Red leather paperI sometimes hate that silence I hate regret like like in the movies [couldabeens]Red leather paper
yea that downturned line has never meant as much
[from me] Dont give me that face! she says
radiostatic railed in by my belt cantors up to my chest
Regret and silence chuckle [schemers]
kissing on a striped couch
a quick caress on my calf
twists those packing bubbles [diagnostic cur[s]e]
The Old Lady She seemed like a former model and walked very gracefully. Or so thought the sick old men at the nursing home whose eyes carefully watched her creeping across the room. She may have been using a walker that was missing a rubber stopper and sure her black orthopedic shoes were homely as hell; but she had an estute air of confidence about her that drove those old men insane. They'd abandon tired checker games, oxygen tanks squeaking in tow, just to open a door for her. Their musty old copies of books read through huge-rimmed, thick lensed glasses weren't so interestThe Old Lady
yes yes yes
Feel my gaze blister your puny human frame!
And nice poem, too
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