well spun yearn

please pinch this sincerest, syrupy, desirous,

tripwire twine that makes a drippy, diamond

chain of the aqueous rain, & dawdles out of the

cotton candy lump of her thorax as her unshorn

legs tuck your locust carcass into a silky, sleeping

sack bier where an invite to an eternal slumber

party with no yearbook & no boys & no movies

awaits you till she returns on her spider-vein

legs, bares sheep shear fangs, puts you to rest,

cuts the phone cord, & granulates you, sugar.

Cleanliness

The cafe canaille leaned on their own shoulders,

& sipped flagons of mead. I, among it, tried to spill

the muzziness out of my mind with a fountain pen

and a peach kerchief that I still don't know how to swing & swing.

She, a she, any she, with her cavernous, bosky coiffure, sat down: plop.

& I heard a lot in that plop: the resonance of buoyant, firm, cockling flesh.

Eyes eyed those serried, fubsy bubs causing all my commotion as she steadied.

This the first time I wanted to say something in person instead of on paper.

She glanced and asked what I'm drinking: Cranberry Juice.

She wanted me to order her drink for myself: A Margarita.

We did not try each other's drinks. I did ask her:

where/what did/do you work/school/...for fun.

What did I have in mind? O, what I did have in mind.

I asked her to depart for paregoric & maypoling.

The moment of untruth furrowed in her brow as I felt a trouser basilisk

raddle itself into all styles of ropey desires in my poisonous brain stem.

She said she thought I lacked the obelisk needed for weak kneeing.

I told her I thought her lonely,

& what does she look like in pink pampooties only?

Would you step out of your blouse to spruce this louse?

She stood and added something about washing her hair...

all full of ritualistic nymphs & scented mating calls.

No. No. I thought. It can't be! This damsel in this dress...

I wanted to be her changeling. Something had to change.

& so uh, could we share a flower? I meant shower. She smiled.

(Should I make more mistakes?)

The total bore of life gets bravery into my bones:

Well, if you're washing your locks I want you to

know that I have cartloads of brilliantine in my

scortatory pants. You'll smell like milky...whitest

guttapercha oozing out from trees in Malay, milady.

I felt my body whinge for the indecisive nerve

making her red wormy lip writhe like a salted slug.

A why not thought popped her head: "Okay."

okay? Okay! I forgot my pen.

& I, flustered as a goofy grig,

wanted to steal a plastic lily

from a place setting on other

people's light-bulb lit dinners

for two--always on the way out.

I, the gossoon, helped her

lug the ruck of her large paps

up the stairs till we unbrailed the

brails on our imprisoned doves.

Most of the squeaky cleanliness

defies my recollection, but I

do remember her beaming,

comely phiz: All Soaped Up.

chi se ne frega (who gives a damn)

i feel so caterpillar curl churlish, and funny as the precious black smirk on a clown's face paint.

and like the hairline expression on the circus jester, i am as ephemeral as a falling pistachio shell.

my fingers tuck a dose into my comatose hand and the pills hold keys to unlock hot dreams.

where women all polish their dice on my tongue till their fortune rolls {freshly} into wet wads.

but that is the Rub: i am pushing my luck. i live & the crowd comes. i die & the crowd goes.

the odds say that i wind up a sore winner or a dead loser, and either way i see jackpots.

i want nearby sobbing i can't hear even if i'm 6 feet away & i want to cast my lots as deeds.

should my deed be my undoing then i'll be done & my spin shall circle till spun.

there is so little time and even less to do.

if i died right now, I'd forego the harp part, and let the clouds gather...enough life for me.

and as this cute, downy marshmallow of a painkiller dozes in the palms i have laid for its parade,

i can't tell whether i am the happiest or the saddest human being to fill a prescription.

(though one must be true!)

my addiction, my love, my dark bull...i trail no red cape & place all bets because i feel horny.

& the winner is: Whatever. surprise me.

i won't know when the suspense ends.

Query: how many refills till I am well?

KJ likes to make poems a lot.