After Hugo

The shadow of her red hair lit the wall.
She should be working on her manuscript,
but instead all she can think of
is licking meringue from his fingers.

The characters from her novel wait
impatiently, tapping their fingers
against the margins, an almost inaudible
patter but she can hear it.

She ignores the
tapping and instead creates impossible
daydreams, casting him as her leading man.

Her protagonist slumps over in the Word
document. Exasperated, he uses the number
at the bottom of the page as a pillow
and takes a nap

u
n
t
i
l

his author
is content to sit once again
at her desk and create a plot
over which she actually
has control.

The Uninvited Guest

The charming misogynist
slips through cracks
by calling women “lovely”
and patting them on the head.
Subtle (he is always subtle)
he is a most beguiling enemy
traveling through alleyways
of conversation, inserting
himself when you least
expect it. Then after,
the doubt creeps in, the
“What did he say?” and
“What did he mean?”
The charming misogynist
tries to topple women
one by one. Careful girls,
he is probably your friend
or, worse yet, your bedfellow.
The most dangerous of animals:
an insinuating, irresistible
interloper.

Latitude & Longitude

Tags

Poetry

Last night,

I dreamed you drew

continents on my skin

with your fingertips,

tracing every tributary,

mountain range

and county highway.

You were meticulous

and I was patient.

When you had finished,

you kissed my neck:

warm, deep, wet, hungry kisses

that made me moan

and gave me a new

appreciation for the

geography

            of the body.

Dusk, August

Black cats sit
on the tops of cars:
portents of things to come.
Under the hood,
the listless engine
idles, intrigued only
by the promise
of fire and gasoline.

Restless Sheets

Sometimes the bed just feels empty
I use my fingertips to explore the
perimeter of the full size mattress
and imagine how much love it’s
capable of containing
within its borders.

What was the day when I had spent
more days alone than together
in this bed?

They say you find someone when you
least expect it, when you’re not looking
and I cry bullshit, because we’re always
looking.

Always looking for someone
who can fill the other half
of the bed.

equalization

I used to be mesmerized by the order of equations.
They were predictable; you entered a value
and a pre-determined result exited.
Or balancing equations.
I adored algebra.
Solving for x or y.
There were rules of conduct.

In human relationships,
anything goes, really.
By and large,
we hold ourselves
to a modicum
of common courtesy,
but this varies
from person
to person.

I want you to feel my absence
as I leave your equation entirely.
I am an infinite, irrational number,
one you can never solve for or replace.

Being such small integer,
I know you’ll understand.
At least in mathematics,
reason prevails.

I am off to explore
parabolas of indescribable
grace and height,
forever rid
of an equation
that never
made
sense
at
all.

Infected

You have entered my bloodstream
like an airborne pathogen:
navigating through my veins
riding upon platelets
finding your way
into my heart.

A surprise invasion
not unwelcome,
but unexpected.
For now,
I will live
with you
coursing through
until you take root
in my lymph nodes
or decide
to
pass
out
of
my system entirely.

Antibiotics would never fully eradicate you:
besides, you’re just the type of virus
I think I can handle.

Either that or I’ll become immune.

Go on.
Infect me.
I dare you.

The Intellectual

While you were waiting to be certain of me
vagrant girls wandered into your field of vision
filling casual vacancies in your mind’s eye.
All wanton pixies, they sauntered through your subconscious
and you projected upon them everything I wasn’t.

(You see, you unnerve me, and I can never really
bemyselfaroundyou: a red flag, I am well aware…)

These girls held for you the promise
of all things vapid and nubile.
All things simple and like Lolita.

Truth is, I would break you.

You would never be able
to hold up to my full strength:
instead of bending and pushing back,

you

would
crack.

 

I wish you well, chasing those wanton pixies, truly.
But when you finally catch one (if ever),
I hope you feel the hollowness between her ears
as she lays upon your chest.

I hope her hollowness haunts your intellect
and leaves you forever wanting.

Kafka in Retrograde

I had this dream
where you clogged
my toilet
while reading Kafka.

I don’t know how I knew it was you,
but, in the dream, I remember
looking down at the copy
of Die Verwandlung on the counter
and being both annoyed
that I now had to plunge the toilet,
and touched that you would
read Kafka in my bathroom.

I can’t imagine any positive analysis
for this dream, because I start with
“Oh, it means he’s willing to change!”
and end with
“Yeah, but he clogged my fucking toilet.”

Late Night in the Subconscious

wise fools understand particles
as perfectest heralds of matter

(syncopated tinkertoys
who unteach worlds)

stardust clogs their eyes
with misremembered celestial conversations

the weight of black holes
makes their eyelids droop

conniving, errant orbits
compel them to forever spin

in transit, they can finally catechize
playing chutes and ladders
on Saturn’s rings,
listening to the galaxies
for a plausible answer
(& possible seems further away)