Discounted Poetry

I study jet planes plowing in the fertile sky And sowing bloodstreams from the setting sun, The horror gorgeous. The bar's an empty movie theater Projecting monochrome daydreams So much more real than daily life Everybody is embarrassed to watch Without sunglasses Any longer. Over shook vacancy I can smell the smoked paprika down her back In corkscrew curls. She smiled like a scolded child defiant. "Rick, you can't always blame the government." She patted down my hand And let her palm rest In lingering simmering calm, Obvious. The cigarette-stained moon Sprouted over the horizon For a peek, The evening promising. Maybe this night Will deliver Us each And every one. - 10/30/25

The older blonde (The older ones who should be grey Are never spicy red Or cultured smart brunette But always blonde) Explains my faults In short details. I'm male. The rest are ordered  Underneath that heading In a steadily descending hierarchy. I now believe the shimmering ones Are all in happy homes. I am a vulture, Picking through the stark remains. She's connected To her exes In relations most Uncomfortable. All that she cannot let loose From them She brings here to our booth To hang around my lanky neck. She was aware of his affair But didn't care So long it didn't interfere with hers. The song's unchanged, There's just another verse. I should have slid my finger left. It's getting dark. The young and cheerful waitress Opens up a window, Santa Ana spirits Clearing out the air. - 10/29/25

The weather's pouting. She is ordering a stack of French toast, Just a dusting of the cinnamon and sugar, Please, my love. That fake restaurant syrup is so gauche. The streets reroute the rainfall To the curbsides, The lazy puddles Overrunning concrete Onto sidewalks and grassy spots To sink so slowly into the blackened earth. She takes a little cream at most, Unfolding the newspaper she insists on Rather than the tacky glow of screen. She talks, Her energized voice punctuated By the softest deepest breaths. The clouds are drifting through the café. Through the mist I see her Studying my eyes, Affirming I am following The trail of conversational crumbs She is slyly letting loose. She drains her coffee But hardly touches her piles Of pastries and brioche. Her boots are keeping time I'm hoping yet to smuggle off. 10/28/25

The silver hook Is winking light Inside the Shrinking pond. Grey sky, black cloud, Softest autumn showers. I cast my wish aloud. I cannot hope to follow. I'm behind you Beyond, Polite. I'm watching walls Fall off beige, Closing in. The rain outside's Erasing prints, So everybody's innocent. Red fish, pink fish, Green and darkened water. I spent my final wish. I cannot swim much farther. I once spewed such vile nastiness, My female friend the pacifist Responded, Punched me in the eye And nearly knocked me out. These decades taming.  Why? The ceiling's lowering. I find myself With something like a smile, Something like a face Unpained, An unconvincing folktale. So many bowling pins High spinning in the air I'm losing the game And falling to blue Looking at you. - 10/27/25

The fanciful cool air Puts skin on edge And promises Unknown delights Exciting on the fickle winds Approaching. I don't know And I don't know if you know. I'm never drawing cards against your smile. There are nights And nights that bloom Into your hand And nights that watch you Waiting in your bedroom Alone. - 10/24/25

The program on the television Ended hours past. The dull newscast is muted. We no longer hear of presidents, Dictators, and administrative fools. We softly cover over silence. Her uncoiled hair Eternally unspools, Enticing, Tickling my legs. I stroke yet can't hold firm Or pull The sheets of silk That slink onto My thighs And through my futile fingers. She's impossible to grip, An olive oil body Squirming In my hands. She always slips away. The siren through the window Penetrated shrill, But now we cannot hear A sound except the hotel room Inhaling. She's an ever rising well Surrounding me. - 10/23/25

Am I ready? Have I set from melting Underneath the former blaze And running toward a newer mold I'm working on, This mighty shape I hammer yet As flames are threatening so soon again? I'm still in pools Down lost forgotten drains, Still stranded underground. Are you a future Or an approaching regret Already burning out, Spoiling? Do I invite This hot and voluntary pain? I'm never one to shy From furnaces Disguised as hopeless possible romances, Leaping over boiling unknowns To find the one, Aware I've yet to fly for long. My fizzled-out affairs, Are filed like my albums From the fading years, The vinyl poured and pressed In magic circles Never spun these days, Neglected, Gathering the months. I just recall the music And the broken lyrics Now and then, All weakly flaring up in vain Like dying stars in skies That settled centuries ago To cosmic dust. I should tend my hours alone And shelter solitary But whole. I make a miserable magma, Lava lakes lamely inching To the oce...

