

I took my girlfriend to your last poetry reading,
she said.Yes, yes? I asked.
She's young and pretty, she said.
And? I asked.She hated your 
guts.

Then she stretched out on the couch
and pulled off her boots.
I don't have very good legs,
she said.

All right, I thought, I don't have very good
poetry; she doesn't have very good
legs.

Scramble two.



Long walks at night-
-that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.












shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance

amazing how death wins hands down
amazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of life

amazing how laughter has been drowned out
amazing how viciousness is such a constant

I must soon declare my own war on their war
I must hold to my last piece of ground
I must protect the small space I have made that has allowed me life

my life not their death
my death not their death...