and
I’ve Been Living

1 August 2014

I’ve been living off my toaster
I’m a cold Italian poser
Could run for president
Or take a dive in the dark

These girls are still over me
Their mute abstraction of disco
A voice alive in a jar
At least until seconds ago

Tossed down on a peel
For the harried eye to slip on
That’s what I call drawing now
Hurried past, on a blinker

These maladapted muses, my women,
Their polite responses in tatters,
Either one of us might be number seven
On their hit parade of sweaters

To repose, their acquiescence
To even one of a number of vain requests
Turns to silk, kitten, the force of logic,
Perpetual pizza, a dim admittance,

Operation at most of a minute
A serried promise, mixed martini
To the end of the table, the meal
Somehow over, I didn’t see any food

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