POEM 056/100

November 2, 2013

How’s it going?

Not bad for a Wednesday?

It’s getting to be the end of the afternoon

Time to start thinking about dinner

What to get for take-out

Have to talk to the wife

What to do

Go to bed early

and come back here tomorrow

This is the life.

He says to me, and
washes his hands at the sink, and
watches me in the mirror,
as I piss against the white porcelain.


POEM 055/100

July 17, 2013

Sun-toasted ladies on the bus
their Spanish words spill like a bag of marbles
clatter towards me down the aisle


POEM 054/100

June 19, 2013

Banker blue button-down shirt

dark continents of sweat mapped out on his back

and the stench of fried onions drips in the air

 

 


POEM 053/100

May 30, 2013

The rotating rubber handrail

of the subway station escalator

squeals

like the bare steel brakes of an incoming train

or a pig having a really bad day


POEM 052/100

May 29, 2013

A reoccurring theme

in a lot of my dreams

is being part of a team

tasked with useless, doomed projects

 

Such as the labyrinth of mirror encrusted drain-pipes

we installed and tore out, ad nauseum, all night long

— a slow submersion into the depths of a glided futility

 

What I need to know is:

Are these dreams about my job

or my art?


POEM 051/100

May 27, 2013

In the dream that shocked me awake

Betty White gave me a blow job

A really good blow job

And insisted I call her “Estelle”


POEM 050/100

May 15, 2013

The father and daughter beside me on the train

speak in sign language

at full volume

 

Their karate chop hands

and over expressive mime mouths

make me anxious

 

I want to ask them

politely, of course,

with sensitivity, no doubt,

to please

 

Keep it the fuck down

 

People

are trying to read

 

 

 


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