New Wave Poetry

BUY

UGLY

HOUSES

I’m not for sale.

I’m not for sale.

I’m not for sale.

I’m not for sale.

Tell me that I’m young

Tell me that my life has only just begun

Tell me that you’ll love me indefinitely

I need you to validate me

War on the knit of leaves.

High on the rouge of way.

Her in a war-dining lame of way.

Her.

twisting on another nonsense evening with insomnia backrubs and tunes whispering so very tender from the stereo that my chamomile tea weeps (just a bit) in its mug

I have strong hands with nails so sharp that I could peel my cancerous mouth back to health and yet no parades will be thrown

I cannot sleep while the heater whistles Beach Boys music ignoring the blown heat that we all know it could offer me now

but the music is nice and although my fingers knees and toes are freezing my heart beats in its warm caged cocoon in 4/4 time

ah, the strange pity that swallows me whole sometimes is strong tonight and while the clock cracks its whip and the moon watches with a horny cocked eye I ball up my fist and for the life of me I don’t know what to do with it

so I stare at it

bringing it closer to my face and then pulling it back slowly

this kills a minute or two

perhaps I should have drawn a face on it

someone to talk to while 3:00 AM comes and goes… scooting around this home …gathering dust on its coattails

my ceramic cat …my faithful companion has turned in for the night

my back…once tough and ready for anything has announced its retirement calling for a pillow one warm blanket and a few deep cushions

I rise and will locate those things

I have to

so I turn the tea into the sink

kiss my cats goodnight

pat myself on the head

And ee

Cummings

Dribbled down my

Chiny

Ch

In

Ch

In

(through the

Out

Door

)

Pearls

Of quiet

Wis

Dom

Sm

Ac

K

Dab

In

The

Middle

If

My

Face

I take

To

The (bedr)oo

M

For the

L a s t

Tim

E

Bring

I

N

G

A tissue

To

My face

To

Smear

My

Sel

F

Clear

Ag

Ain

I

Like

Poet