Friday, April 11, 2014

Sour Power

In my haste to chill
I curl a cigarillo
why was I mad now?

The Saltlick

I waste the spring night
fuming over weird friendship
I am a spent fuse.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

The Palette Cleanser

They so often say
"just be yourself and you're good"
what a pretty lie

sinking into ears
made hot by spring night meetups
just the preamble

to the main event
opening band blues sink in
that block out her smile

grace, class, and blue style
she sidles up as we talk
over Jamison

close talk and light touch
this is how the game is won
till my real role dawns

time consuming pawn
I'm no more than another john
as night marches on

pretty sure she thinks at
the main event as she sits
humoring the mark

the glass of water
before the real cherished drink
waiting soon elsewhere

threadbare dream of sex
turned waking nightmare of being
a used teddy bear again

she wants to know why
I am filling the train station
with salted madness

I wag long finger,
good times no longer lingered
there is nothing left for
me now because I'm
just your wilted piece of ginger.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

The Birdbath

Pretty sure I'm the shield tonight,
righteous stoic wall
to post complaints about assholes at,
tired drawn-on guardian
wondering why I'm just so good
for this role,
guess I'm just a walking three-drink minimum
to be milked,
even after she buys her own whiskey,

I'm enjoying myself but wonder
why I'm here besides
my usual place as
her sole therapist in the dark metal bar
while I watch others get the flirting,
we're just attention baths
for her discerning ego,
as she goes we go,
her shapely ass jiggling over drinks
on the counter,
when will I stop being
drawn into playing another one
of her convenient fountains?

Saturday, April 5, 2014

The Wanderer

Wet Dekalb evening
seeking something with seasonings
crave caught on by the
keef and resin bowl steamin,
when shamblin up the street
my eyes meet with
an alcohol zombie on the scene
bloated from the long years as a fiend,
loosie hung the mouth,
greasy unwashed sheen,
I saw him everyday
blank stare slumped out on the steps
he kinda sneers at me
drinkin on the rum that turned him red.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Yet Another Empty Boast

Flabby after weeks
of sticking to minimalist fictions
creating one or two little snippets
about as effective at keeping in shape
as 5 jumping jacks a week,
not enough to climb that
steep distance to 10,000 hours,
arrested by the allure
of romantic russian illusion with
someone who deals with harems
as I work an old job
with old habits
with old faces
with old shame,
the old slavery game erodes at me
but I can hear that xkcd comic whispering to me:

Fuck that shit.

This comes as easy to me
as a camel spits
so ever so late I'll do this 30 for 30
even though it may go till May.