Friday, October 26, 2012

fabergé eggs and other poems

fabergé eggs

fabergé eggs
so fragile delicate beautiful
you coddle them, warm them, two hands
you've found the ones you want
i prefer rough-textured, plain-white
and you decide
they don't belong at the china shop
and stick them on the counter
of a polished dresser
near the china cabinet
behind your couch
until your grandkid picks them up
out of your ornate french bowl
and you tell them
"put that down
you'll break it
(they're not yours)"
and that ceramic bowl in the china shop
doesn't look right
until the shop closes
and fabergé eggs go out of fashion

cold showers

i was getting used to cold showers
because of my poison oak rash
soothing my pores
it closes them i hear
but the poison is still in there
seems like it must bond to your cell's receptors
isn't going anywhere
no matter the water temperature
and now i'm back to hot ones
since i can
without the satisfying but dangerous burn reaction
of urishiol (that's the poison)

waking up

teasing a sleeping person
they don't respond
you can push it a little further
each time
talkin to'em and shit
like they're going to respond
but when they're awake
with their eyes closed
they have the power
and wait for you to talk about them
and pounce on you
springing out of their slumber
all "what the fuck?"
and they're going to be mad anyway
crossing back to the consciousness
to wage war with time
who only retreats from sleep
only to outflank you
when you return
looking around to see
who's fucking with you

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