storeeze

She came in the rain, hair wet,  the day I left Vietnam. “Get in, the Thirteenth Part has not yet run.” We rode on, smoked cigarettes. Someone in back  Was sleeping. She stopped in the long green grass, Clasped my wrist, And sobbed “Borgo.”

The girls left for Columbia, Tired looks on their faces. I turned out the lights, Put my head on the pillow. I heard breathing. The dazzler from the Maple Leaf Was hot on me In her thin-knit top. Her mouth was moving, “Stay in my music baby, “Stay in the music.” I could hardly breathe. I shifted with a rush of adrenalin— She slid off. All was still. No spirits to commune. No spirits.

I threw a tantrum at Starbucks today, the barista put foam on my latte. I clearly ordered it without, written right on the cup. I told her she was stupid. “Fire her,” I told the manager. By the end of my tantrum, she was sobbing in the backroom. The manager apologized and Personally made me a new drink To calm me down. I took it and accepted his apology. I must go back and beg her forgiveness, I haven’t had a shower in three days.

I cracked her door on a wintry day— Waist-high rotting piles Spread beyond all hope. We drove away with a crooked mouth Her eyes on me like a galliard tree Descanting Ulysses, Joyce and more. Read me sad poems, she softly said, Crystals, rings and virgin parchments I have seen all these. Late I brought her back and She held me close with an opera she knew— Pratzel’s closes at two! She fell down dead Day after Christmas. I ate a bagel this morning.

Woman who lived, died a recluse will be mourned. By Bill McClellan ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH Sunday, Jan. 07 2007 "She is wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters, and the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor." — Leonard Cohen from "Suzanne" Most of Betty Wynn's bed was covered with trash, but there was a little corner in which she could lie down. That was all she needed. She was not concerned about the things that concern most people. On the day after Christmas, her brother, Sam Lachterman, got up first. He is 85 years old, six years younger than his sister. He has long white hair, an unkempt white beard. He has a doctorate in mathematics, and he never married. He has lived with his sister most of his life. He was in the kitchen when he heard her call out from the room that had once been a dining room. She was on the floor, which was, as always, hidden under mounds of trash. He almost stepped on her. Then she rolled over on her s...

In a warm-lit St. Louis night, you drew me into a flame. Monday at BB's your loose-knit top stares me in the face: white-velvet, in a black-silk cage. I call for Monk and a tango. Catherine D. Snow comes up fast— You're hot, girlie! On an afternoon of morning, the dark is rising. Do you feel it? Here is your card, the Second Child, arranged in a sky of its own. He is the reason . Y ou’re tired. They’re here, it won’t be long.

The first stanza is really nice and a very solid image. In the second stanza, the images move quickly and become more personal. On the third stanza, the details about Arlene seem to center the poem and where it the poet is at his most confident. Some symbolism is presented to the reader, and life and death seem to be the likely code to decipher. It seems to parallel with the ‘The second Child/He's the reason’. Whatever the case, I feel a balance is trying to be played, between a personal observation and deeper philosophical insight. To thread these concepts together can be difficult I give credit to the poet for trying his hand at such a difficult endeavor.  —Kent Walker, my writing coach a. R ichard upon hearing of her death, suggested that Arlene was ‘a flame of exuberance’. A rlene’s voice struck some listeners as ‘unattractive’ or ‘pushy'.  So full of life, s he would burst out of her  skin. A force of nature, she had a joy in her, a love of life and the confidenc...

Wassup your butt, Beta? Thing from Miletus fits guys in one place. Borrow your thing? baby got no bread. Baby Doll got no bread? kick it to the Rock. Who's playing? Santayana & the Four Realms. Put on your pads, color your lips, and agitate the gravel. Yer bazooms flatter the bums.

Lysistrata ("Army Disbander") is a Greek comedy by Aristophanes, first performed in Athens in 411 BC. Spunky Lysistrata is on a mission to end the war between Athens and Sparta with a sex strike by the women.   Beta—2 nd letter in the Greek alphabet. A young woman. Her girls ’ night out could play a part in a modern rendition of the play. She'll be soon back in the saddle enjoying it more, having made the point. Person Two—a young woman Thing—a dildo Up your butt—an expression or metaphor. Miletus—a Greek trading post on the western coast of what is now Turkey, known for dildos. Rock—the Acropolis in Athens,  a religious and civic center . W omen were generally not allowed there , but  they had  temporary access to specific parts of the  Acropolis  during certain festivals or religious ceremonies . Bazooms—they’ll crash the Rock by showing their tits. There is some precedence.  Phryne was an ancient Greek courtesan active in Athens,...

Barry’s roadster pressing vapors and clouds, foggier and doggier. Silver stanchions lamp-lit the stage. Coronas, dreamy signs billboards— The Arch bathed in blue light. Hearing your voice out of the fog, I wish I tasted your eggnog laced with whiskey, long sips…

Amidst old smoke  and stale perfume of a broken night, a seraphic voice posed a question in the dark— “Have we spoken?” In the green room,  yellow gloves lay on a coffee table. She lit a cigarette, gazed at the fine rain. I took her scent  felt her breath. Her nostrils flared — an arabesque veil of smoke drifted into cloudy gray-green eyes. A hot blush came to my cheek. “Your blood is warm.” She forced a laugh, blew a jet  from under dark lashes. “I adore Coblenz. K iss me. ”   She tasted of tobacco  and stale mint. Her bosom swelled, a tremor crossed her face. “Would you like a trip to Greece?” White-velvet breasts. C-section. Painted nails on a cold-hard floor. I woke to a curving figure  staring in a mirror — wide-brimmed hat, black-spike heels, cigarette,  eye-liner — headlights in the drive, shouts at the front door.