Fat Crowds (poem)

Fat Crowds


I sit at the bar, cigarette in hand,
And worlds beyond:
Sultry skies mixed with sea hues of grey and blue
My brain sleeps, yet in that moment
I fuck desire.
Heed the writing on the walls.
As fat crowds fill the streets;
Searching for what?

I hold autumn close, squeezing her ass,
a pitiful tangle of dreams gather;
plastic gadgets for plastic people,
use your plastic card,
Where the inner self meets a soulless void
bickering lips suck champagne.
And fat crowds drain from the streets,
doors slamming.

My hot breath fights against the wind.
I walk the promenade, gliding
And gone.

Fat Crowds (poem)

Crush

Sometimes I wonder if I'll get through it~
this solitude foisted upon me by fate.

I wonder why she doesn't call me?
Must I do everything?
and nothing

Even when everything feels like nothing,
and nothing, everything?

Crush

Already (poem)

I already love her mind.
I already love her words.
I already love the parts of herself she reveals to me in herds
of raw, broken, struggling, yet
completely filled vessels of hope and
understanding. I'm not demanding
totally sodden with angst,
yet pure, unfettered, passionate, real.
A bargain on hearts, today, mine's a steal.

I don't know where this thing will go
knowing, yet knowing, I cannot know
wishing and hoping, that floating hope
I'm holding the wrong end of the rope
relating the angst of the things we do
feeling connection, connection anew
reaching for content, my spirit breaks through
I could fall for someone a lot like you.

Already (poem)

Unsocked (poem)

T'was the night before day
folding laundry with care
I found bunches of socks
But no matching pair.

These stockings were hung in a bag on the door
a clever device where my socks could be stored.
But somewhere between being dirty & clean
the socks seperated and haven't been seen
when not long ago I had a full set
now I have stragglers and I'm so upset

I've searched behind the washer and dryer
I've searched down low then higher and higher
yet no matter where I look for these socks
I won't get to find them 'til one of them talks.

Then there's the mystery of changes in hue
one black one, one charcoal, one brown and one blue
They seem to match, except for the color
one keeps its brightness and another gets duller

When unloading them one always looks better
In spite of washing them all together.
Should I buy a new pack to solve all my troubles,
throw out the singles? or keep them for doubles?

How do I fathom the escaping attire?
where do socks go 'tween the washer & dryer?
And why only one of each pair disappears?
why don't they vanish along with their peers?

I suspect it's a plot by the sock industry-
If you keep losing one You'll buy new ones, you see.
I'm completely dumbfounded and left with no clue
as Unsocked mysteries Often will do

But They do go on feet (no riddle to unravel)
I suppose socks were just meant to travel.

Unsocked (poem)

Call of the Biled (poem)

I ignored the call

But alas, my bladder

Does not believe

In mind over matter.

Call of the Biled (poem)

The Heart Needs a Secret (poem)

there are still things I’ve never written

and never will

because the heart needs a secret.

And anyway—

Some poems won’t fit onto a page...

No matter how short they are.

The Heart Needs a Secret (poem)