The Girl
Published by Farmhouse Magazine, 2008
Published by Farmhouse Magazine, 2008
I just caught the end to ‘The Wild One.’
When the girl runs away from pursuing biker men
Into back alleys. Back—running in close-toed pumps.
Back further, around ominous corners.
When the girl runs away from pursuing biker men
Into back alleys. Back—running in close-toed pumps.
Back further, around ominous corners.
From men too pretty for their own good
In cool leather jackets, clean, white cotton shirts
Tailored denim pants. Manicured
—those engines revving like the perfect cock calling.
In cool leather jackets, clean, white cotton shirts
Tailored denim pants. Manicured
—those engines revving like the perfect cock calling.
She runs fast enough to get caught. In a revel
Of biker men, revving exhaust, like profanities,
At her.—Virginity. I thought
She deserved it. Whatever It was.
Of biker men, revving exhaust, like profanities,
At her.—Virginity. I thought
She deserved it. Whatever It was.
But I couldn’t look on. Because those biker
Men were closing in on the girl.
I must’ve turned away,
Or changed the channel.
Men were closing in on the girl.
I must’ve turned away,
Or changed the channel.
I forget already.
I turn back to her clinging to Marlon Brando,
Riding on the back of his fast-moving
Motorcycle. Jesus!—She might as well
hitch a ride with the Devil!
Riding on the back of his fast-moving
Motorcycle. Jesus!—She might as well
hitch a ride with the Devil!
Telepathically speaking to my television.
The camera sets Brando’s face at a left angle
As he rides. The cherubic cheeks and lips
Like a collectors’ edition porcelain doll.
The camera sets Brando’s face at a left angle
As he rides. The cherubic cheeks and lips
Like a collectors’ edition porcelain doll.
He takes the girl to some secluded place—
Of course he would—those soft fingers bracing
Her shoulders. Shaking her.
Her soft curls always
Of course he would—those soft fingers bracing
Her shoulders. Shaking her.
Her soft curls always
Holding.
Brando kisses the girl.
Without her permission.
Then pushes her away.
Without her permission.
Then pushes her away.
Talking angrily in that Marlon-Brando-angst.
I forget what occurred in what order.
After he took the girl to that secluded place. By then, I didn’t care.
Because
I forget what occurred in what order.
After he took the girl to that secluded place. By then, I didn’t care.
Because
God help me
I wanted to be the girl.
---
Ode to Television
I wanted to be the girl.
---
Ode to Television
Instant Messenger & to a Man I’ve never met before
Published by Bareback Magazine, 2008
i.
He pulled her hair
Published by Bareback Magazine, 2008
i.
He pulled her hair
slipped his fingers
between my legs,
it was a long skirt for him to reach
Ungh! she breathed
between my legs,
it was a long skirt for him to reach
Ungh! she breathed
and he excited me, too.
'You will do as I say'
he said. 'I will do
whatever you want'
'You will do as I say'
he said. 'I will do
whatever you want'
I replied. She came
immediately
behind him, upon
returning to the dinner
table. We could've
immediately
behind him, upon
returning to the dinner
table. We could've
done it right there
in the powder
room. If someone
happened to see
them, Mr. Draper
in the powder
room. If someone
happened to see
them, Mr. Draper
was just helping
me with my hose and garters.
ii.
me with my hose and garters.
ii.
'Mad Men' was on -
it's Channel 47 in my neck of extended cable -
I looked occasionally at the television screen
my fingers primed for online chatting
my laptop still missing the 'I' key.
I looked occasionally at the television screen
my fingers primed for online chatting
my laptop still missing the 'I' key.
On the second or third glance:
a silver rimmed 3D-screen TV
a slender redhead
cropped waves framing her face
the dark-haired man grabbing her hair.
a silver rimmed 3D-screen TV
a slender redhead
cropped waves framing her face
the dark-haired man grabbing her hair.
A fancy French restaurant of equal fancy
when women were either housewives or secretaries
but a dinner place I could never afford
in real life anyways.
when women were either housewives or secretaries
but a dinner place I could never afford
in real life anyways.
Selome: I just saw something real good.
C--- is typing a message.
C---: What's that?
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 11:08 PM
C--- is typing a message.
C---: What's that?
