The Illustrated Lady

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By the way

I like your tattoos.

The one on your tummy

That twists and twines

 

All around your back…

The quiet bird nestled on your breast.

Who can fault his silence?

A fool betrays his sweet spot…

 

I had wanted to write a poem

About transparent apples

At your behest

But that’s the funny thing

 

About you:

Wherever I start

I end up

Somewhere better.

Who Put the Feather Up Your Ass, Mr. Giggles?

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We had just consecrated

The offspring of starlets,

The dew still limpid

As blood diamonds on Astroturf

 

When the difference makers

Made one false move;

Burying their dead

In plain sight.

 

Then the one who talked

Flopped his tongue out;

It drooped flaccid as a Colombian necktie

Down the front of his white shirt.

 

He’d eat a pile of dogshit

For a fresh Franklin

One delegate nudged another in the ribs.

He’s got my vote.

Canon Brawl

Canon Brawl

 

“I am somebody” – James Brown

 

Who was it said

Molting into vulgarity

Is the best reproach

Beyond all reasonable doubt?

 

Me. Just know.

The effervescence

Of our permutations

Is beyond grammar,

 

Punctuation,

Catchphrases

And almost-but-not quite

Historiography.

 

Possession is some fraction of law,

Synthesis requires friction,

Puddles at our feet reflect heaven’s underbelly.

I am fiction, in this we are the same.

Effluvia Blues

Me? I’m the king of good ideas

For other people.

For myself?

Not so much.

 

Like I wondered

What would it be like,

What could it be like

To develop my own twitch?

 

And guess what?

My face froze that way.

So never mind my opposition

Because deep down I hate myself

 

And the clown I’ve become

With my static expression

And rictus of fear.

Polish your own mirror.