The world's a game show, Noise and brightest colors Hyping up a room Of 499 contestants Losing, Cheering like the poor In line for the lottery. Our love Was a pretty melody In minor key With half a verse And no chorus. My days Are crackling current Through the wires Stretching over boarded houses, Wild forests, Grassy highways, Slackly arcing pole to pole, Out of sight. God is a tourist. You're a lovely Polaroid  Developed in reverse. - 10/21/25

I breathe Into the slippery moment. Somebody down the street Is grilling burgers. Char and grease Is plastering the almost autumn air. Her hair is haunted, Billowing long, dark, Medusa-like. Her lips are redder  Than the dying leaves About our feet. She should Be more, More than Enough And then. We reach the corner. A couple of children Are parading costumes Early, Pokémon and some mysterious Blue blob I’m sure is from An anime something or other. Laughing, we stoop And move the pebbles From the sidewalk Underneath the trees Into their plastic pumpkins. She's natural, A spirit charmed At perfect ease. She shouldn't make me miss Your blondish bob Too short to decorate the breeze. - 10/20/25

You are autumn, Lazy runner Cool and crisp to touch Before caressing gusts And blessed with burning coloring, Appearing with surprise Then strangely pulled away,  Another frustrating summer stretch, We, anxious and wishing, Left awaiting your unscheduled return. Your eyes intensely intimate And smile sharp, refreshing, Clears the branches, Promising your lively Kisses in exchange. I crave your touch Invigorating. - 10/17/25

Plug it in and charge it, Cut it loose too soon And off you go, Another day of being cursed With awkward rhythms And those binding rhymes. You'll never make it out to Copenhagen Pushing poems down in Harbison. All words are cheap and sell for less, And everybody's got to eat. You're fortunate to live inside. Your careful verses of precision Can not breach the surface. They just sink beneath the tried thrillers, Romances cut to order, The sophomore prose disguised  By Strange pre Tense Chus line Breaks and spellings. Cereal and beans for dinner, Reading in five hundred square feet. Sleepless in your bed As phrases, melodies, and lovers  Drift high Just out of reach, An inspiration or temptation To creative theft. It might all be the same. Tomorrow you will grasp and grip And pull yourself Inside out again Even when there's nothing left. - 10/16/25

She owned the sidewalk and the hallway, Hips and ass in rhythm To a lost Motown tune That never made it as a single, Never hit the charts, But lit up lonely lovers' hearts Across the bedrooms Circa 66. Her shoulders scatted in a language Not allowed in proper company. I knew that moment I was hopeless, Bent and bowed. Her long and swaying curly hair, A bouncing pendulum That beat in time to my Exploited pulse. Her stealthy smile rhymed With words I never memorized Except in crudest dreams But avoided setting loose Onto the woken public. She brushed the edge of my sleeve, Releasing scents of Red Hots Melting in a steamy minty beverage. I've spoken phrases Sent ol' Peter sprinting, Slamming shut the golden doors, But baby, Your lewd filthy walk done pushed It all a little more. - 10/15/25

You twirled and giggled softly, Dancing on bedazzled feet, An image of maturity retarded Like a flock of Disney adults With their commemoration cups In search of Cinderella's castle suite. I didn't realize  Your girlish wiles Were because, my dear, You're still a child. Ride Dumbo All night And start a fire Camping on Space Mountain. Never let go Of Peter Pan In flight. You'll grow up, And that is frightening Beyond the sights Inside the Haunted Mansion. -10/14/25

The leaves don't burn to fire in this state. They just dry out And drop exhausted to the streets. I run along sidewalks Clotted with the shuffling college kids And wonder in a silent prayer Why I'm living here. I'm always striking Soggy matches On eroded strips of phosphorous, Cardboard bent to worthlessness, Red rubbed to greying patches. I've spent too many decades Wasting wishes on slow-moving airplanes In the hazy darkness of the city, But mistaken midnight whispers Are defiant hopes, Bone-weary rebellions To dreary reality. I'm tired. I run the walkways. - 10/13/25

