Sometimes,
when she comes down to get her mail,
She throws me a catalogue to read.

It keeps my hope up.

Even when she caught me
with a cosmic left hook
on some brass knuckles,


Even when I went down
seventeen flights of stairs alternating
between steel,
cement and hellfire.

She throws me a catalogue to read.


I thought very seriously about the future
for the first time in my life
I thought of marriage,
children and arguing good-naturedly
over presidential elections and infidelity.

Sixty seconds.
That’s how long she controlled
the stillness of nothing.
I presented the flowers,
dove into my devastating smile
and started out by asking
for her real name.

The point is,
I scraped together a few grand
and showed up at her place
with the last shreds of charm
and dignity I was ever going to steal.

I spent everything I had on roses

I figured that if it had worked
for Cary Grant,
that poor bisexual bastard,
then it could probably work for me.

I even sold my soul
to the Century City Bank
I donated so much blood
that my brother had to check me
into the Lazarus Motel for three days.

But I can’t afford to be bitter,
Because
Sometimes,
when she comes down to get her mail,
She throws me a catalogue to read.

It keeps my hope up.

It keeps my hope up.

01/05/2009

Author's Note: reprinted, and played with, from the poem "nude women, clowns welcome" by gabriel ricard with permission. i should be a techno artist.

Posted on 01/05/2009
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