Gorgeous

She’s always been a princess-

Daddy’s girl to diva.

Now she’s just lonely.

She’s gorgeous

and knows it.

Gorgeous?

Sad.

* * *

Compulsion

He lives downtown in squalor,

sharing a space with mice.

Through tequila haze

he finds his way,

but can’t find

his own

soul.

* * *

First night

Mere hours after their promise

he fumbles with her dress.

He finds instead

the inside

of her

heart.

* * *

First cry

It had been twenty-two hours

and still nothing to show

but pain, sweat and…pain.

Four hours later,

forever,

their lives

changed.

* * *

Redundant

He’d worked there for fifteen years

and never a sick day.

Sitting in his car,

this was a day

he’d rather

forget.

Soon.

Gangsta

The parking lot skateboard kings

scatter like scared pigeons

when the cops return

to apprehend

the loud and

fickle

horde.

* * *

Queen of Hearts

She’s dressed far too well for here,

this queen of hearts mall-rat.

She’s most visible

by the food court.

She’s banking

on that

fact.

* * *

Husband Shoppers

Husbands, out grocery shopping,

make piss poor companions.

If you want to have

a better time,

just go there

with your

friends.

* * *

15 Items Only

It’s okay, they’ll understand.

I’ve got twenty-two things,

but it’s all small stuff.

Please, be patient,

I’m with my

squirrely

kids.

* * *

Customer Service

Shit, this place is humungous!

Is there a chance I’ll find

the four small items

I came to buy,

let alone

some help

here?

Photo from www.phlmetropolis.com

View from the Security Window

Upstairs, two teenagers gawk:

“Hey dude, come look at this.

Check the rack on her.”

They’re on their break,

and bored of

doing

work.

* * *

Compensating

I think he’s compensating

with that bad-ass truck.

But on the front seat?

His little friend,

a tiny

poodle

dog.

* * *

4-Way Stop

4-way stops have politics:

Speed up to get there first.

Get there together?

Then wave him on,

(unless you’re

in a

rush.)

* * *

Fast Food

Food sociology says:

Poor people eat poorly.

Rich people eat well.

Thin people eat.

Fat people

sometimes

starve.

* * *

Cell Phone Rape

Loud, self-important talkers:

do us all a favor –

toss your fucking phones

in the toilet.

We don’t need

to hear

you.

Photo from www.fdbusiness.com

The car door slams and with it…silence –

the deafening stillness of conversation’s end.

Tied as two instead of one from two.

It is the beginning of that stalemate

of back to back in unrumpled sheets.

She undresses in the bathroom.

Grunts, where words used to be.

Words, where dialogue used to be.

Stares where seeing used to be.

The carpets vacuumed a little too quickly,

the dishes stacked a little too loudly,

the radio blaring a little too obviously.

Four days later the icy surface cracks.

In the kitchen, his back against the wall,

with devilish grin, he loudly farts.

They’re laughing still.

They made love tonight.

Twice.

Beside the chair is a table too small for books,

books too small to read long enough,

in light too bright to hide the inconsistencies;

words too many to possibly live well.

Beside my memory is a tabloid soul

too flirtatious for dining room company,

pureed too finely to enjoy the chunks of life

strewn about the perimeters.

Beside the stumps in the yard

sleep the bones of last year’s plans,

the prickly needles fallen from the curious trees,

the crunch of old promises under feet, newly shorn.

Beside the evening, falling from the grace of day

lie mischievous hints of tomorrow, come too soon

but late enough to collect itself anew

in the hands of another.

All was time.

There it goes, once it had come.

It went past as it was going.

Now, I see it like I did then.

But then, it had not yet come.

So now, I wait.

Today, I dreamed of pulling leaves from evergreen trees;

of plowing a field of whale skin soup;

of interrupting the mute guy standing, alone, outside the Mission;

of dancing naked in front of the mirror in my Sunday best;

of swallowing whole the corner of my toast;

of shouting quietly up the stairs to my wife in the basement;

of turning around so I can keep going straight ahead;

of loving when my hating heart says otherwise;

of singing when my silent voice denies these notes;

of releasing myself to become heaven’s captive.

The world makes sense through other eyes.

few of words greater of speech

I bask in the s p a c e s between words

and cheat the answers in pursuit

of the better question

while others scurry beneath their rhyme

pushing them up hills around corners and through doors

I must disavow these letters

these curled up gems and dotted spirits

crossed meanings and severed vowels

but before I can sit down on the edge

of the new I must relinquish

the periods at sentence end.

and replace them with something else,