A few more?

Drive-Thru Window Blues

I only wrote this poem
so that you would exist
on paper as the bitch
you were today.


Documentarist

I want to record
your life. I want
to watch you grow.
Do me a favor, and
tell me exactly where
I should begin.
It’s nothing to do with age,
or how well you’ve done
in school. I don’t care if you’re
headed for greatness, or cursed
to wallow in filth. I only need
one story from you. It could
be as long as it needs to be.
So long as I reach climax.
If it means getting close
to you, learning to
wind you up,
watching when you tick, and
predicting when you'll tock,
then maybe the
story will simply begin when
I turn to say hello.



Can you draw me a dream?

Walking through the
mouth of a clown
to see the person I
used to be.
Following companions,
avoiding foes and drawing
for rivals
dreams of grandeur.
Don’t tell them that this
is the past. Don’t ruin
the magic of what’s
to come. Merge your
backyard with a lover’s front
porch and thin the walls
so everyone can see.
Your pottery is too loose.
It fades its color, falls out of shape
and no one is left intrigued.





An audience of two

Let’s be the couple across the hall.
We can try on their favorite scarf,
burn a steak on their grill and have
friends over like Thursdays
were special.
It would be fun to see
you smile while cleaning
that house of its dirt. Do
You think I should
double the laces on
his knotted leather shoes?
Come on,
Honey.
Let’s pretend we’re
somebody else. When
the fighting starts again
we can close the curtains, and
say it was all for show.



Untitled

Let me be your metaphor
when you talk of making love.
Fill your cavity, diddle in finger
pies. Write a song about me,
make Valhalla come.
Grant me the joy of having
you when it’s anything
but pure lust.



Shopping in Target

Brushed shoulders in the aisle.
Won’t waste time on
better words. To say the
least of passing you,
I’m thankful this path is
not yours. If we could’ve passed
any earlier, I wonder if your
shoulders would be as stiff.
Too late to change our minds
this time. Hope we never
pass again.



Is this the evening?

Wasted another day
today. Regretted it
around five. Thought I
might could change again.
Figured I may be wrong.



Can you draw me another dream?

When I traveled through
the sewers, I stopped
to watch the mold. It
spread and fed the life
it could, and used all I
would find. When I made it
to the end and back, I
thought of an old man’s choice.
He used the games and toys I had.
He giggled for those he lost.
Then he spoke, “Get out of here.”
So I rode his wheelchair home.