Fake Blonde News
The news that broke
T'was unintentional,
Surpassed the local
For shores international.
Anchor girl
With household name;
An inveterate,
Unabashed,
Eyebrow tweezer;
A look-a-like
Of the promo girl
For American-Style
Fridge and freezer;
Copper-toned,
And brazillian waxed,
Teleprompter script relaxed;
A monotoned monologue;
Intonating similarly
To the words delivered weekly
On Saturday at synagogues;
Light pink pouty porno mouth;
Loudmouth megaphone
With megawatt grin;
Timed her nodding sympathetically;
Grieving real time pretend,
In girl-next-door Sunday suit;
Daughter to a farmhouse mother
Serving homemade oxtail soup.
They fingered me
As one of those
Numbered with the rest of them;
Six O'clock,
And on the dot;
Tuned in to that one news station;
The only way to satisfy
My undisguised infatuation.
I put away
Both learning times tables;
And vinyl spinning
On my turntables,
For a shiver down my spine,
By news I got,
That girl of mine.
Find In The Burial
Bags and chunks
Were left in the dungeons of San Leo,
Home of the ghosts
Of twenty seven monks.
It took a vulgar yank
To pull from the hypnotic stare
And achieve
The needed conciliatory clasp,
Reaching
Sober fact's
Farthest reaching concerns,
Breaking universal disagreement
With Michelangelo's unfriendly city.
Yes,
Pity forced me
To calculate
The outrage of 21st century's
Darkest cloud,
Blowing it past memory's dunes,
Past ancient fragrance,
Underneath
The Chaldean's cold moon.
A stone there
Hid a ruby ring
Capable of capturing the confidence
Of those
That met its gaze;
To settle the storms,
Those encroachers
With thirst to mettle,
Of their remaining days.
First Night's Performance
A solemn itinerary was read
With emphasis where needed
By the Ministry of Defiance
To the attentive ears
Of all in alliance.
The ballerina minions
Lining the concertina stage
Flung melodies by the toes like
the flapping magic handkerchief
of Peter's Pan's inside pocket.
Sky born and fleeting,
But all caught craftily
By the Wanderer's eye,
The merchants opened wide
The veritable chest
Full of hope's heaving breasts,
The locks giving way in the fingers
Looser than a rail man's cough
During the miserable fall months.
The course was obeyed,
As the family's horse would do
Coaxed with a handful of sugar cubes.
Any missteps managing their creep in
were outshined and outweighed by
Professional slight of hand
And sequined foot.
We kissed the spirit
As the curtain dropped
To signal the close
Of that night's cheers
And clapping hands.
First Taste Of Freedom
It couldn't be too soon
That opportunity's sweet knock
Was heard
By my plying ear.
Fleeing the scoundrel's home
Was as glorious as found
In the romps
Of carefree gazelles.
My heels
Challenged their hoof's height,
As I made haste
Through the neighborhood
That night.
When my destination
Came in sight,
I looked back once,
As a respectful gesture
To a past
With just a smattering of blessing.
A decision,
Then,
Was determined
To put an end to past's thinking
The moment my head returned forward
To my friend,
My future's fair face.
At last I sat,
Squaring off
With my thief of innocence,
My current love interest,
The one who spelled trouble
With a few well-played facial maneuvers.
Warm pints,
Coupled with ordinary sex,
Confirmed my first step
Into my new life
Of intoxicating teenage independence:
A game I mean to win.
