Wednesday, March 7, 2007


A bottle hidden from everyone’s eyes
and my own solitude disconcerting,
butchering me into inedible pieces.
I always sit in the kitchen –
what’s the difference where—
Moscow, New York
swallowing the sour liquid
until the erect stork
called anxiety
breaks its skinny legs
and crumbles inside me
dissolves in the drink
What platitude!
I think as I recall my life
Hard core tragedy and softcore porn.
Daisies adorn the windowsill
As my head lowers
and my brains spill.

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Late Night Honesty

i don't have a child
i don't have a husband
i don't have a job
all my exes are angry at me
for betraying or berating them
i don't have my youth
i don't have a goal
all i've got is this black and white truth
and this red, red shawl.
Where are you
as the last snow of winter
bleeds into the earth
licking along the garbage and the
lonely remnants of dirt
Where are you
as feet trample over
the corpses of rats and pigeons
and the taxis yellow and blind
sweep past like lesions
full of pus
Where are you
as I get old like you
and just as desperate
Where are you
as the daily pain
slashes and cuts through
and leaves you
rambling rambling mad
as life shifts away and
stands naked –
away and apart
indifferently going further
farther farther
Where are you