stage six

i sat in the walmart parking lot
crying for all the things you have
yet to become. angry, sad, taken
for a fool again. at least i didn't
call you this time. it wasn't you
i was angry at. i told her tonite
to please not play
the go between. i really want to see
what friendship means to you i want
to see all your idealism
ground under the heel of desire
the bondage of want
the slavery of the next girl's pussy.
the movement from one heartbreak
to the next. sure, i'll steal it from you, why not
everything you wanted you took including
the end point. veered off like atomic billiards
you pushed into the tip of the stick
and ricochetted back to me, a broadside
i least expected and zero recovery time.
i thought about trying to begin
trouble with yr new fuck but nah, why bother
it's not her fault you're an asshole to me.
every word that comes from your mouth
directed at getting your revenge fuck. how
am i supposed to believe anyone's love now
after you, after dave, how can we even be speaking
of the same color? i don't want your cold
friendship, his empty embraces, the lies you believe
when you make them. what does it mean, this word
that's become an eptithet for the guileful romantic?
begins in L, ends in pain. remember this

as you go into the sexual arena: the cock is your master
but the pussy is the master of the cock and the pussy's master
is the cycle of the moon. it all begins to twist in upon
itself, a mobius emulating love. there, i said it
cat from the box and not only did the gun go off
but it never got to dodge the bullet. oh my gawd.


why alwas speak in megaphors why not just plain
language. i'll give it a hint. life's too simple
for reality in vocabulary. gotta spice it up
to, as jack says, "beocme"









(*&







had more but i'm getting very sleepy. that thing is
in the house again and i'm doing a narratiors
voice over in head, six yrs old and sleep.
sleep, my li'l epicurial moth.
at least you hav wings.