inside the bone motel

----------------------------------------------
patter of ash tickles the sky.
reactionary kicks to burning psyche.
when i said he was you i meant that
in the most flattering way. how life once

tried so hard to live. i stepped on your
toe with my stilletto jeans, pointed and bearing
all that weight. the sometimes possible
barely held in check on a spot the mass of a dime.

the river runs the same course it did yesterday.
the red light's timed the same, regardless of hour.
come sit with me on a minute's curb, let's
discuss the death of romance, a jaded parade of dateless

monotonies occurring. no thanks, but thanks
for asking. it's a midsummer nights dream of the most
complicated fractal. wish you were here. but
seventeen hours and forty minutes into the play

you suddenly need.
food. exposure to not
the probable but the actual
occurring, printable cell.

wake up sleepy head.
there's money to be sold.


















*



when ever i get out in public i worry
the crowd with my antix. the subtle regard
transformed to belly dance on a string's pluck.

they say it's the feyness of minature confidence.
defensively neitzschean, definitively herpsichorean.
but i think the music rawks. you're sposed to move
aren't you? not stand there with your arms folded

pretending to yourself that you could do better
but you're in the audience and that guy
up there, he stole your life?
i was married to one of those. wannabe s that never tried.
the power of resentment. it stops the good vibe
dead in it's propagation. rock n roll is a young man's.



last nite i went on a date. with a mortgage broker.
i had to ask him to please not
wear the mirrored glasses, it was too disconcerting
to speak to my reflection

we stood on the fourth floor of the parking garage
where anyone with a telescopic camera could have taken
our picture as we lit a pipe filled with weed from his brother's
place. somewhere out there in america.

and we talked about youth and i said
they're sick of us
they're sick of it he said yeah
i'm sick of us. i can feel it
he bent his head, pointed
at the pinion of his pivoting neck
and i thought of axes.

last week he had a formal to attend. he'd ordered a silk
scarf from italy. was assured it would be shipped on time.
it arrived the day after. mutherfucker! he swore to me
over the phone. passionate. upset.

later a young woman would approach him ask him
do you have thoughts? what do you think about all day?
and he has no answer. and he says his job. and she sends
him on his way, telling me 'oh pleeze. you can do better'.

but earlier we'd been dancing. he smiled several times.
he got an erection. i rebuffed his advances. there was nothing
left to do. she's too vulgar. she doesn't dye her hair. his nails
were better than mine, his shoes i don't remember

but he had a good time. and he will
remember it when he's in his fine bed
with an ice princess and a diamond
scoring patterns into the night
that lives inside him.
















&
















when i get needy i promise
to call you promiseless
and you think this means things
can continue tho everything changes
this is a false assumption.

i am halfway between belief and bereavement.
your ghost walks my hallways again
and we embrace as if yesterday never occurred.

i always hope it will be the last time
and pray for a new delusion. one i can
get lost in this time without all these rattling
palms dancing beside my place of rest.