fighting irony

What’s Gotten Into You? (Cause it Ain’t Me)

You were so shy when we first met
asking only for anonymity
Made me want you so much more
your refreshing refusal of
the only worthy goals:
Fame, Fortune.

But you were too beautiful
too perfectly proportioned
Your body
the Golden Mean incarnate.
Sigh.
Now, like all the obedient rest,
you keep getting smaller
skewing your proven ratio
refusing all the feasts I borrow
(without collateral) to pay for.
Find you over a toilet, defaulting our
dinners, as I will my debts
Bulimia, Bankruptcy.

What were you thinking?
When? The other night
Motherly swirls across my back?
Like our old Chemistry teacher.
Yes, you do know the one.
(Stop pretending you don’t fucking
remember anything that happened
to Us, before 1998)
Yes. Yes! That One.
Later imprisoned for molestation
Asked us to stay after class
took us to the back room
Never went any further, knew it could
if you showed him a catalyst.
Still, he made us feel smart
made us feel Chosen, made us laugh
Yes, at the expense of others
but at that age, superiority our drug
Class, Caste.

Sorry, back to my intervention:
Half a bottle of Skyy your lunch?
You do remember
Your mother’s an alcoholic
loved her bottle of Bombay
more than yours of formula.
Your father, a serial entrepreneur
liked you better as an idea
than an inception.
Neither say I love you anymore
except when drunk
or as an apology.

And that guy you’re engaged to?
Wears Ed Hardy and drives a Hummer.
What’s gotten into you, old love?
Our midnight cyber-advances,
not enough to get me hard time,
still leave me feeling criminal.
Impotent, Indicted.

Companion Piece to  Poem “Fine, This One Is About You”

Companion Piece 2
Watercolor, Paint, Marker on Paper
15″ x 20″

For You on Your Day(s)

When was the last time
I tried to write something happy?
Maybe it’s because I only write
in the mornings now-
the nights being so crowded and loud.

So it’s off to fight the good fight
every morning, your California son
incredulous to the ceaseless California sun.
Always waiting for the caffeine sunrise
never expecting its cloudy crash.

Or write something for someone?
I hide behind pseudonyms
abbreviations and allusions
under hats and thin beards
covers and blankets
characters and commitments.

What is there really to say,
Mom?
except those words said too often
and never enough
Thank You
I Love You.
Even a slice of heavenly French silk
loses some of its sweetness
if eaten everyday for breakfast.

So today, on your day
I think it best to take the literal approach
come in for a dramatic landing
out here, on display
in the open white fields
of paper plains

Without You:
I would not exist.

Chalk – Ambition – Blood

Give us more chalk
for the bullet filled walls
Or we will keep painting
your bathroom stalls

The neuroscientists warn
of unbridled ambition.
Imagine, they say, just imagine
a world where everyone is content
to only lead.
The hierarchy destroyed
by the world’s sudden
unwillingness to listen
to follow.
Everyone an Alpha.

Dear
Brother Banksy
Please
Ghost of Basquit
Give us more chalk
or we will use blood.

Companion Piece to  Poem “This One Isn’t About You Either,  or $1.77″

Companion Piece 1
Watercolor, Paint, Marker on Paper
15″ x 20″