Wednesday, April 3, 2013

A Certain Kind

In those days
he was
just
beginning to be
noticed,
and they
would come
to him,.

Often
a student from
the local university,
sometimes
a Muse,
occasionally
rarely,
a protegee

and they
would
pretend to love
him
and he them.

Flash fire
hot and fast.

Sweat and bruises
and sweet juices.

Tender
trailing fingertips
dirty talk

but it was
the inevitable
break-up,

tears and
curses.
The self-loving
heart-ache
that he craved.

YOUR POEMS SUCK!

shouted the best
of them,
the ones who
knew how to cut

as he
painted them out
of pictures,
gave waitresses
the pet names
he'd always called
them.

And drunk
on the petty
drama
of the
broken hearted,
he'd wander
blindly down
dirty streets.

Tickle the lock
of the boarding house
door
and enter
the smothering
silence.

Addicted,

he'd say
to himself
and sit
at the keyboard
lit by shabby
single lamp
and peck away
at the night

again.























Renee

Nursing a
Rolling Rock
and heartache,
in a joint
with hand thrown
pies and
craft beers
downtown,

I passed by her
on the way
to relieve
myself.

Sitting at a
table -
couple of
kids
Inever saw.

When I glanced
up and smiled
I was stricken,
poleaxed
by her eyes,

her hair
spilled about her
shoulders and
I wanted her

friendship,
her everything,

I wanted her
in a burning
teen crush
kind of way.

I am sorry,
I said,
and she knew.

For what?,
she asked
and it
gave me strength.

Having seen you
this once
I will write
a thousand poems
for you.

She smiled
a Mona Lisa
smile and

told me her name.