What About Love?
“What about love?” they ask. Love cures the ghost, that’s all.
You feel your heart running thru a tunnel, seeking and not finding,
or else finding the answer it cannot digest. “Heartburn is not love,”
says the girl of 19 as she sucks on a joint. “But what about love?”
he asks with his luxurious Italian accent. “I had love once. It was
a movie, a play, a novel. It was vomit at the break of dawn. It was
words without a chalkboard. It was brie and wine on the gritty roof
of a school. It was sex on the floor while Polynesian masks watched.
Love was her mouth on another man’s cock. Love was my spine
being ripped from my body by a Cupid on bath salts. Love is over.
Love has yet to begin.”
********************
Drowning
It was Leif Erikson day,
I was drowning,
clawing at the Pacific’s eyes,
kicking at its groin;
then a voice said:
“John McCain’s problem
is he symbolizes Vietnam
to Boomers & Vietnam
to Boomers symbolizes all
that’s wrong w/ America.”
I continued gargling the west coast
when the same voice added:
“The Gulf of Mexico’s
like that popcorn kernel stuck
just underneath the gum-line,
while B.P. is that dirty ol’ string o’ floss
you don’t ever want to see again.”
Kicking at the ocean
like a motorcycle,
driving myself to shore,
water foaming ‘round my face
like Leif Erikson’s tattered Viking beard.
The voice returns
“Didn’t see Palin
down in the Gulf w/ her
drill, baby, drill bull shit!”
And I gargled like a dying pelican.
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