and Northwest Romance
nazi nurses fishnet thigh high swastika garters
needles dripping with serotoxin
planes fall in flames from cloudy skies
jungle hunts man
"too many men shared her"
she lets slip through drunken russian breath
her lipstick glossy and slick and as quickly fading as her beauty
really, she is. she killed seven orphans last night, her and her goddamned molten chocolate cake.
I knew that there was something going down in the city. I don't just wear the cape and tights because I look good in them. When you're a hero long enough, guardian of the city, bastion of justice and all, you begin to pick up on vibes. It's in the air, really. I just wanted to get out of that restaurant and out of the smoldering wreckage that was our date and start my patrol. Sally though had to order the molten cake, twenty five minutes to prepare, plus time to eat and linger over coffee. Forty minutes at least.
The fire at began at 2:15 am. I finally hit the streets that night at 2:42. The gas main blew at 2:33. Close, but not close enough. By time I arrived there was just a smoldering crater and no bodies which had no one to cry over anyway. I always try to see the good side of things.
I could have been there, of course. Evacuated the entire place in less then two minutes, put the fire out in three. But Sally Strahan was a selfish bitch and had to have the molten chocolate cake. Fourteen dollars too. Simply selfish. By the time we could hail a cab back uptown and fucked for a few hours, it was after 2:00 before she fell asleep and i could sneak out and head back to my place to change. But it was too late.
that impose names upon me
the calender laughing, mocking my intimatemost failures
and i know the dawn is just miles
minutes away
but i feel the tug of blood's inescapable gravity
the flesh longs for the clay from which it was molded
no mind where the mind may be
at peace
(or otherwise)
and you said it was very hot there
today
while the temperature dropped here
the wind poured dark clouds
thick honey through the mountain passes
and i thought for certain
it would snow
i am in the dreams of other people
more than i am in my own
on my porch/perch
on the hillside
birds warble just before the dawn's crest
struggling to rise above the drunken cacophony of arguing neighbors
distant parking lot lights flare in the yet night
the silhouette of a cell phone tower
jutting from the butte to the west
is the devil's pitchfork
painted upon a white cloud canvas
i sing
from a nest
at 3700 feet
built of wire and paper, bits and sheets
scraps gathered from all about
tired desert dawn
formerly caught between the cross and flag
now just her(e)
trying to sleep cross legged in a ragged e.r. chair
murmuring voices rise in pitch from down the hall
just enough to catch a random word or phrase
and fall back into that buzzing lull of white noise
like a siren luring me to sleep
to sleep and rest and dream uncoming