The folding chair's tipped over, Gone. The wind's ambivalent. The can of chardonnay He lightly teased her for Is on its side And bleeding wine Across the patio. The gate is lightly chinging Open, close. He had a hold this time. While driving home She hardly moved As green and yellow swollen haze Provided passive dull distraction, Though he did it right. He thought the world Indifferent. He sees too late It simply presents as emotionless As it implodes about him. Mingling with the paper plates Earlier in the evening, His efforts stolen by the breeze. - 10/10/25

The state fell quiet Beneath a riot Of the obvious and ordinary, Colors proudly primary, The rounded edges, Smoothest surfaces. It is a land where everybody Dyes their hair, The men of black, The women blonde. The means and averages Are the nicest savages. They pull the levers, Tie the bows, Take up the slack Until it's gone. The citizens all wear Gym pics embedded In their daily clothes. But now and then, A candy-colored texture Manages to flutter through the room, Like Tiffany Specifically. Although it's certain Like the celebrated fireflies, They often die and leave Far too soon -  Remember even true believers Have their bills and rents  And mortgages - Yet there's a few Incredibly burning still. They give me  Like Tiffany Specifically. 10/9/25

She doesn't help to clear the tables. Other people make her nervous. She abandoned her beloved ballet At twelve. She doesn't ask  When she doesn't know. Her lithe smooth lines and curves are natural. She doesn't have to work for them. She simply doesn't eat. She's sure the weighty world Has broken her. The years all lost their feet, No longer dancing blithefully. She hasn't got a lot to say. She's able but too shy, And now she hardly cares. She's found herself a constant, A life that seldom sways. She has no sense of rhythm, Grasp of beat. At night She simply lies. - 10/8/25

She leans to close The door with postcard prints Of Monet and Van Gogh On both sides. Her breath is peppermint And caramel latte. Her father doesn't Remember 1984. The unsteady stack of volumes Guarding her bed Includes Reid's Come and Get It, Normal People, Bryson's History of Everything. The students in the street below Are chanting for some team or other, A soft and rhythmic roar Beneath the speaker playing Clairo And The Weeknd. She's pretending all my jokes Are funny, Coughing on her red wine Constantly threatening to slosh Onto the imitation middle eastern rug. She laughs some more and keeps Her hand at rest On top my thigh. And yet, Down deep I know... - 10/7/25

We slept in Sunday, Shovels leaned against The bench inside the garage. The car was showing Engine lights, But drove okay. The woman at the bar that night Appeared to be her twin, The guy beside her An assistant professor wannabe. He spoke behind His overgroomed half beard Of grading, Lenses, othering. It was clear that I was right, Then she agreed, Derrida expressed it best. I lost all interest And just enjoyed the blonde tips Of her ink-black hair And let them be Alone. That evening of the Lord, You moaned so loud As we ignored The dirty tools At rest outside. - 10/6/25

The shadows of the cars Creep long against the cracks and gravel. The air is putting on the slightest chill. The moon's aloof, Abandoning me For a higher perch between The thin and lonely clouds. I'm the one who stitched your sails. I'm the reckless one who flew. The sky's in need of silver haze, Although I haven't got a cigarette these days. There's not a star to grace the night. They left me for another man A year or two ago. I never craved another hand before. I loved the solid empty night With poems and a prayer To stand for fickle lovers. Now, I only smoke regret. I'm the one who lit you bright. I'm the one you never knew. I'm the one who couldn't land. - 10/3/25

The airplanes from the runway Miles down the highway Sound a hurricane inside the battered room. The candles crinkle The crisply ironed darkness. Your laughter muffles soft against my chest Until the roar subsides  From out the night. Massaging hair and head, I listen, Greedily consume your secret history Until another flight, The mystery of you. - 10/2/25

My visiting friend On stroll throughout my back yard Stumbled on your grave And knocked your spirit Loose, He's no idea who you were Or where you lie. I'm also not certain All the time. The sturdy midnight breezes Saturated with Whistles, windchimes, And my name Now haunt me free. I don't glance over my shoulder often. You head in the direction you're staring down. Your ghost is dead enough to float transparent, But not to quiet. Life continues. It ferries me from work to home To bed And steady toward a patch of earth My own. I used to tamp the dirt As compactly as a prison wall, But now I simply let the shovel fall. The grass is brown, the soil scanty, Leaving me Occasionally hearing Secret music warmly Taunt my hungry ear. - 10/1/25