midnight sessions

i used to stash    
diamonds in her pussy  
like squirrels horde nuts.    
    
i'd called out to her    
between each huff-puff    
of my fat cigar,    
   
   
"little rough    
around the edges, honey?"  
   
+++    
   
outside,    
the ducks are rioting in the sky -    
they shit on    
every human passing by;    
   
but inside,    
between the checkered floorspace    
and narnian wardrobes,    
i figure you'll be safer than a joey.    
   
+++    
   
"don't blink," i tell her.    
   
everything's accepted    
beneath these    
rhinestone panoramas.    
   
   
i lead the gazebo dance scene.    
the director doesn't have to say a word.    
   
god's watching like a creeper by the lights,    
and no one has to say a word.    
   
the holy father loves you,    
but he needs    
to get off    
just like    
any other dog.    
   
   
cum's all over the trapdoor,    
and her snow-white panties    
hang off the catwalk    
like an icicle.    
   
+++    
   
a lazy sequence of curious connections:    
   
chopped-up bananas    
splash into a milkshake.    
   
a moth gracefully lands    
on piles of dog shit,    
   
and i roll over on the bed,    
clutching my pillow as if it were a person.    
   
from the closet where the dark is,    
i hear, "goodnight, franigan."    
   
sigh    
   
"okay then."    
   
+++    
   
i was dealing with a mastermind -    
   
the warden of alcatraz,    
whose waist    
held the keys to my chains.    
   
she was the batman to my bane - invincible.    
   
i used to take my women on the rocks    
till she came and shook the snowglobe up.    
   
i tumbled through nothing most days,    
   
thought and felt nothing most days,    
   
till the sun came up    
and her eyes were still    
gazing into mine.    
   
+++    
   
it's deep down still,    
like a corpse drowned.    
*    
*    
*    
i try to determine    
how it was with you    
and the catfish -    
   
developing a palette for    
water, blood, dolphins,    
and shark fins.    
   
i would hope you know the    
difference by now,    
   
and that down there...    
at least everything's forgotten.    
   
+++    
   
i miss the splotches of paint    
she left, like rorschach tests,    
on barren pages--her    
soft, pastel color on    
my monochrome.    
   
   
i kneel to this horrid prism    
and lick skittles off the lips    
of a statue in the park    
that looks a little like her.    
   
+++    
   
sometimes i tie my ushanka laces    
by the tips and let the hat fall down    
behind my back - and walking feels    
like a noose tugging on my neck - and  
   
i don't say a word to any gods or devils.