Monday, November 1, 1999

I Wonder What She Did With My Number

I wonder what she did
with my number
-not agonizing
just intellectually theorizing:

she gets it
puts it in her pocket
forgets about it
it goes through
the wash
and the ink from my nervous pen
stains her graceful laundry


she puts it on her
dresser and it fades in the
passing sun
and years later,
she looks at it
and remembers that weird night
and some sax player


she leaves it
on the table
in the cafe
next to a crumpled
the two objects
befriending each other as equals

The Enemy as Usual pt. 2

Hey you!
Skinny silly fool
clutching your notebook
like a girl does her favorite doll
you pansy!
Whirling through your only time
wise and useless.
You can’t make love to a notebook!
Mirrors are empty feedback loops
best avoided,
and your notebook is
but a glorified version
of a purse’s vanity mirror
you moron!
Oh yes-
begin innocently
with one hand
caressing your other hand
and sooner than you think
you’ll be gagging for eternity
on your own flesh
like some
retarded snake!

(Who wrote this poem?)