tfw

as soon as I walked in.
her face - what's wrong?
I'm pregnant and I have to have an abortion.
and the old instincts kicked in -
I HAVE PILLS THAT I HID FROM THE BLUES MUSICIAN BUT THIS IS A WORTHY CAUSE
DO YOU NEED A RIDE
DO YOU NEED MONEY
it's never my baby, either

all on one line

obdurate ennui. on night's wan filigree scales, it doesn't weigh much.

quasi-antepenultimate

shudder, Atropos
the shears are blunt and useless --
someone's cut paper.

haiku & four tanka

a lava flood of
frauds, maladministrations:
archaeology.
we subside in realtime, beh-
happy Friday; bon courage.
12 sept 2014 - Lafcadio Hearn would have recognized these forms.

autumn's second wind
night sirens in October
stop counting sounds, please--
some sleep, some dance, some suffer
and you're wide awake writing.
5 oct

would you had your own
sustenance, abundant streams,
endless verdant fields.
would the world were not so dry,
every axis were equal.
18 nov:  
"nobody ever said life was gonna be fair" 
-karen lambert, 6th grade gym class, 1996 

at least, in abstract
we are satori dancing
all shy, tentative embrace...
then we go supernova
on contact in open air.
25 nov - as it burns

At night, the wind tells
only as much as the stars
cannot spell themselves.
19 oct

an enchanted sentiment

flowers I send my Valentine,
passionate, their colours deep
shout of a lover on my mind...
as long, at least, as memories keep.

appropriately, they last a week
then mummification -- the compost heap.

 2/20/14, edited 6/9/22 -- al baterista, siempre

in an indefensible place

open chest, insert javelin here --
the parade began with a cymbal clash.
the evening wore silk lipstick secrets
and hovered, leering, six inches too near.
now there's one you can trust to talk:
spitting out coffee grinds, cigarette ash,
marking out a bed in makeshift chalk
she'll recline on an earnest error and hiss
the synopsis to morning, dozy with bliss.

you mean cupid wasn't an archer by trade?
as accurate, yes, but less likely to balk.
his arm, if the arrow proves poorly made
aims naked hope at the dullest brow
those sweet, sad eyes perfectly mourning
the projectile as it leaves his hand
the graceful arc tracing the fatal line
of how much you never know at the time
but lord, don't you now!

thank god for the shiftless night,
the gypsy caravan returns to the city.
ambrosia hangovers are flippant and light
like day-old ignorance dispensed in pity.
maybe sell this all as an enthralling perfume
(for those who don't mind bee stings
or appalling twists of outrageous fortune)
but mind a light touch as you measure.
see, care didn't warn me on the pensive road back
drifted off, as usual, in a mistaken pleasure
dizzy on the vapors of giddy regret
and all the cautions that fools forget.

so. brunch in the graveyard, mid-afternoon?
I shall come with the wine, yes, but not in black.
the love I hadn't met, I heard he was dying.
first came the press of a future lack,
and then the relief, the grateful sighing --
I plan to attend the funeral, soon.
for Zack 
coepta 23 feb 2013
desita 19 feb 2014

french lesson

tous nous sommes fils naturels de cette cochonnerie.
(we are all the bastard children of this ---)
speak the matter not so plainly, 
don't spell it as such a simple name.
you see, cochonnerie, so rich in
its connotation and history, is but one
of the more virtuously discerning,
insinuatingly burning means to
convey a sense of reproach and disdain
the word by sound itself in the main
recalling the grunting of hogs in slop
brings the indictment to a full, haughty stop.