Awaiting Picture Postcards

Faded yards, with lost-tire swings,
and broken gnomes for watchmen,

growling dogs protecting the remains
or chewing on the heads of baby-dolls.

The shadows of little girls twirling,
mingling on their mother’s porches;

the old men dressed in the ways of
their fathers drinking cheap whiskey.

Hand Covers Mouth

Only so many promises
can be kept tight,

and this party has booze.

The poets and playwrights
have the kitchen,

and they’re staring at paintings.

Maybe we shall overcome
someday, but till then

our dicks are out and unimpressive.

When I say love you say love
or love or love or 1964—

and silence answers our desire.

Passion to the Kiss

And when you bit my tongue,
I bit back, through your teeth,
as you grabbed the back of my
head and slammed it into yours,
and when we woke up there was
nothing left but to walk away
and dream of what love might be,
the wood behind your head like
shattered, oak fireworks.