Women

If your hips
are as wide as your shoulders and
I can spell out
the span of a single dollar
in pocket change
across the crown of your navel
please
do not hesitate
to apply within
the little space of
the four cornered room of
my heart's ambitions
to love another sex and
stay for a while
on the thread bared throw rug,
Indian style,
with nothing more than
hackneyed star charts and
a little fire
to keep us company.

I Don't Believe We've Met

There were mountains to move.
Mountains to be moved.
Stop signs to be heeded
as lighthearted suggestions
in blank and black moments of red rover
when breaths hung for the catching and
games played on televisions to distract us
from ourselves and the consciousness of
heel toeing through turns
with apexes built upon apexes and
elbows deep in empty glassware.
There were records to be set
and broken on the hill climb
to erasure and, in an effort
to lay down more honesty
than I've been worth, of late,
it's hard to believe
competition would be found
so easily
less than three rounds
into the pursuit of
a podium finish.
I don't believe we've met,
but I do believe
we've known each other
for quite some time, friend.

Be a Man

My index finger is short.
My temper is shorter.
My ring finger is long.
My loyalty is longer.

The Man With the Delicate Hands

Growing up
he was familiar with the tale
of the princess and the pea
and the thirty snow white mattresses
stuffed to bust with the down
of thirty thousand fowl.

The tale of the woman in the tower
whose skin was white as snow
for having side stepped the sun
and her thirteen hundred lances
of burning radiation
and whose hair grew
three braids of pure gold
shining as bright
for lack of humbling competition.

The tale of the forbidden door
and the key,
bloodstained in the right sort of daylight,
and the woman whose eyes
could only see curiosity's simplicity
and the best intent
of the worst man could offer
in long and sideways looks.

Growing up he was
familiar with all of these
and more.
Against a bed of black velvet
to watch her twinkling,
and unsprung,
and every which way
severed,
the sex
was a watch maker's dream.

Smoker 15

I've been writing this letter
in my head for the last 8 weeks
to put everything right
that's gone south between us and
I want to lead in to it
in the space between empty plates and
the check,
but I cannot help
humoring you
and your stupid enthusiasm
because I cannot remember
the last time I caught fireflies
in a dead aired August night and
laughed and laughed
because tomorrow was wide open and
today's end was a hiccup
in the fabric of a summer without and
the fact of something so readily seen
blanketed everything not with an ease
that defied the years
between what was felt and
what was yet to be known.

Super Smash Brothers Melee

Is that a bomb?
He has a bomb!
He doesn't have a bomb.
I have a bomb!
You'll kill us all!
Throw it.
He's not gonna throw it.
I can catch it.
You can't catch bombs, dumb ass.
Stay back.
You'll kill us all!
Are you gonna sit on it all game?
Just throw it already.
He's not gonna throw it!
I can totally catch it!
Throw it up
then throw someone into it.
Fuck this I'm goin' in.
You'll kill us all!
He's not going to throw it.
Dude, I am a surgeon.
I'm gonna drop more shit on you
than cold war Berlin.
You are fucked dude.
He's not gonna throw it!


What the fuck just happened.

SUDDEN DEATH!

Monday

Walking home,
as many things start,
I am downwind.
There are perfumes everywhere.
Taints of air that say
this one just shaved and
look at how shaved and smooth
this one's cheeks are and
can you see this one's comb in gel and
luster on the crown.
Taints of air that say
this one is not a regular shower taker,
but is want to impress in case
cleavage should cross a mind
at a later time and date and
thumbs should peruse past cues and
see the taste of the air
passing over tongue and say
to oneself: do I know you?
This one says there may be a first impression
to be made along a ladder rung.
This one says maybe something wrong
happened in the blind alleys of Friday's night and
reparations are in order,
but the opposing party may not be
keen on flowers
just yet.
I am downwind of Monday and
choking on the taint of air that says
important things are for the ready and
strung in keys untested, but
desperate for an ear and
I am a rabbit in their tail lights,
spooked and unstuck and unscented
in the deep winded grasses of Monday
that hide my itching nose
darting from the safety of sidewalk
to sidewalk and
to the cool of a home.