LET'S PLAY BLIND MAN'S BLUFF

Lord, how manners have changed and yet not changed.
There's nothing to recommend him but money...
I have my books confused, but nobody will tell me so.

Lord, how manners have changed and yet not changed.
In a room full of ladies and gentlemen,
boys and girls, enters the faceless,

the question, the long body,
the system of quiet wind,
the silent stalking of curtains
against the lines of the long body.

We sit in the drawing room,
hearts sluggish like August afternoons.
A haze of sweat prevails, of heavy-breathing

incredulity, of almost outrageous nerves
pulsing just barely beneath the skin,
almost at a boil, almost ready to scream:

Blind man's bluff...
Let's play blind man's bluff.

FIST

Gosh, it's dark, I said,
standing in my soul...

I remember mie selfe to my Blunders
and arrange a proper time we should
meet again. I make a thousand dates
with my doubts and, like clockwork,

KEEP
THEM.

I remember mie selfe to my Sinnes
and arrange a proper time we should
revisit the failures and miseries
attending our miniseries:

AG'IN'N'AG'IN.

CHRISTMAS (LINED UP)

Yellow light slips through the slats
and on the naked wall it flips and
flickers like a voice through a fan.
Somewhere in the loft I cough softly.

Can't smell it. Can't see it. Can't hear it. Can't touch it. Can't taste it.

LOOK AFTER ME

My bones are sweating,
my mouth is unfolding into a long, wet tunnel
with no light at the end but endless levity.

I am the crumbs at the end of your Google search.
How many years? How many years?
The night turns bright red like SEX LETTERING:

my bones are sweating.

MY POEMS

My poems, like me,
are short and dense.

TWO SHOES

If Homer had witnessed King W.
ducking those fucking shoes
with the surest most casual smile he's worn
in eight long years at least,
how would he describe it?
How victorious was that single moment?

Those flying shoes are haunting.
I close my eyes and see
shoes of accountability
forever missing their smiling target.