Immaculate Conception

My head lying in your lap,
listening to your tummy talk.

Can I cradle the
idea just
a little longer—
while it’s still
kissing belly buttons and
cute little cramps in the
small of your back that
my fingers softly knead?

You crinkle your nose
as if to say sympathy
pains don’t sweep you off
your swollen ankles.

Come along, darling, we’re
already late as is.
Missed carriages,
leave us stuck
waiting
for the bus.

The throes of labor
make you push and
push, and in the
chilling breath of life,
a tiny heart beats still.

Our First Date: An Abridgement

We sat drinking coffee and
smoking cigarettes at a table
outside of Starbucks and
pretended it was Paris—ignoring
the overweight latina woman sitting
nearby whose night was, “Crackalackin!”
You told me that if you
put your thumb over the
butt of your cigarette while
you hold it, it’ll keep it from
burning down. Then, we sat
on a curb and made toasts
to carelessness, clanking our
two dollar bottles of André
with bubbles in our eyes.

It’s funny, the things one remembers.

We spent the rest of the day
in bed. The red fuzz from
your sweater made my sheets
softer for weeks. You told me
about some poor sap who used
to tell you that you were
kindred spirits. We laughed,
but even then, I felt sorry for him.


5 a.m.—sick from
too much coffee. I’ve been
pressing my thumb to the end
of endless cigarettes, and the ashtray
just becomes a mountain.

I Want To...

Flesh collides with affection.
Clammy and wet warm grip.
Fingers feel their way to their place,
and, ah, a perfect fit. You might say,
we fit each other like, ah yes, a glove.
Knuckles whisper secrets like lovers
in sheets, as sweat blurs our lifelines into one.

Oh god, sometimes
I’m so corny
it hurts.

I'll Be Your Ton-ton

Watching The Empire Strikes Back on Valentine’s day,
I can’t help but think of love. Hallway crescendos in
A bleak, virtually uninhabitable Ice planet—
Almost like some winter romance
On a bench in the Petersburg countryside.

They say the chances of survival
are seven hundred and twenty-five
to one, but to hell with that!
I’ll don my parka suit
of armor and valiantly charge
into white nights, on my
ashen grey mare. The smell is
less than kind, but I so rarely
get to play the hero.

A whole moment of bliss! Is that not sufficient
even for a man’s entire life?...

Then again, one might find himself hanging
upside down with cold feet frozen
to the ceiling, and a faint feeling
from blood rushing to his head, watching a
snowy-white monster tearing flesh from limb.

A humble reply restores the innocence
of the tired phrase it leaves unsaid—
Two lovers’ farewell cemented by certainty.

Ah Nastenka, Nastenka! If only you knew,
the loneliness I endure now!

And oh, the wise wisdom that
too often comes backwards:

Looking for someone…
found someone,
you have!

Yes, it’s a cold, cold place, but know that
I’ll be your ton-ton. I will cut myself
Open spilling my guts, heart, and all
To protect you from the piercing winds,
To keep you warm within my hide.

Contention

No,
I am not getting out of bed today.
Why?
Because, fuck you.
That’s why.

Swill

There is no future to be found
In the wet, limp leaves that lie
Soiled at the bottom
Of an almost empty cup.

You look like you haven’t slept in days. I hear that
Tea bags are great for getting rid of those dark circles
Around your eyes.

Prayers pour into white
porcelain bowls.

How many bags of tea
to contain all of this bruising?
How many shots of whiskey to explode
the ink that has settled in my mouth?

There is no such thing as tragedy –
Only tea steaming
upwards to
the sky.