Her face was concave, like it had been mashed in by the butt-end of a fork and people never used to smile at her until she got fake tits.
Wednesday Words – verbs misplaced are poetry
THESE
gleeful emotions, sonorous and
profound: words words words
trippingly tapping
my tongue, Lolita –
Alone in my apartment forever,
full and empty now no words to punish,
nor doubt dismember
just glee, glee, glee –
the delight of
rustification
and
Mephistopheles,
the triumph of
fidelity
and Calaban:
a sycophantic hieroglyph
indelible, at ease –
such nonsense gibberish,
love.
Wednesday Words – November
He sits with cigarette smoke and a chill
in the air outdoors the graying city,
watching her guests take pictures they will use
to tell a story about themselves to
people he will never meet, and “There is
a loneliness to the rehearsal of
dreams,” he thinks.
Any minute now his life, like pages
scattering, will be a memory.
Then that, too, will fade.
He imagines the streets empty, cold tall
buildings towering bare sidewalks and chairs,
leafless trees clinging to the dirt in their
roots, as the wind moves unfettered through
Manhattan.
