Stupid Coffee Once a minstrel, I, like Cleopatra’s lover, Aspired for you At the coffee club on Sunday night; But you— Invisible as the air, Alternating merciless and cruel At minus 26 degrees Above the Alaskan tundra— Neither considered me nor arrived. Now I am left with old tea and oranges, Watching love stories…
Guy, Sidewalk, Mall
No. 1.
No. 1. I fantasize Like a troubadour. I would atop Your stomach. You, among A thousand Shee-shee boots.
Ken Love Barbie
Ken Love Barbie I would love you crazy like Barbie, baby, My God-damned name would be Ken I would give you chocolates 12 times maybe We would kiss like mad teens when We would succumb to Venus at the park Pulled by the oceans’ tide Alone in daddy’s car in the dark…
When at the Mall
Customer at Target
Man in Blue
The Milkshake Question
The Milkshake Question I haven’t had a lover In 12 years—I promise you. Pacing myself, I suppose. Perhaps this is Pythagoras of Samos proof That all Greek love gods are cruel, Making me vomit-puke in spittoons Which you used to see in old western movies Starring Carey Grant, and Greta Garbo. Comely women in…
Float, Flowers.
Float, Flowers. She prodded, Yet softly confused. I said happily: “I wish to embrace contemporarily on you, Like complicated, overwhelmed lovers.” All blue flowers Will float until stardust.
Car Exit
Like Bridgette
Like Bridgette Juliet is gone for the week, So I am left with a poem, mourning— Two girls collecting their bagels, With curly hair and a pony tail. Yet I can’t see them, For I need glasses. Love is a dead word, I’ve said it before, So all I have to offer is my left…
The Milkshake Would Not Be Dead
The Milkshake Would Not Be Dead I would sail, Juliet— Like Ishmael, I suppose— A star-lit Atlantic Ocean To sip at a cherry milkshake Across a formica table from you. (I guess this means the dead word love.) Bob and Edith’s, The diner where I used to order Omelets and white toast And margarine…
Guy With Two Cars jan 19
3 Umbrellas jan 19
Traffic Lights jan 19
Once Your Coffee
Once Your Coffee I cannot wait Another merciless week in January. The gods have conspired, And I am now a demented peacock. I went last night to your balcony, Lit dimly by a kind moon In a still sky meant for lovers, And waited. I poured what used to be your coffee Into a…