PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I. Fucking



Truth be told, I didn't plan to leave the

room but I spilt thru the door like a black

bookcase and dropped in - tellect into the

sodium night. We met in the basement bar

when I spilt her drink, that was good enough

for her; we shared cock - tails in a black

taxicab, she tasted disguisting and I pushed

yellow fingers down in and hushed her protests

with a nicotine tongue. The fat taxi man grimaced

and we were all ugly. Her room stank and she

kept the light on which I hated. We fell over,

my instinct waxed and waned and I listened to

her alcoholic groans of despair and thought,

'A billion beautiful words could not save us,

an army of Beethovens could not drive us into

God's romance, the darkness is made of plastic

and we are made of darkness. She is uglier than

I am', and almost cried that we could be so

unremarkable. One of said 'never mind' (her I

guess) and laid back into a cigarette. I

leaned forward and stared between my legs and

caught a glimpse of her torn white briefs, a

stark glim-mer of repoductive crimson gave me

a satanic smile. I am not embarassed; I have

been thirty - six hours awake and almost drank

enough this time. She says 'I only picked you

up 'cause I was bored', I never looked her in

the eye, I say 'most likely  you'll die'. We

do not exchange names.



II. Vision



Six months on the front

the sun had risen.

He hitched a ride

on the cattle car home

satisfied, shimmering,

weary and euphoric

battle wounds outstripped

by the distance from her.

They spent the day

and pledged mutual eternity

relations wept

with the glittering strings

and he wept only

for the barrier of the Sun,

holding him back

from the twilight of her ecstacy.



They were gifted their solitude,

she softly took his hand.

Her tiny feet swept

the imaginary air;

gentle footsteps toward

the blissful bridal chamber,

her eyes glittered bashful,

smiling, sweet, virginial

gifting him a moment;

eyes he will not forget

and the curtains of the world

closed gently around them;

the euphoric discoveries

imprinting his destinies

hidden eternal

in some forgotten glory.



III. Statements



I leave her apartment, alone in the midnight

I experience the smile given only to us; the delirious happy

of the lonely poets who tread their paths

outside of mankind.



I throw my shoes in the canal because

real men don't wear Converse.



An old friend rang me yesterday.

I despise telephone conversations.

He just finished his Masters.

He got offered a good job,

a successful company; he took it.

He hopes to stay there.

He's with a girl. He kind of likes her.

He says its serious.

I listen to his Pension Plan

I say, 'that sounds great'.



The only thing a girl can do for me now is sing.

Maybe buy me a drink.



My shoes escape.

'Where will you be in one - hundred

years time?' I ask them.

They have better things to do than reply.



I stopped using filters.

I walk home

barefoot.