this razor girl
i am affected / she is choice
first impressions / this razor girl
in that monday bar / we perch on maple stools
colorless void / deep evening / in cambridge
her eyes miles wide / white on ruddy skin / cheeky
the flight of spanish reds / untouched / meditate before me
bar surreal / pretty vacant / yet
the rudies and herberts observe / from afar / this first date
her elegant mohawk / crowned
pink peppermint in her hair
scandalous skin / subcutaneous ink
first impressions / a blink
she is wearing silver or chrome / this queen kink
she was not
an urge to explore / those shocked tufts
micron by micron / phenomenon
mod slink dress / onyx / leather peeking
hungarian body / ravenous
feasts on pheasant / in whiskey sauce
ominous
she lances my bare sleeve / with a toothpick / evermore
i was a conquistador / yet wounded / affected / afflicted
glossed lips form a tight light line and
she talks —
her neuro flaring / her tech wicked
her lab wiz / quantum physics / bolts with rivets
bytes and bits and figments / just the way she’s wired
controlling power / luminous stars
she’ll be / first motorhead on mars
her wanderlust stories / punk rock touring glory
she’s with the band / budapest – columbus – dresden
the working-class lads / new york – l.a. – london
holidays in the sun / with bitter pints
bully for them
inside / something has shifted / subtle
my heart nicked / and limbs and lungs
don’t let’s start
she fought sixty women once / this aggro pixie
and lost / to prove / her worth
heels / the herberts and rudies observed
a wicked wind / blows open the front door
her mirrored sunglasses / shift on the bar
photons reflecting / genuflecting
drifting and settling on a northernly heading
New England autumn / yet something blooms
this / night city / affected
the rudies and herberts observe / from afar
her dissertation emerges
she is impending / and
“wankers” she said
Boston, October 2013
—
skating metaphors
before the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
the weather, arctic and diabolical
one pond down the farmer’s lane
five inches solid
subzero
we shuffle among snowflakes whorls
a wintry blanket covers the forest floor
oiled saws, sharpened axes sleep
among stacks of bundled wood, heaped
knocked out cold
each of the village coal furnaces steep
swirling aroma of smoky dust
above the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
we arrive as the sun rises and the trees weep
the pond is ours alone, locked in the vault of white
my mittens removed, one one knee
pulling your laces tight, you squeal
on thin ice
beside the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
i fall, numb
you smile and radiate
an icebreaker
cold hands, warm heart
laughing on the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
we make our own revolution, and another
orbiting around each other
gracefully to the left, bending to the right
you move me end to end
paths never to be retraced
challenging me to keep pace
finally catching up, you kick to a stop
your pose titanic
carving the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
sitting on the wet wooden log
icicles clutching against gravity
cider, anise cookies, sandwiches on my leather bag
cold turkey
breaking fast on the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
pulled back onto the ice
we speed up, an unspoken game of chase
ice shavings record our trails
our past prevails
crystallized
skating on the chilled pond
dear Katiyana, lace up
—
Hands of Chance
form shadow puppets, shallow spirits
hidden souls born
skip across the evening piano, speeding allegro
fleeting little song
pour firewater liquors, for the tipplers
morning’s remorse
scar canvas with dark crayon, art seance
exquisite corpse
flick the card deck, bar bet
conjure lost kings
light his cigarette, fingers pirouette
now his heart sings
Chance, this little god
hands, of mortal blood
February 2013
Boston, MA
—
Born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers.
Publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, and The Commonline Journal.
