Cobwebs On a Window Sill

Eight shaky legs tap across a dusty pane,
shuffling along thin lines like a eunuch
slowly inching across a white
rope while mustachioed grimaces
and mascara eyes burn red.
Sometimes, I wish
that everyone forgot
everything I’ve ever
said or done. Then
I remember that
they probably already
have, and I bury myself
under as many blankets
as I can find and curl up
like a dead spider.
I long to be hanging,
as if by
a thread of your skirt.
Oh! How you set
my heart aflame!—it quietly
crackles in your fireplace
while you curl up with
a book (maybe the Subterraneans)
on that cushy chair and footrest
that was our bed
on the one night when
we never slept closer.
Let’s make love right here,
On this tangent.

Three-way With Dorothy

Oh, hello good friend! Yes,
yes come in. Of course! You
know you’re always welcome
here. What brings you to the
Lake District? Ah, I see, Leiden’s
not so far from here. You say you
met a gyspy gal in France?! My
word! And you traded her
your heart for a harmonica?
“Yeah that’s right, though, I
don’t think it was a fair trade.
I mean, it sings beautifully, but
the damn thing only plays the
blues.” Sounds like you’ve had
quite a journey in B-minor.
Tell me all about it over
tea and swirling smoke.

Believe you me, I know exactly
what you mean. And yes,
Audrey Hepburn is a babe. Let’s
take her to Paris, and reenact the
first chapter of the Dharma Bums
underneath the Eiffel Tower.
Hot damn! Would’ya look at that,
the sun is coming up.
We’ve talked clear through
the night, and greeted the
dawn with fireflies. What
now then? A morning walk
through time and space? That’s
a lot of ground to cover, thank
Buddha we know the shortcuts:
Follow the rain on empty streets,
Turn left on Columbus,
Run, make your lungs
Scream for mercy.
If you hit middle-aged,
You’ve gone too far.

I guess it is true, after all;
we seem to be made
to suffer, it’s our
lot in life.
Laugh!
It is a joke!

Remember when
we were sixteen,
and we plotted
to take
over the world?
Surnames from Native
American ghosts and
MacBeth’s battle dress.
If you’re gonna’ go
balls out, you might
as well wear a
skirt, aye?

Oh, you said it friend—
No one tells a dirty joke
like Shakespeare.

And me and you,
we know answers
don’t mean shit. We
know the real importance:
all our questions are
the same.

We share it all together,
Drinks ands dreams, laughs
and lusty wenches.
What’s mine is yours,
and vices versa.
Any wise man or
fool will tell you what
nirvana is.

A Very Stupid Poem by A Very Stupid Person

Eruption!
Splooging from
its throbbing core,
trickling down
from its peak,
flowing over
your curves.
If only it
would preserve
everything it
touched, like
the flood that
seeped through
every crack and
crevice of Pompeii.
With these columns
fallen over and temples
turned to ancient ruins, you
become an armless effigy
holding me at my waist.
And we will be known only as
this statue, entitled:
“Young man and woman in rapture.”
And they will ask
Were they in love?
Was that typical position?
Did she come?!
Did she come?!

But no, you

Just wipe me
Off your thigh and
Get dressed to
Go back to him.

Still, I take small
delight in knowing
that he cannot have
all of you, because
you left your

panties underneath
my comforter—a treat for
some lonely archaeologist.

Prelude to a Hangover

She looked up at me,
“You’re so different now,
I wonder, what’s changed.”
I searched the skies
From her eyes and back

I liked you too much
Then
“and now...?”
Now,
I know better.

She rested her head
On my chest, and
We took turns breathing
Until we fell
Asleep.