Fun with a Rorschach Test card oneShe said"Look at this card,Tell me what you see."I said, "Gosh,I guess I see myself,You know?An inkblot's like a mirror,The way it's shaped byChanceAnd a fold of the paper.How like life,Right, doc?"She told me not to beA smartarse.I thought that wasA bit cheeky, coming as it did,From my ownFictional therapist. card twoShe said "Come on, now,Play the game.How about this one?"I sighedI triedI said"Well,I guess I see a million waysTo make the worldA bit more beautiful.Like writing poetry about rapeAnd tragedyIn a Mickey Mouse notebookThat always makes you smile.Or like greeting each change ofSeasonLike a delightful stranger,With glee and mild surprise,Or like loving daffodilsA bit too much."She smiled. "You're talking about Meg?"I said "More about the wayShe popped out my eyeballsAnd rubbed them clean on her sleeve.When she put them backThe world looked better."
featheredand bang!bangs are dead.
disposable assetsI've been writing poemsnone of which are about you(except for this one)
like new york...i.everybody'sbreaking uppoetryb.everybody'sdrinking themselvessmartsee?location'severythingscore! (and seven years ago)we're all artistsaren't weand aren't we allso impressed
blue sluicecast off care like bluesnowfields into rigid water,and wash with mud the thrustof earth, our skin soft as salt mines.built you areof bitch and buttercream,of soured elements in the bluedot of a pin-prick spotlightand windowed skull.we can watch the fire fadeinto a black rat canvas,into blue gates that tumble upand loose finger grooves,smear eyes across your face like warpaint,faster and faster,momentum in the race to nowhere.and once done, we turn,we go aground and pushup the lines of blue backsorbiting the moons of thatrising ass, around corners,a shattered life in starshine,the masksbeneath the dreamof every glance.