Hotel Room Satori
The chambermaid knocks.
Comes straight in
Like a
Fluttering curtain
Instead of a doe-eyed
INS girl,
Memories glancing off a bordertown target:
A boyfriend, an engagement,
A lunchpail full of whispers.
Me lying in a tousled bed. A collection
Of pirate ships. One of us needs to not exist.
I notice the curtains getting jittery.
The pale utility cart makes a deft introduction.
Then scoots.
My Three Sons - pt. 1
We pitched a tent
Just outside Gethsemane
Wild spring winds spearing and calypsoing
In and out of
A stand of armed poplars.
One son canted:
"Starbucks,
The intergallactic bank."
Another son said backwards:
"Dad, look at me. A
Spanish unicorn fight."
The last son climbed
The Mount of Olives
And hollered:
"Greetings from the Tax Collector."
As spring winds speared and calypsoed,
Like little bats, slapped out on ritalin,
In and out of
The jittery-armed poplars
Of madding downtown Gethsemane.
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I am a software exec. and I do secret internet foo. I live near Boston, Massachusetts and spend a lot of time in San Francisco.
I began writing poetry a few years ago in a brave but ultimately feckless attempt to stave off a canonical entrapment breakdown.
I sometimes write with a pseudonym: Yorick_Nixon. I also write music and play musical instruments. I was a member of Boston noise band Inner Beauty and San Francisco improv combo Senator Buchanon. With the members of Inner Beauty I co-authored a pre-web internet published dystopic novel entitled "Skunk Angst".
Any spare time I have I read Shakespeare or listen to Bach. Bach seems to be the one thing all nerds agree on. I've lost touch with my culture. Though my friend Janet has turned me onto Cat Power. My only firmly held cultural belief is that Chan Marshall of Cat Power is kind of a babe. |
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