uneventful evening

in a minor

 

on a wooden

heart stands a

plastic christ

atop the infinity

gauntlet being

used as a coaster.

this year’s crop of

kisses is apparently

not for me either

billie and i don’t

believe i’m wearing

last year’s love,

naked feels more

appropriate. a

baroque brunette

with eyes like a

perennially

surprised owlet,

a button and

cupid’s bow

blows me over

with a half-moon

of pearls and a

porcelain shoulder. 

i paint a target on

my forehead and

skip into traffic,

somehow no one

hits me.

i fight my father’s

demon to no avail,

the gilligan to my

mind’s island.

bolder by and by, i

dance in my kitchen

while i listen to the

refrigerator hum

the streetbeater.

i watch the poor

bastard chase his

tail from his future.

his will a circus

contortionist with

decompression

sickness performing

for an audience of

mustache twirling

programmers

paying in malware

and poisoned

peanuts. his will

the stella to this

stanley kowalski.

he needs to let

out his inner

blanche dubois,

take stella upstairs

to live with eunice

till they can afford a

place of their own…

maybe that’s not

the best allegory

insofar as stanley

rapes blanche

before he has her

committed, but i’m

sure it’s not the

worst. deaf to my

omniscient opinion,

he yelps when he

finally catches up

with his tail.

the horse is dead,

but i don’t care.

my pile-of-shit

boss abuses me

with an absurdly

incompetent

superior, who is

in every way

tantamount to a

carpenter pounding

screws into a board,

beautifully nailed

by another, with the

claw end of a

hammer.

i struggle to

serve my nervous

purpose like some

possessed organ

grinder’s monkey

dancing over

broken bottles on

a soiled street

corner in purgatory,

pitching the empty

charity of strangers,

pyrite karma on

credit with

preposterous  

interest rates, and

screaming into

wishing wells.

again, naked

feels more

appropriate.

then, he quit

his job and went

bowling…

find the

words you like

until you don’t.