a new book August 7, 2005
Posted by admin in : Poesiac , trackbacka new book waits, flat on its back, legs spread
hot and dog-eared
it’s got smells and stains and leathery thighs
it sweats and sighs and wags its tongue
the book smokes and drinks and curses you
makes fun of your pecker
the new book is not new at all
it’s seen its better days
the new book just shows up
like that
So that’s how it is, you say.
That’s how it’s gonna be.
makes fun of your decor
makes noise late at night
You will have to say sorry to the old lady
You’re in too deep
the book with all those beautiful lies and whys and wherefores
smarter than you
enticing you
makes those lies beautiful
but still
you have to say sorry
or else you ain’t gettin none tonight
sorry doesn’t cut it
makes you wonder
where all those finger stains came from
all that tobacco, I guess
You worry about the other books, what they will think
Will they be jealous? Will they judge?
the book is yellow and weighs an ounce
it’s barely there at all, really
the author sneezed, and out came the new book
this effortless thing, this body spasm, this nasty habit
You offer a drink, but the new book clinks ice cubes
in a sneering gesture that says
Scotch, remember? Like you could forget.
Like you’re sitting around, waiting for word
or words
What does the new book drink?
What does the new book smoke?
The new book drinks Scotch like a fish
smokes Winstons
who the hell smokes Winstons?
The new book does. Better have plenty
grab yourself a glass
it’s gonna be a long night
you beg the book, Forgive me.
you say sorry.
it’s never enough
no matter how many times you read the new book
you lay in on the new book
you can’t take no more
you tell the new book how you really feel
how you’ve always felt
no more secrets
no more lies
no matter how beautiful
you hate the new book
for ravishing you so
you hate the old lady
I hate that old lady, you tell the book
But it comes across too strong.
the book is hoarse and out of breath
the book cackles with derision
outside it is raining, storming,
one of those Mississippi downpours
out on the porch, the author sits in a rocker, but still
you pull the blinds ’cause you want no part
of the storm, or the author and his rocker
You know where this is headed.
Why fight it?
you and the new book go at it
it’s indecent
a rough night of love and mean words
muscles and fingernails and papercuts
until words stain your dripping chest
and purpled words smear across your mouth
and you light yourself up a Winston
what the hell
there’s nothing left of the book
just ink stains and pulp
there’s nothing left of you, either
it was pretty much a draw
we’ll soon forget
this night, this book
until one day next Spring
a new book waits, flat on its back, legs spread
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