from Spring 2005 [Issue No. 6]
Morning comes and we rise so vile
our spleens would burst
if we didn't empty them on traffic.
I go for breakfast and instead of working watch
old sci-fi movies on TV: The First Spaceship On Venus,
where thereís nothing but shadows,
and Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet,
where the dinosaurs live,
and a robot named John calls his masterís name
as he dies.
She goes to work and I donít ask why.
Some part of me is draining out of my ears
while I sleep, either I or she
is a witch; stealing her/my soul to crumble up
in my/her tea.
Thereís a cold wind
that blows across the hairs of my neck
whenever she turns on primetime TV.
Sheís taken to crying
whenever I crack a copy of Coleridge.
Afternoons after Iím done for the day I sneak
into a pinhole and think
of all the women IĎve seen, the cars, the houses
Iíll never afford. People will watch me like a thief
if I go to the store for cake.
If some part of me is worth seeing,
youíll have to dig under the sugar and cheese.
It takes a special concentration
to be allowed to enjoy a meal alone.
Strength is in the forehead.
A man can slit his belly open
with a rusty smile, if it means being right. Anything,
anything Iíll ever owe just to know quiet.
Anything Iíll ever be
to burn every trace of pride off me.
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