_red_
Hey baby.
You want to
make love like to a woman, you
put your hands in this.
It's red, clear bones all undone,
hesitant blood,
a circusact scrying pool--Jello?
Really?
I try to caress it but there's no point,
it just skids down my fingers until fingernails
catch the surface; it begins dyeing me red;
I can't help but tear it; what else is it made for?
I try not to think of horse corpses
& haughty blondes with jigglerbreasts &
smartass refusals--I just
push
flathanded down, the surface tension
about to give way, but
before I skim her virgin surface
for cream, before I pop her cherry
(only it's plain strawberry, not even
strawberry-banana),
before I fuck her I bounce
& close my eyes, no hurry at all, baby.
Sure we can take it slow. It
melts and breaks.
It's wet because you make it wet.
It's hot because you make it hot, baby.
Come on, get it on, give it to her like that.
You know she wants it fast &
hard for she is truly slow & soft.
Tease her, get it? Oh, baby, like that.
I pull out, carry the bowl to the sink,
scrape it, disposed & cuddly, to the drain; I
smash the bowl (rigid glass) at his
feet.
_yellow_
Cuckoo switched our babies
No child of mind Would break him up like that
All those nest eggs Congealed I cannot Make
her disaddle She was his Always
lover And she vowed it too And
here I am with a sicktray for her And
she's a selfish bitch. Not even constipated.
And we have done & done So much for her And
never No thanks Except
once she came weeping Back
to the breast Cuckoo Cuckoo to the nest
Pity for the old hens Grief for the bags of bones
Never none at home She never told me she was sorry Never
was a child of mine Would do as she did I'd like
to give her Ingrown toenails of the soul I'd like
to show her Just what she's doing
She was no Good for him Pushing him around
Crazy & Evil
Carrots & Lettuce Atop &
Olives embedded in Lemon
Jello Jello Even the word sucks.
_green_
No more faded flowers,
flown birds & fallen stars,
or flic'd bics gone dry, or
whatever passes for funereal cliché,
except one: she's dead,
her gelatinized soul
fluid, sunk to her buttocks, elbows
& heels, despite the spoons of
warm lime jumpstart jello we gave her.
She never was sleeping, & not at rest now,
& her kids are (both grannyold) both snittery
because
Miz A keeps asking me why
don't they just shut up and turn out the light.
The gurney is coming;
I have to get out of here; I think I'll get
drive-through;
I keep wondering if the damn thing is padded;
why pad it? They're stiffs.
They're coming for your bones, Miz M, and
they want to know what colors
you want for blood & bile now.
When I go
(but really these euphemisms must stop),
I want green, green, no use lying about my
lack of cohesion;
the snittery grannies are
going to toss me out and get drive-through instead;
they'll go rummaging; & their memories &
their firm loyal blood cells
won't be made of anything better than Miz M
entire, will they?
I tell you she is hot jello, & there is nowhere to go.
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