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you are You taste like stale cigarettes and coke. Like how heavy and thick it feels on a humid July Night where you can smell the cows out to pasture across the street. Like how sticky your hands get after eating a pop-ice stained pepdo-bismal blue, even though it's pink. In my head like kady-dids when their song comes together after so much chaos, incessant, throbbing, there. You are my summer, my heat, my sun, my black asphault parking lot, starting to turn back into tar. My parched grass, my wasp, my slip-and-slide. My heat lightening, my storm. Those waves of invisible flame that rise up from the road just far enough ahead that you never merge with it, melting, seething, alive. You burn me like July when your hands caress my skin. You are my oasis and my desert. |
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teeth I sit across from you and
when you're working and not looking I caress your tan skin with my teeth ravish you like a good hot fudge sundae. But then I blink from staring too long and you're still sitting there only this time with your clothes on and looking at me like I'm having a seizure or something and I look down at my paper and pretend to work, like nothing happened and the drool running down my chin was just a salvitory accident and my lips were just reciting an old poem. Right... |
tax My ass is starting
to take the shape of the couch (or is it the other way around?) And I stare numbly at the television 4:00 cartoons and I can feel the spit forming behind my teeth, along with the stale taste of a coke (can't beat the real thing) Rumble. It's starting to thunder. Summer, hot. Air conditioning, cool. My brains will be served for re-fried beans at the local American- Mexican restaurant. Tax included. |
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heart disease I imagine your lips
as smooth and delicious as chocolate pudding your passion, scalding hot like coffee your wit, crisp as a rippled potato chip. -your love is like junk food: it clogs the heart |
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ride 'em cowboy You were there. Some silly little hyper active boy to match my own excitement. Who understood the benefits of a little craziness. But what? Something? Then, my eye was not for you, but for some other who seemed to fit the moment's mood. You sat, very close, and even still, nothing... amazing. Knowing then what I know now, would it have been different? Would I have so blatantly offered my seat? Those being true signs that I have no interest... silly girl. I saw you in class... but that time was for some other as well. All these others and where were you? Finally, our moment came. So innocent play, such unintentional intentions. Conversations that last a lifetime. What is all this poetic bullshit, eh? Some attempt to make something simple awfully complicated. An attempt at depth and purpose and spirit. What a laugh. A joke. What would you say, if you were to read it? Shake your head at this pitiful thing's strife for grandeur. Stick to looking cute. That's what you do best. A pretty little picture that can't live up to five words, let alone a thousand. Destined to live her life as an open book, no matter how hard she tried to close it and turn off the lights... lock and key. Rambling. That's it. Shit. Of the bull variety. |
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