Final 10 Poems

My Final 10 Poems:

1. A Gorgeous Drive-Thru (Revised)
2. The Visitor Returns : Again
3. After the Art Show : Revised
4. From the Auditorium: Revised
5. To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised
6. Sensitive Teeth : Revised
7. In a Plastic Bag : Revised
8. Still to Read : Revised
9. Flowered Rain Boots
10. Hidden Among Velvet

A Gorgeous Drive-Thru (Revised)

A Gorgeous Drive-Thru

(Revised)

 

the thickened thighs,

that curdle like cheese

and jiggle as if a mold

of jello never lost its

shape, but grew with each

step, each turn

 

adipose arms,

that continue to wave

even after the hand has

stopped; they are exuberant,

joyful to meet a new face

a new body to perhaps hold

swollen stomach,

for centuries has brought

happiness to children, once

clothed in red felt; even

now the gentle sway

and plunge of fingers can tickle

 

bursting buttons

on jagged jeans,

‘tis a shame to ruin

a new pair; ‘tis embarrassing

that it even happened, like

ripping the seam while

sitting, one shall never speak

of it again

 

the constant cry

from tainted teeth,

oh how the dentist loves

to fill the black spots in

the enamel; sure it costs, of

course it hurts but it’s worth

the greenbacks to have another

bite, to taste that which claims

 

“have it your way.”

The Visitor Returns : Again

The Visitor Returns : Again
 
Ice crystals rip through clouds
reshaping into droplets
on their descent. On a hood
they glaze, stack, crawl
toward the face hidden
from their reach.
Clutching the nylon they rattle
as one step, two steps, the body
drops to the ground, hands dig into the cold
slush, loosely forming what should be a ball.
The body rises, a hand pushing
small droplets out of eyes.
The drops hanging onto the hood
back away to watch the toss
of the arm, and the bundle of ice that arcs
through the air, landing against the window
where the lace curtains are captured.
The body steps backwards, fingers tap
the jean material attached to legs.
Larger molecules of moisture take the chance
that the small ones failed at.
They throw their weight over
the brim, landing on the nose in delight.
The hand rises to sweep them away,
but stops, the curtain is spread apart
revealing the face of the body’s match.
A smile, the droplets long to be in between
the lips, curled against teeth that aren’t meant
for them. They begin their descent,
one last toss of their weight
but they rattle as one,
two, three, four steps.
Bonds cling to bonds but it’s not enough.
They tumble to the pavement
as the door opens where the match
stands in the light casting shadows
onto the sidewalk, onto him.

After the Art Show : Revised

After the Art Show : Revised
 
I pressed my face against
the cold glass. Sleep shadowing
the back of my mind as I squinted
into a darkened room
that hid the painting I longed to see.
Muted blues and greens swirled
to form flowers without petals
and rusting buckets filled
with holes. Each dripping
colored oil onto the hardwood floor.
 
My fingers tapped on the clear
surface, my gaze drifting
to the locked door behind
which a trickling stream
could be heard. Pastels brushed
on with water flowed from frames
corralling the oil into a tight circle.
The colors swirled, mixed to form
a dark grey. Their movements
settled, shapeless and picture-less.
 
Merely a blob pooled on the hardwood.
Then a creak came from the floorboards.
They fell away, drinking oil
and water.
 
As the boards closed,
and the paintings hung blank
I turned from the grey
room, dragging my feet
through the atrium. Each
step echoed against the linoleum.

From the Auditorium : Revised

From the Auditorium : Revised
 
Peter, shakes his head, glasses
flashing in the fluorescent lights
as Jesus kneels with an empty
bowl near tube socked feet.
“Unless I wash you, you have
no part in me.” Jesus stands,
silently mouthing words
that aren’t in sync
with the sound system.
As the lights dim an automated
orchestra tightens their strings.
 
“Do it again,” from the sound
booth where blue neon shines
like a space cockpit, the director
lifts his head. “Jesus a bit slower.
Peter take off the socks and glasses.”
The men on stage pull at thrift shop
dresses, shuffle on cushions.
“We’ve got one last shot
to nail this scene before
show time. Ready?”
 
The director moves amidst
the light, waiting for his
actors to stand still,
listening for the music,
staring at empty seats.

To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised

To Mine Caffeinated Love : Revised
 
To thee whom I long to taste,
After a night of battling paper dragons
with a sword of ink
I know that you aren’t far off
and yet I can’t seem to produce enough
quarters to pay for your dark nectar.
 
My dear whose perfume alone transfixes,
I wish to break this wooden barrier
where the scarved beauty
adorned in a jeweled apron
awaits my payment
so we may be united.
 
Oh bittersweet love of mine,
who urges me to draw near
I fear our affair can not continue,
as valiant as I may be,
it seems your soft brown skin
will never touch my hands, my lips.
 
I bid thee adieu steaming delicacy,
contain the foaming tears
yet resist the braceleted aproness
when she pawn you to another.
I shall shuffle to my room,
my hands searching my pockets.

Sensitive Teeth : Revised

Sensitive Teeth : Revised
 
The stereo turned to full volume,
a man and a woman plastered
on a pixilated screen,
sitting, drinking, dancing, kissing, leaving.
Their hats clutched to their heads
as man made wind wraps
their hair about their faces.
Lovers sworn to write letters,
promised with a kiss to never
stumble into the open
arms of another.
 
Yet they lie.
 
On the couch beside me,
a velvet box shaped into what
pumps blood throughout the body.
I shove an overstuffed chocolate
into my mouth letting
the monochromatic couple betray
and woo and fight.
As I reach for another sweet
the nerves in my teeth cry out.
On screen the woman cups
her face in her hands.
The man is walking away.
I swish water through my mouth,
ridding my teeth of the pain
 
caused by chocolate.