outside of Princeton, IL
Dead butterfly
Green summer interstate
A thousand curses sputtered
For our bankrupt dreams
and sun-burnt left arms
so far from home
budgeting waves against the levy wall
counting cars who won’t stop for us
we’ll settle in to the dirty bank
and wait for rebirth
if Chicago asks for me
tell her I’m out of gas
what can i say?
it’s not the taste i’m after
it’s the warmth
-in the back of the neck
dropping one after another
-across the room
it’s not the ass that gets me
it’s not the tits
and it’s not the skin
it’s the eyes
-burning magnifying-glass holes
-little sunflowers exploding in milk bowls
dropping one after another
what can I say?
old
habits
die
hard
3 long months
walking home from the Darwin’s after last call
i see this couple at the fountain in front of the government building
they’re tossing quarter after quarter
and not speaking a word
the woman with a bump in her jacket
the man with his arm around her shoulder
i try to think their thoughts
but all I can come up with
is how the ripples in the water
look a little like the condoms in my pocket
-the ones i won’t be using
and when you really think about it
For Maria Jose
sometimes there’s a hunger in silence
that empties you of breath
and keeps you from screaming
like a forest of falling trees
sometimes between us
lies a hideous dead beast
stealing our embraces
and rotting with our lost
time
especially ‘outside of Princeton IL’ – excellent passing metaphors, none of them stopping; ‘3 long months’ … arresting, I’ve thought about it, not there yet but I’m sure there is somewhere to get