- Home > Archive: August, 2018
I’m tired of being disrespected.
So, I’m not Q.
That doesn’t mean,
I don’t know secrets
or have friends
inside the deep state.
And I’m not M.
But that doesn’t mean,
I’m not capable
of doing scary things.
I’m in a lot of places you don’t even think about.
I’m in the know.
They call me N.
You may be asking,
“Who are they?”
That’s why I’m here.
To find the “they”
and out them on the web,
that has no weaver.
It was a little after midnight
when it started.
First on the left cheek
on the inside of the crack.
A really inopportune time,
as he was in the middle of a date
that was going rather well, for once.
But it just kept getting worse.
He tried standing and
“I have to use the little boy’s room.” Max said.
“Hurry back,” she replied,
“ I need to tell you something.”
Blowing him an air kiss.
He bit his lower lip and
practically ran to the bathroom.
The men’s room door was locked.
He couldn’t wait and
stepped into a closet,
pulled down his pants
and started itching like
a violin player.
a waiter opened the closet door.
And there he was
hand in the cookie jar,
forever frozen in time.
This is Miki.
Rumor has it, he’s one of Monty Clift’s lifetimes.
Reincarnated into a South LA feral cat colony.
Born into a back alley chance.
Adopted by a lunatic, he lucked into
a life off the street.
He’s a hard cuddler,
like deep into your elbow, armpit or chest.
He digs in and loves on you.
Like the street is hard.
Like the pavement.
He loves you like a concrete block.
Not everyone made it into the house.
The others still live on the street
and visit him at the open window
where he pushes against the screen
and calls to his brothers after nightfall.
The cactus flower bloomed the night she called.
“I’m going to Italy,” said Marianne.
“For how long?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know.”
“I always wanted to go there,” said Jack, hoping for an invitation.
“I need some time away.”
“That’s a good place to paint.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“What happens to us?”
“I love you, I’ll always love you…”
“That sounds kind of final…” said Jack,
realizing for the first time it was over.
He winced and threw a Hail Mary.
“Marianne, they know. Someone dropped a dime on us.”
The cucumber had died, suddenly.
In the heat.
Mikio had tied it up with
strips from an old torn sheet.
To keep it off the ground
so it would’nt mold.
He got one good cucumber off
And two tomatoes, ripe just right.
Look at that yellow with the green
of the cuke.
The collard greens were flowering,
tasty, added them too.
To season, basil flowers
and the olive oil infused with garlic
left over from the grill.