Fuck Crutches

 [Poetry], Hell, Darling  Comments Off on Fuck Crutches
Aug 252011
 
Dinner meats
and beer after beer revealed
a fostering affection flirting
finny and familiar as goldfish
washed from their bowl on the mantle
by our tidalwave of talk.

Your stories were reckless as guesswork,
a blind detective smelling after footprints,
his nose sodden with cold.
I told my hummingbird heart's
inner aria,
flying backward and forward at once.

Down at Der Wunder Bar, sipping lemonade,
I telephoned my flaming doll to declare
"I'm drunk!"
like Zapatistas at the barricades.  We watched
The Charms punk and skunk frantic as ants, while you
barracudaed through two more SoCo's and lime.

"Hurry up, please, it's time,
Hurry up, please, it's time."

Square dawn's backwash
through the frigid windowpane revealed
our underwear, pink and blue,
entwined like DNA at the foot of the bed,
a pair of mating snakes
tight as wrung laundry.


Three Versions of “The Teenager with the Glittering Hair”

 [Poetry], Rehearsing Repetitions on the Rappahannock  Comments Off on Three Versions of “The Teenager with the Glittering Hair”
Aug 212011
 
He thought at first he was Mark Spitz,
Slickly triumphant in Speedos,
Because the mirror kept its own counsel
Between more amenable poses.

Then he thought he was the Mutant X,
Of a DNA not quite fixed,--
Because his brother used furious crayons
In the TV's square glare.

And last, he thought his death might be 
A captain's statue, heroic, unruined,
Because the sun was shining blandly
All that day.