Monday, May 13, 2019

Nostalgia Haiku

Pee Wee’s Playhouse song

Her smell returns and her laugh

We’d watched since show one

Friday, January 25, 2019

Xanax Poem

When you don’t yet know you want it,
It’s easy to get,
like the affection
Of some lover a little mean
And a little too good for you
At the beginning,
When they’re still amused trying
To convince you
That they won’t get bored.

Then, when you want it,
The doctor becomes
Like a Caucasian god,
With that long, white beard
That he strokes
In measured and masculine thought.

Will I give it to you?
No, I don’t think I will.

So years pass,
And you are such a good woman.
You’re wonderfully sober now
During those annual nights of
Trick-or-treating that used
To utterly overwhelm you
With their flamboyant poignancy,
But you’re also
Of the shit and piss that
Seep into your
And even into your daydreams.

So years pass,
And you no longer want it
But need it.
Your hair is caked with mud,
Your knees are bloodied,
You’re missing an eye and
Most of your teeth
And you’ve grown a mustache.
Your hands shake so that
None of the cream makes it
Into the coffee,
Just dribbles down
The sides of the
Mug like milky tears.

Still, you try to clean up,
To prove that you’re normal;
You find yourself back in
The same office,
Committed to moderation
And desperate for steady hands again.

Will I give it to you?
No, I don’t think I will.

The office air is freezing cold
And your still-lovely nipples
Are hard as pebbles
But your thighs,
Your tummy,
Are pliable, warm,
And it’s warmth that
Will ultimately save you.