The Marlboro Men

        Twenty Class A cigarettes come in an attractive package. Twenty times twenty makes four hundred cigarettes smoked, but probably more. Who knows how many I have smoked? All I know is that I was in love with each one of them--the harsh ones, the satisfying ones, and the ones that did not last long enough. I love to light them and watch them burn and smoke--their white bodies glowing until the bitter end. I love the smell of old smoke sticking to every inch--it is a scent that lingers long and sick. I would hate to give them up. I don't want to trade my miles for a pack of gum and some little carrot sticks. Gum would stick in my hair, and I have no tolerance for little carrot sticks. 

English 458

        This feels exactly like trying to do a crossword puzzle in New York magazine and trying not to cheat. Let's face it, nobody knows the answers to the clues they give you. Nobody can do it, but nobody will ever admit it. We all just wait for the next issue and fill in the answers. We display our genius proudly on the living room couch. When friends see it they say: "Oh, fat-eschewing jack is a sprat! Why didn't I think of that? God, you think you've got it and you are just one piece short of a puzzle." Once, my friend Suzy's blue eyes turned green.

Buddy Threadgood

        Something in my memory tells me that I am here. No doubt about it my little scissor's legs, I want to hear about the smoke and stir of your everyday life. Is there a fountain in your dream when your sister fell off a bridge and Buddy Threadgood was killed ? How do you imagine a highway being better off dead? Do you know any stripped turtles? All I feel is drum and strum and whisky at Spats with Suzy and beer and the Beastie Boys in her BMW on Fridays having a butt for the trip to Medway to pick up a Fishman and get him drunk on water.

Picture This

        I hate this shit! I try to cook it and garnish it and make it all delicious to your senses. It just can't be done. No matter how I mix it, tenderize it, skim it and season it, I just can't make it what you want it to be. No matter what I do to it, it still gets globbed up in your mouth and you spit it out all slimy and chewed and you tell me "this is not it."

A Great Greyhound Is Always Before Her Rodent or Behind It

        Pursue, O marvelous hound! Pursue and give that rodent a run for its life! Poor creature. . . Working for the gain of all but yourself. 
        This nemesis she follows in endless circles never comes closer to her grasp. But this miserable panter in all her grace persists. What is it about her that drives her so? It must be the perfume of the rodent's gears or the hope of one day chewing on its ears. 
        Dear thing, don't you realize that those who set you free gain and not you? Haven't you noticed that all your passion is rewarded with only a marshmallow or a piece of fine meat? Gentle hound, you and your friends are racing for a title that cannot be won. Stop running and you may find--

rodents closing from behind!

White as Pissed on Snow

        You come in here like Medusa in hot pants: teased and wired with dust and sweat, ready to entertain another sucker for your habit. . . "Strut along chicky love an' see what I'm thinkin' of. " It's a provocation that matches your platform panties and beaded bra, a voice sweet and smooth as dirt on the soles of your high heeled shoes. But all this organ grinding can't keep up with your itchy nose. So you sing, louder this time, "Strut along chicky love an' see what I'm thinkin' of. " It's the only line you know, but you sing it
                                                                    so high,
                                                                    what can I
                                                                    do you for?

The Far Side of Eccentricity

        There once was a man who stood on the far side of eccentricity. He lived with his two cats who whispered around corners, plotting to kill him. The man, being craftier than cats, took precautions. His plan was ingenious. He escaped--giggling to himself--the cats suspected nothing. 
        The man drove far away and tore his clothes off. The cats could not smell his whereabouts. Birth naked, on tip toes, he found the perfect hiding hole. He crawled in and stayed there laughing to death.

Voyeur

        I became a voyeur in my nightgown looking out the sixth floor window. On that clear night, I saw all the way to Suzy's house. I could see her asleep on the living room couch. The cat curled around her head. It was time to say goodnight at the zoo. The caretaker locked the gates and whispered, "goodnight my friends. Sweet dreams baboon, antelope, bear and yak." On my side of the city, the bagel shop was closing. The owner yawned and wiped cream cheese from his fingers. The poets at the coffee house down the street lost their muse. They sipped their last sips, shook hands and went home. The man across the street was in his underwear, brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink. His son was masturbating over the latest from Victoria's Secret. 
I stayed in my window and watched everyone fall asleep. I was alone. I looked down over my city and softly said, "goodnight."