Table of Contents


The Art of Getting Laid

Less divine destiny, 

More predator's ambush,

We found each other

By cab-shared ride. 

First lecture made record speed

Coming as a hesitating,

Tempered verbal slap

For the foolish overpaying crime

Done toward the hapless taxi guy. 

Name exchange went smooth

In the air of our mutual flirting.

Luck got my back, 

She said her plans tonight 

Were still lying prone in shade

Unassembled, unmade.

Making like California,

Pulling freestyle surfboard moves;

Instilling reasurrance that her night's catch

Was a real keeper, 

Steal of a deal,

Spoken with the provided cool evidence

Found in my presence.

I pulled the pocketed whiskey flask out

Joking, it was my zombie bite antidote,

A pinch startled, I was,

Seeing a third disappear 

Down her lust-worthy throat. 

Are you down for skipping

All those steps, 

Lame traditional ones,

To stop immediate satisfaction

For what it is we really want?

With head down she nodded, 

I caught her grinning

In the reflection of her shoes.

Inside I was beaming

Knowing I just beamed myself

Straight to master class.


The Lady's Answer

Mona Lisa

Knew it all along 

And the paint chipped paragon 

Of the sly-knowing

Provoked the aches 

Of a pitch-perfect choir.

The harmonious

Drum,

Drilling,

Droning;

Continuous

With that sharp,

Melodious comradrie.

Untoward clearing the man-structures, 

The circling condor

Rained fits of solid menace

And liquid drops

Of a most daunting morosity. 

Classroom authorities

Had promised the promises,

Painted with incredible effulgence,

But nuanced lectures such as these 

Were too obvious

Before the street-smart eyes;

The sight-sensed,

Afluent students 

With their after-school high-jinx, 

Kidney shaped pool,

Heaped with foolable felons

And comedic miscreants. 

Joys and now-ism 

Could defeat the funereal,

Leaving it the hurt paltry foe;

The marauder

Of skin-scarred

And the visibly accursed.

Held hard,

Inviolate...

Light years from the insolent,

Wanton,

Pawing of an unworthy mob.

There is solace in those lips

Of our Lady of the Knowing.

The Morning of The Request

His brain crawled

With the ants of inquiry;

A somewhat pleasant mennace

To solace's boring song.

As the horizontal plane 

Mirrored his listless frame,

Feet belonging to him alone 

Began to revolt 

Against imprisoning sheets 

Finding a slip stream 

Going gravity's direction,

The vertical plane 

Made its acquaintance.

How deep was the wound

Made in the pockebook 

Of the parents burdened 

With financing a college student's

Imprudent endulgence

Of brand name energy drinks 

And poker night buy-ins?

A wrestling conscience 

Quelled beneath 

The youth's will to sacrifice

His hatred of charity,

Maternal, 

Paternal,

...or otherwise.

The Sigil

Carding teens at the Liquor Bay; 

The last grind on Monterrey;

Pigeon squaller

Among leafstalk and quitch;

The effervescent means

To the melancholy end.

As I strained for the heartwood

The inner sanctum

Of our childhood's introverted mole, 

What Denny and Kit would act

With twitchy nose 

And finger claws;

Escapist role play

Of the miniature societal lock-step submission.

I nearly died

When I found what seeped 

From the ignition

Of my skull-white limousine.

On the thirteenth matter-skinned street,

The old lane once called

When Murray walked that beat,

I dared not remove

The tempting sigil,

Adamant to rebel

And leave it for the effective car thief.

I felt with my nose-sense 

That redolent mischief

In my pile of shirts behind the door

On the second floor

Below Mrs. Penstone, 

A womanfolk 

Who applied patchouli to her gums;

Said

It made her future right

A bribe that worked on God.