Tanka Girl

hunched over a desk
he wipes black ink off the plate
the lines of labor
careful to print his intent
the paper is made center

life without a thought
success is just a label
a badge for losers
more paper in the cabinet
more time lost from my pleasure

he believes in God
writes a prayer in his journal
thanking God for life
his divine permission slip
approves leaving his daughter

he had an orange beard
a rope tied around a monk
Tavistok ablaze
and a girl with a black eye
a successful plundering

he holds the door wide
says he didn't like the show
she thanks him and says
the reason I'm with you is
I suspend my disbelief

in Copenhagen
the stock exchange is copper
with a piercing spire
dragons for each direction
twine their tales into the sky

we slept together
one night at your grandma's house
the way we shared sheets
we were like infinity
touching but never touching

sweating the details
worrying over each word
the weight of a noun
versus the breeze of a verb
could make all the difference here

the old shoe turns up
snout in the air, grievous frown
brown at the bottom
and soft around the middle
people still compliment it

humor is to laugh
laughter is expectation
I want your esteem
so I feed you a punch line
that I can never take back

the needle glides down
diamond point into the track
solidified goo
stamped round with peaks and valleys
no voice, no strings, no guitar

she is with you now
eating hot fried pork sausage
each bend of her wrist
satisfies you, fulfills you
because you know she is yours

i'm very busy
she says while filing her nails
one leg kicks with time
grated flesh drifts in the air
she is unaware of this

a mile a minute
he says, opening the door
what else could he say
always proving his own worth
in a world of no value

she knit you a bag
being male you don't use bags
you prefer pockets
or your brown leather wallet
so the bag sits on your desk

tires crunch through gravel
vain hope to absorb the time
he thought he'd beat you
as the car wheels in quickly
he knows he is in trouble

sweet van Leeuwenhoek
his tiny animalcules
prove the world wiggles
with microorganisms
proof of god's divine powers

fell asleep outside
book split in half in the grass
robin with a worm
splash of sprinkler chinking by
my sunburn lasted all week

her calling for you
makes you forget your age, era
you feel like sprinting
grabbing her around her waist
and telling her you love her

lots of chrome and lights
the sexiest machine yet
satisfies your urge
the best prize is a surprise
and makes your life a pleasure

there is that picture
him smiling through his long beard
her at needlepoint
sitting with a tray of fruit
in the veranda sunlight

her brush is dirty
obscene with all her shedding
I pull wads of fur
and still more brushes off her
into the bristles for trash

he calls himself joe
he counts dollars with his ears
a millionaire youth
he bought his first mercedes
he says it makes his cock hard

nosce te ipsum
skeptic stoic god or beast
born to die confused
so we learn to look inside
and find no one is different

no good anymore
you had better forget it
there's no use by now
just more time to be wasted
hoping someone understands

he sets up his kit
twist a knob, slide on a rail
angling the heads
spin down the seat and drum kick
they talk around his talent

there's a lot of that
discussing when time will end
watching the sky pink
as each breath brings us closer
to a universal doom

her entitlement
permits her to lean across --
painted fingernails
smoke curls and perfumed hair gel --
and tell you her opinion

cat at the window
cries and claws at the plate glass
asking me to move
the gray air conditioner
so he may enter the room

but why didn't you
to me, you should be published
to you, all is fear
you say you're not good enough
why hold out for approval

what a charming dress
pink sequins over rayon
a cotton turban
feather boa trembling
as your heels click the marble