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Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Perks of Companionship
My girlfriends tell me monogamy
is the true life to lead
but I’ve seen the never made
and sweat stained bed
sheets of my single friends who
live their lives like a
fire bombing: frantic, consuming,
irresponsible and
injurious to societal well-being.
While the wind blows
their destruction to other cities, I
look at them admiringly
and romanticize the want of a stranger
bed. One that does
not bend beneath a nine to five
husband (like mine)
whose love has grown soft in the
wake of two children: a
daughter and son. At night when
the trees brush about
and stab at the window sills,
I often wish I were
born an Aries to declare war on
mankind. Imagine,
vaginal corridors that sweep men,
like dust, under
the frills of thick shag rugs.
Instead of a welcome
mat, kempt and nubile, mine will
be thick and rapt in tangles
that warn of terror. Uncertain threads
would mimic the bob and
weave of a single soldier haplessly
navigating the expanse
of an estranged mine field but then,
then the men would
never let me sleep and I wouldn’t be
getting emotionally
paid for those kind of lays. I suppose
they’re right, my
girlfriends. I’m happy to be married
to an over-worked
man whose deep, snore-heavy sleep
means never having
to fake an orgasm
is the true life to lead
but I’ve seen the never made
and sweat stained bed
sheets of my single friends who
live their lives like a
fire bombing: frantic, consuming,
irresponsible and
injurious to societal well-being.
While the wind blows
their destruction to other cities, I
look at them admiringly
and romanticize the want of a stranger
bed. One that does
not bend beneath a nine to five
husband (like mine)
whose love has grown soft in the
wake of two children: a
daughter and son. At night when
the trees brush about
and stab at the window sills,
I often wish I were
born an Aries to declare war on
mankind. Imagine,
vaginal corridors that sweep men,
like dust, under
the frills of thick shag rugs.
Instead of a welcome
mat, kempt and nubile, mine will
be thick and rapt in tangles
that warn of terror. Uncertain threads
would mimic the bob and
weave of a single soldier haplessly
navigating the expanse
of an estranged mine field but then,
then the men would
never let me sleep and I wouldn’t be
getting emotionally
paid for those kind of lays. I suppose
they’re right, my
girlfriends. I’m happy to be married
to an over-worked
man whose deep, snore-heavy sleep
means never having
to fake an orgasm
Things We Know both Fantastical and True
While delivering sweat
we’ve considered leaning
more on the left,
less on the right
then the horse
gets only so wet
We’ve thought about the horse.
We’ve thought about it
like this.
A larger friend.
An equality beast.
Home equity loans,
do they apply to beasts?
We know certain things are true
Fact: Cancer devours animals
Fact: Animals have tails
Fact: Tails are not made of bone
Fact: Bones go in both directions
This is what we know,
this is what we’ve thought.
This is how to have it
if having is a construct.
Fantasy, like a new pair of jeans
Or walking in the rain: feels so
good at times, hard to imagine
it isn’t at all a dream.
While delivering fact
we’ve considered leaning
more on the left
less on the right
then the speaker
gets straight to the point.
We’ve thought about the truth.
We’ve thought about it
like this.
A humble friend,
an apt reality.
Forging horse shoes,
does that constitute as truth?
We know certain things bear burdens
Horse: Words tend to matter
Horse: Matter constitutes weight
Horse: Weight produces pressure
Horse: Pressure is just a word
This is what we know,
this is what we’ve thought.
This is how to read it
if reading is a product.
Fantasy, like a new pair of reins
taut in gallop around a lake: feels so
natural sometimes, hard to imagine
they don’t buckle under our weight.
we’ve considered leaning
more on the left,
less on the right
then the horse
gets only so wet
We’ve thought about the horse.
We’ve thought about it
like this.
A larger friend.
An equality beast.
Home equity loans,
do they apply to beasts?
We know certain things are true
Fact: Cancer devours animals
Fact: Animals have tails
Fact: Tails are not made of bone
Fact: Bones go in both directions
This is what we know,
this is what we’ve thought.
This is how to have it
if having is a construct.
Fantasy, like a new pair of jeans
Or walking in the rain: feels so
good at times, hard to imagine
it isn’t at all a dream.
While delivering fact
we’ve considered leaning
more on the left
less on the right
then the speaker
gets straight to the point.
We’ve thought about the truth.
We’ve thought about it
like this.
A humble friend,
an apt reality.
Forging horse shoes,
does that constitute as truth?
We know certain things bear burdens
Horse: Words tend to matter
Horse: Matter constitutes weight
Horse: Weight produces pressure
Horse: Pressure is just a word
This is what we know,
this is what we’ve thought.
This is how to read it
if reading is a product.
Fantasy, like a new pair of reins
taut in gallop around a lake: feels so
natural sometimes, hard to imagine
they don’t buckle under our weight.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
cracked pipes
imprints of Mexican children circumnavigate your curves;
the lady like bootlegger mudflaps covered the cracks
and saw all the pipes heating up till they busted
haiku's not written yet were already learned from an early age
You stepped from this world into a garden and the garden is You.
planted in sawdust and watered by cowboy spit-
at least you got off and out of the pot
Yage screenprints the mind in tide-dyes of ultraviolet
or was it infrared? I can never remember which is denser
or which caused the riot.
a priestess still taking confessions of remorse
Why, B. Did he do it?
broken toilet bowls spell out Y E S like alphabet soup once purged into its crevasses
porcelain dolls with cracked heads never made it that long anyways.
I stepped into the Garden and it was You.
the lady like bootlegger mudflaps covered the cracks
and saw all the pipes heating up till they busted
haiku's not written yet were already learned from an early age
You stepped from this world into a garden and the garden is You.
planted in sawdust and watered by cowboy spit-
at least you got off and out of the pot
Yage screenprints the mind in tide-dyes of ultraviolet
or was it infrared? I can never remember which is denser
or which caused the riot.
a priestess still taking confessions of remorse
Why, B. Did he do it?
broken toilet bowls spell out Y E S like alphabet soup once purged into its crevasses
porcelain dolls with cracked heads never made it that long anyways.
I stepped into the Garden and it was You.
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