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 11:08 PM
It felt good, the way he pulled my hair.
He pushed me against the powder room table.
I had turned around to face Mr. Draper
before making my demands. But only after
I finished looking in the mirror,
He pushed me against the powder room table.
I had turned around to face Mr. Draper
before making my demands. But only after
I finished looking in the mirror,
reapplying rose pink lipstick and rubbing
the color in. Twenty-five thousand dollars
was all I asked for. Because Sterling Cooper
threatened to fire Jimmy, it would be
a violation of my husband's contract.
the color in. Twenty-five thousand dollars
was all I asked for. Because Sterling Cooper
threatened to fire Jimmy, it would be
a violation of my husband's contract.
I thought I'd take it up with the man
high in the company's rank and file.
And to settle on an offer I couldn't refuse,
just when Mr. Draper made me an L-shape with
the upward pressure of his fingers.
high in the company's rank and file.
And to settle on an offer I couldn't refuse,
just when Mr. Draper made me an L-shape with
the upward pressure of his fingers.
C---is typing a message.
C---: Heh, yeah that does sound interesting.
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 11:21 PM
Selome: It makes me miss a lot of things.
iii.
C---: Heh, yeah that does sound interesting.
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 11:21 PM
Selome: It makes me miss a lot of things.
iii.
Get in between
my arms and my
legs. Lift me up
to high places:
atop hard, glistening
legs. Lift me up
to high places:
atop hard, glistening
wood. Or close
enough to smell
how old the wall
paint is. I like how
sweat feels with
enough to smell
how old the wall
paint is. I like how
sweat feels with
clothes on. I like
how fast time flies
in my head. Then,
repeats. The way
sex is so exciting.
how fast time flies
in my head. Then,
repeats. The way
sex is so exciting.
Oh, God! Hugh!
Blinking flashes
of light and seeing
images of the
ascension of
Blinking flashes
of light and seeing
images of the
ascension of
Jesus, because
eight years of
religious schools
makes me guilty.
And I still feel
eight years of
religious schools
makes me guilty.
And I still feel
good about it.
iv.
C--- is typing a message.
iv.
C--- is typing a message.
C---: You there?
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 12:08 AM Selome: Yeah, babe. I'm here.
Selome is typing a message.
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 12:08 AM Selome: Yeah, babe. I'm here.
Selome is typing a message.
Selome: Sorry it took so long to answer before.
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 12:09 AM
---
Last message received on 8/--/08 at 12:09 AM
---
Simply Beautiful
Published by Belly Dance Magazine, 2010
For once I didn’t catch public
transportation home
and watched
an old Flamenco dancer
play her soul—
shimmying
on castanets and dancing,
then playing
that cool mystical thing,
soft curly fingers on guitar and seated in a fold-out chair.
The patrons turned their backs
on her, kept talking out their dull
lives, laughed in sonic booms
that faded and started again.
I wanted to school them some manners
but then reconsidered.
The old Flamenco dancer
asked me if I was a musician.—
I noticed the lone waitress
had golden red hair,
dyed for good
measure.—
I paid in cash,
and attempted gratitude,
before I had to answer
the old dancer with a “No.”
How do you explain the misty exhale
of a lover’s breath,
inside
a night’s frost, the broken
line of marble,
black flints and phosphorous
imperfections,
the indentation of pelvic
thrusts, is
simply beautiful?
Published by Belly Dance Magazine, 2010
For once I didn’t catch public
transportation home
and watched
an old Flamenco dancer
play her soul—
shimmying
on castanets and dancing,
then playing
that cool mystical thing,
soft curly fingers on guitar and seated in a fold-out chair.
The patrons turned their backs
on her, kept talking out their dull
lives, laughed in sonic booms
that faded and started again.
I wanted to school them some manners
but then reconsidered.
The old Flamenco dancer
asked me if I was a musician.—
I noticed the lone waitress
had golden red hair,
dyed for good
measure.—
I paid in cash,
and attempted gratitude,
before I had to answer
the old dancer with a “No.”
How do you explain the misty exhale
of a lover’s breath,
inside
a night’s frost, the broken
line of marble,
black flints and phosphorous
imperfections,
the indentation of pelvic
thrusts, is
simply beautiful?
