PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i'm ready to shed a tear

but i'm not much of a cry baby



i always wanted a breakfast nook

because i thought it was something

natasha would say to boris



it seems like this is the kind of time that

you just dissipate and three years later say



hey, you know



one day in my life i was a role model

one 32nd scale



now i have a little table from a restaurant

sitting next to the window that

hello kitty looks out and you look in



in digital humor



i so don't know who i am



i'm rocky the flying squirrel

i'm boris the spider

crawling up your water spot



o

lullaby, lullaby



every once in a while i want

to write like william merricle

everyone once in a while i think of

making love like a lizard in the desert

slithering my tongue, licking off the dew



look rocky, nothing up my sleeve



the sun peeps in, in the morning and

separates through a crystal

into lavender colors, past the pathos



despite myself, i like my little house

my little computer room that my poems

come at you from

refracting like a prism

into your private orchid



i like listening to certain cds

over and over and over



there once was a time when

i wasn't writing you poems

once there was a time when

a million people knew my sappiness

and in toledo i was so much the poet



garlic and pepper filtered in the duplex on lodge street

sometimes there would be a beer and romance and

sometimes there was just me sitting behind a kaypro ii



i was so sexually confident



i wasn't the poet i thought i was

but i was confident



i'm another line into this poem, for you

i'm listening to a cd over and over and over

i want to make love like nobodies business

in the gossip aisle of the price chopper



but i'll settle for an innocent kiss

that is delivered by the post office



moo*la rouge



o, look at the ice cream cows



it is raining, maybe snowing later tonight

i guess i will see you on monday

it is so nice to know that monday will come

you are the adrenaline onion, spicing up my life



i am in love with this moment, though i can't explain why

i am spinning out another poem for you that certainly

doesn't explain why



i am enjoying soup at the beer drop inn



i send you messages in all the media

that crinkles the edges of your nose and

dance on the number lines of your laughter



tapping your tongue against the roof of your mouth

in a tango beat



i am shakespeare without a cause



o what a tango web we beat across

your sultry dance floor



the mailing list would be impressed

if there was still a mailing list



it's hard to believe i am not so confident



i can dangle a pretty phrase in front of you



most would hardly notice the threads

to your hello kitty puppet



come along with my ramble through

saturday night, the soup is recooking

because i forgot to put the garlic in pot



i am carving the edges your adrenaline onion

i am a few minutes away from the nightly busy signal



o natashia where art thou



have we gone too far

could we slip away to hotel capulet



o what a bit of poetry we have together



could i have a pink slip

or a trashy rhythm negligee



o what a wicked web of gossamer delight



let me slip on something more comfortable

i think i will try on your laughter

hey sport, how do i look



hey, just my size



i like when your brother tells me

he has no idea where you are

and when your mother talks

for 20 minutes before telling me

you are not there



i'm stuck in the eroticism of the 60s

spicing up the soup of the conversation

we just enjoyed, i can acknowledge that



natasha...natasha

what a lovely accent you have



once i wrote other poems

it was practice for now



everything is practise for now