There are ten poems everyone needs to read,
there is always the one missing that makes my heart bleed.
since feeling is first,
if you forget me,
or still I rise,
and forget J. Alfred Prufrock?
Who comes up with this silliness?
articles of futility
poems one cannot hold on to
read them over to change direction.
Bring that handsome face over
fill me with your surprise
it appears that every day
is a special one
for those who never carry a gun.
Use those hash-tags
for today to promote the crap we buy into.
They need to find reasons to love
and weep details
not even skin deep
it’s not a shovel they need
but a tractor
to dig up all the days that mattered
to create new ones
to crush depression.
My guns are so far
and only your hands will do,
they will feel the night
through my soft skin,
my handwritten notes
yes, their gentleness will definitely do,
just tell them to leave us alone
you’re better at delegation, direction, distraction, damnation.
my triple d’s will knock you over
can they not see?
how our thoughts submerge
under the salted bath water
under their microscope of past lives
(in public, among the sheep
in private, among the wolves).
It is five a.m
and words wake me up from my slumber.
I have secret morning passages
to my soul
and I wonder
how you have
always held the key
before I willingly gave it to you.
Did you skip to the best parts
of the poem? did you vote?
(did you run far down Broadway)
I am your pretty downtown girl
with suburban angst
who is feisty to the core
and you are my cute blue eyed boy
who is such an actor on many stages
and beautiful to admire from afar.
Tuck me in with a poem
kiss my forehead with a rhyme.
I hate that place with fake accounts
and writers I chase down Park avenue.
do You really care to see my pictures
from last night’s shenanigans at The Rialto?
Keep some love private,
some pictures to myself,
can’t show all my flaws
point them out and act like some kind of fucking star
I’ll meet you at the famous bar where all the poets go
the one at Hotel 10
drinking wine and acting like groupies.
It is what I do best. Pretend.
And tonight another night of Book Club
love affairs under five star restaurants
trying Indian, Mexican the latest trend.
High heels and poetry
tight jeans and coquetry.
So much more than ten measly poems
to read. So much more than ten. So much more