written against the topics in the new quaterly

[Steve]

The new quarterly
Gave no comfortable head rest
To the weary tired
Cranium of a poet.

There was talk of
Smack and sex
Love and regret
So here
Is the poem derived
From all that you consist of
All of your eight dollars:




Give me warm shot
To make me feel alive
When I am nothing but
The closest thing to
Death. Keep your
Mouth closed love
Take the money
Feed your children
I am not looking
For any love
Today.


Why has he
Not callen yet?
The nights quake
With the silence
Of his motionless
Typewriter.

For I have never
Loved a one
Legged woman before
I am nervous
Another shot of warmth please
Another key
Struck by his
Elderly finger
Come to me
By twisting
Heel to toe
A cross the tile
To my bedside
And let us
Talk about the
Women who roses
Bloom from their chests
Where wishes
Are plucked from
Where dreams are born
For I am not
Looking for
Love today.