
In the crook of my scarred arm,
And I could hold you up.

clear view

the late may
breeze
flows
through the
sheer pur-
ple curtains,
a silky Caber-
net waterfall.
smelling of
freshly bag-
ed crab car-
casses, it
sways the
old lady’s sheets
as the gnats
lay eggs on
the corners.
out of no-
where, on the
sill, a star-
ling stares me
in the eye,
and i
do not
move.
only
breath
escapes
me.
the oak's leaves
are a song
that only we
can under-
stand.

how fitting

every-thing is nothing:just like
[you]actually
the funniness of it all
is that your carefully-
seamed years
soon might so
shred/oh no
[look]what seemed to
happen/
trim an edge;smooth a corner
= tem x infinity

I Just Need a Lil'

Every now
& then
I just need
a lil’ bill $$
a lil’ beer $$
a lil’ food $$
and every now
& then
I just need
a lil’.

Reconstruction

A stone among boulders,
I jut and gleam between punts.
Flung hastily, I am chipped;
My rough, spackled edges
Ingrained with her slag,
Surfacing in his whiskey river.
More silvery than the others,
I drown in the murkiness
Of the puddle that envelops me.
Bludgeoning myself with words,
Aimlessly searching for direction,
I surrender to shoddy structure;
Bequeathing my pain to the past.

A stone among boulders,
I am an instrument, a tool;
I smash and erect new beginnings.