And
When jealousy corrupts
you like Catalan cream
and mis-
placed Italian restaurants
Metro stops will greet you
like Microsoft pillows you crawl
in
and out of
Like children on karma playgrounds.
I baked my regrets into
paella, forcing them to play nicely
with horrid prawn suggestions.
All my questions were stung by
crab legs and whisked
away on beds of rice
no one defiled with tips or libations
Still, fancy my quips
I burgled them in tacky
secondhand conversations
catapulting Brooklyn woes hundreds of
death-defying miles
toward untouched glasses without water
and lowercase capitols.
See, now, my jovial back-and-forth with
Larry King
about laundromats and embroidered napkins
Snapping turtle suspenders
sound like jammed cash registers
that won’t open
in cafes I set on fire.
I am a world that too often
wraps itself in concrete
thermo-
meters
and prays for rain
Swinging past traffic lights
into nights blanketing hills that break hearts
only not on drug-induced
accidental beach scenes
Serving opiates to the masses
from stashes where
moles
in mammoth-tusk
glasses
count cash and rites of passage
outside the yoke of language
and milk avoidance to
take advantage
of my unknown cathedrals
of damage.
Leave a Reply