.

Late night at the WaHo

A poem inspired by your home Patch

the hefty waitress sidearms my greasy entree on the table

with the studied resignation of a breeding dog

            but I am too self conscious

                        of my reflection

in the window, cheeks enflamed and eyes glassy

so the fluorescent lights and yellow art deco

appear as pollock himself

drips and drops and sweet tea swirls

 

like the time I swallowed that placebo

latchkey kids call love

then I burned inside just like this

flame-roll-drop-bass-

            breathe

hallucinating the iron valleys and fjords

of your fingertips

smoldering on my neck and thighs

                                    and breasts

at once until

my fork quivers above the table

 

and I discover my inner ibsen character

incapable of inner dialogue

            off to discover myself, the zealot

or the harlot or the bicurious despot

declaring my dependence in

oo

    oh

         hhhhs-

 

Your shiatsu hands to my dusty foot

render me a language poet.

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