Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Poems about the bats in Buffalo, NY.

I couldn't stand the girls
and their skirts and skinny jeans
and puckered faces
and thighs and breasts and opinions
Can't take it
so I wandered the theater district
sat on a bench
cradled a sinking skull.
The fountains were turned off
the pool lay black as hell
a rippling skin of space
an abyss adrift with
bats flitting and diving
occasionally dipping their toes
and I nearly sobbed
realizing the fountains
were for the night deactivated
dead, perfect companions
Yet I sat stared legs crossed
and I waited
as if I expected the ground to rupture
tearing the sutures
great geysers of relief
a tempest of holy unreality
showers of
[love or come, I can't read my own handwriting]
but of course it's bullshit
and it's just me sitting on a bench
staring at a silent pool of water
dreading the falling minutes
sigh sigh bats and trash
trash and sighs


A bat in Buffalo
eats gnats and mosquitoes
tiny guts vitriol
dissolving amber armor,
a thief for blood,
a sopping rubber glove
with cardboard propellers
twisting my hair
slitting still waters
whistles across night's skin.

flagpole fingers of rosy stone
aching branching industry,
calloused hands raking porcelain
a slobbering dog let loose upon vegetarians

Let me stomp around your picture frames
Let me remind you
that life is an ephemeral gauze
and we should fuck fuck fuck

5 am, twisted spun drunk in Buffalo

No comments: