Sunday, November 6, 2011

She Decided

Strange sir
how this document
sat in the computer
for many weeks
with nothing more then a mere title
“She Decided”
and how
upon this night
I decided to compose
these words
that have nothing to do with the title
or it’s original intent
so here goes:

That her hair was flaxen mayonnaise
for the white noise
attracted men
like moths to the lantern light
and locked up
inside the delirium of romance
quite a few concessions
many young boys made
before the altar of her piss stained underwear ...

(I don’t know. That seems a little shocking for shocking’s sake!)

Maybe this …

Bleed knife
your memorabilia of sound
spins like the tilt a whirl
in a dust lot carnival
your big brown swollen eyes
are sick from crying
and I have invented many lies
for your cautious heart.

(Hum … that’s kinda of all right! But what the fuck has she decided?)

Maybe this:

Upon hours of intense personal introspection
accompanied by prescription pills and 21st century values
she concurred life had no meaning
without a credit card and a quick cash call
consumer me into the next wing
sedate me with all the things that money can buy
for the dingy hallway of poverty
I linger in
makes my cunt dry
and turns my pubic hair into a million angry snakes!

(I don’t know if accordions could help this poem.
But, if I had one I would certainly start playing!)

I may never have been to Japan or Missouri
but I have been to this world up inside my skull that
no one else has journeyed to
most women don’t care much
for this line of thought
how do I know
exactly what lines
the thought process travels
well, I have watched it click inside
their marble cat eyes
like a homeless man’s shopping cart
barreling down
the empty boulevard
at 2 a.m.

Alas! Manslaughter is our only recourse!
You can do time and get out
with enough years to enjoy
some leisurely hours around
the swimming pool of life.

(damn … this is going nowhere)

Darling Joan
I have sensed some murmurs of dissatisfaction
emanating from the crinkled flesh of your brow
this leads me to believe
your first son was killed in a car wreck
perpetrated by an alcoholic uncle
that loses all control of the wheel
every night
after 5 p.m.
and that your ex-husband
has more in common
with a pack of Marlboro Reds
then with you …

My dear,
I could love you for an hour
but not a single second more.

(fucking terrible - dispense with the riddle and give em’ the …)

What did SHE DECIDE?!?!?!?!?!!?

Damn good question.

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