Three recent poems.

Here’s a story:

Up on the twelfth floor:

Assassin at the door
and his expression is dour

The wake-up call woke him early a.m.
and he always worries his gun will jam

at the critical instant.
He’d kill for a coffee.

Maybe he’ll check the cupboards,
after the deed is done.

That statue’s on a lean.

do you suppose the artist meant it?

Do you suppose the artist leant it that way?

And, if so, what does it mean?


A pen,

making demands from a reclined position.

Fucking pen,

why don’t you do a goddamn drawing yourself?

What are you,


21 July 2010
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